“Morwick—”
“Come along, then,” he demanded, voice curt, cutting through the haze of desire she’d felt only moments before. “The sky is darkening, and I’ve no desire to be caught in a storm.” Morwick stooped to pick up his discarded leather rucksack. The stomp of his boots kicked up leaves as he took several steps in the direction of Somerton.
Stunned by his mercurial change in mood, Petra stared at his back. “That’s it?” she stammered. How could he kiss her senseless and then calmly walk away? Hadn’t he felt anything? Didn’t he have the decency to at least pretend…something? “Can you not at least slow down?” Her voice raised an octave. “Your legs are quite a bit longer than mine.”
His steps slowed but did not stop.
Leaves churned up beneath her feet, as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. It was no use. He was moving too fast in his haste to get away from her. It hurt that he could dismiss her so easily. Finally, out of breath and angry, Petra came to a dead stop. “I do hope you aren’t going to apologize for kissing me.”
“I won’t apologize. I wanted to kiss you.” Morwick stopped to glare back at her. “Does that please you?”
“What?” Good Lord, he could be snide. Right now she didn’t like him at all.
“Hearing me admit that I wished to kiss you.” A slight curl appeared on his lips. “Now, come along.”
“I’ve a pebble in my boot,” she lied. Actually, his admission would make her happy if he weren’t busy scowling at her.
He slung the rucksack higher. “You don’t. You were walking fine a moment ago. Must you always play the damsel in distress to gain my attention?”
Petra was so flummoxed by his words it took her a moment to make sure she’d heard him correctly. Played a damsel— “I’ve never intentionally garnered your attention. You kissed me. Both times, as I recall. I’ve never so much as flirted with you. Don’t you dare pretend I’ve acted improperly.”
“Haven’t you?” The accusation was thick with sarcasm. “What about Pendleton? Haven’t you promised yourself to him?”
“I haven’t,” she spat. What a perfectly awful thing for thing for him to say.
“I suppose you want to muck around a bit before marrying the illustrious Simon. Something for comparison purposes, I’m sure.”
Petra sucked in her breath at his insinuation. “How dare you imply such a thing? I’m only a pea-wit, of course, Perfect Petra and all of that.” Her chest heaved with anger at him and herself, maybe because there had been a hint of truth to his accusation. “Except I’m not perfect. I never have been.” She blinked back a tear. “I’m only a dressmaker’s dummy Mother clothes in proper gowns and flounces to be dangled out to gentlemen seeking a suitable match. Rather like fishing, I suppose. She seeks to catch a fat trout. I suppose that makes me a worm.” Tears gathered in her eyes. He’d no idea how horrible it felt to be paraded around like a prize sow at a country market, knowing your only value was in whom you married. She’d been foolish to assume he might actually like her.
“Petra—” He set down the rucksack, all smug mockery gone.
“No.” She held up a hand to silence him. “I may not be as bloody brilliant as your cousin Arabella, or as daring as my own cousin, Jemma. I am not interesting and I lack a proper purpose. I’ve no special talents.” She shook her head. “I can’t even poor tea without spilling a little. But I can climb a tree.” She shook as the painful words left her.
“You couldn’t climb down. I had to fetch you.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
“Don’t you dare mock me. Ordinarily, I find your sarcasm tolerable; just now, I do not.” She stepped around him, determined to return to Somerton and the relative safety of her room. He saw her as a joke. A pea-wit. All the joy at climbing and looking at Mam Tor had been crushed. “You are a horrible person to accuse me of such a thing.”
“I see your pebble is no longer bothering you.”
“Leave me alone.” Petra turned and strode off in the direction of Somerton, not trusting herself to say more. He’d succeeded in making her hate him, at least for the moment, which she suspected was his ultimate goal. He had kissed her and now regretted it. Well, that was his problem. Guilt filled her over her own behavior. While she hadn’t agreed to marry Simon, and wasn’t certain she would, Petra owed him the courtesy of not kissing another man behind his back. His offer deserved honest consideration. An ugly thought occurred to her. What if Morwick was only toying with her because she was involved with Simon? While he’d not said so, Morwick’s dislike of Simon was evident. Maybe this kiss had nothing to do with Petra at all.
The thought sobered her enough so that she stopped. It was bad enough to have her mother manipulate her life. She’d not stand to be used in such a way by Morwick.
Taking a deep breath, Petra turned, prepared to meet his annoyed smile, but the moors at her back were quiet except for the chattering of the birds flitting about the heather. She could see nearly all the way back to the oak and there was no sign of him. She should have known he’d gone, as not one sarcastic remark had been hurled in her direction for at least the last ten minutes. She’d been so angry, so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized she was alone.
Good.
Straightening her shoulders, Petra brushed off her skirts, frowned at the small tear she found in the muslin, and began walking again down the path. Hopefully Tessie had packed the remainder of her things so there would be nothing to delay their departure tomorrow. She hadn’t thought she’d feel quite so relieved to leave Somerton.
* * *
Brendan watched Petra’s slender form, stiff with anger, until she reached the gate leading into the gardens. Her little tirade had been more than justified. The remark about Simon had been particularly cruel, given he had kissed her. And he’d practically accused her of being a lightskirt, a woman who flirts with one man while involved with another.
Not nearly as bad as having Petra compare herself to a worm.
The words, choked and bitter, pained Brendan as if someone had taken a fist to his chest.
He’d hurt her, terribly. The worst was, Brendan had meant to. His emotions, once buried so deep as to be nonexistent, had bubbled up while Petra was in his arms, feelings he’d sworn never to entertain for any woman. Worse, she was promised to Simon, a man who’d Brendan loathed since they were children. The last time he and Pendleton had been involved with the same woman had ended with Brendan’s expulsion from Oxford.
I have to stay away from her.
Brendan needed to think and he simply couldn’t when the scent of roses and sugar cookies crept into every part of Somerton. He couldn’t seem to keep from touching her, which inevitably ended in hurting her in some way. It would be best for them both if he didn’t see her again. There was a man in Buxton who had asked after Brendan’s services and written to him several times. Mr. Wilcox had found a small cave on his property and was convinced the glittering streaks through the rock were copper. Brendan hiked the rucksack up higher on his shoulder.
Now would be a good time to visit Buxton and Mr. Wilcox.
9
The sun shone brightly as the newly repaired Marsh coach lumbered toward Brushbriar. The moors were filled with waves of flowering rowan and heather. Small patches of brush stood out against the rolling hills and the stark outline of Dark Peak. Simon’s home, Brushbriar, lay to the west of Somerton, closer to the area known as White Peak. Dark Peak and the moors circled the White Peak, which was strewn with limestone and dotted with farms. From this angle, Petra couldn’t see Mam Tor; it almost felt as if the mystical peak had deserted her.
“Goodness, but I am pleased to not have my stomach in such disarray. I am feeling right as rain today. After several days of broth, I believe my dresses may have to be taken in.”
Petra gave her mother’s purple dress a curious look, thinking the need for a seamstress to be premature. “I’m happy you are feeling well, Mother.”
“Can you
imagine if we had landed at Brushbriar in such a state? Both of us ill and casting up our accounts in front of Lord Pendleton and his mother? I believe it was divine intervention that caused our axle to break.”
“Yes. It was most fortuitous,” Petra murmured. She wished to still be climbing a tree and, if she were being honest, she’d like to be kissed senseless again by Morwick. It was a terrible thing to admit, given how unkind he’d been.
“I do hope we will see Lady Cupps-Foster upon our return to London. Possibly we shall see her again during our visit. She is neighbor to Lord Pendleton, after all. I mentioned to her that I’ve always wished to make the acquaintance of Lady Canfeld, and she has promised an introduction.”
Lady Canfeld was Her Grace the Duchess of Canfeld. Mother was socially ambitious and always on the lookout for a way to ingratiate herself within the ton. Poor Lady Canfeld had no idea what was headed her way. After meeting Petra’s mother, the duchess may decide to retire to the country.
“I was rather surprised our host did not appear for dinner last night. One could see how embarrassed Lady Cupps-Foster was for his absence. A previous engagement in Buxton he couldn’t delay, apparently. Terrible breach of etiquette to leave your guests without even a polite goodbye.”
So that’s where Morwick had fled to after their encounter in the woods yesterday. Petra found riding all the way to Buxton in an effort to avoid her a cowardly act. Upon her return to Somerton yesterday Petra had ventured into Lady Cupps-Foster’s small sitting room again. She’d walked over and stared at the portrait of the previous Earl of Morwick, wondering at the pain Lady Cupps-Foster endured at his loss and the damage her grief wrought on her youngest son.
No matter his reasons for kissing her, Petra understood that much about Morwick.
A week ago, when Petra had climbed in her coach for the journey to Brushbriar, she had been uncertain whether she had a future with Simon. Now she was doubly so. She’d seen Mam Tor and discovered a piece of herself she hadn’t even known was missing. Kissing Morwick only muddied the waters further.
“He’s rather odd, isn’t he?” Mother cocked her head, eyes boring into Petra. “Wild. Involved in dirt and rocks. His clothing certainly leaves much to be desired.”
“Who, Mother?” Petra’s irritation was growing by leaps and bounds. Patience for her mother was stretched thin and she was in no mood to play guessing games when Mother obviously had something on her mind. Besides, there was no doubt of whom Mother was speaking.
An exasperated sigh came from the seat across from her. “Your mind is constantly wandering, Petra. I’m referring to Lord Morwick. Consorting with miners and common day laborers rather than coming to London and taking his place in society. Poor Lady Cupps-Foster must be in a constant state of disappointment while he roams the moors picking up stones with his tiny hammer.”
“Geology, Mother. He is a geologist. It’s a science. The hammer is his rock pick.” Before Petra left Somerton, she’d filched another book from Morwick’s library, in addition to Lord Thurston which lay tucked inside her trunk. The book had been taken on impulse. She’d only read the first few chapters of ‘Principles of Geology’ by Sir Charles Lydell, but already Petra thought herself more informed on the topic.
“How would you know about such a thing, Petra?” Mother clasped her hands, her eyes narrowed and accusatory.
Petra knew she must choose her words carefully, for Mother had a nose for indiscretion. “While you were ill, I visited the library at Somerton.” Technically not a lie as she did visit the library, she just happened to visit Morwick at the same time. “It was full of books on geology and minerals. Rocks. Lead. Mining. The structure of gritstone. There was very little else to choose from.” She didn’t dare mention the Lord Thurston book to Mother, who would most likely confiscate the novel immediately. “Since this is Simon’s home, I thought becoming more familiar with the subject of geology, I could be of greater assistance to him if we were to marry. I believe one of his bills before Parliament relates to the welfare of miners.”
Mother clapped her hands, pleased as punch and more than satisfied with Petra’s answer. “Brilliant, Petra. Now you are thinking like the politician’s wife you are meant to be.”
Petra felt more like a trained monkey than a future politician’s wife but she smiled back at her mother.
“At any rate, I pity Lady Cupps-Foster, for she’s constantly excusing Morwick’s behavior. It must be tiresome. I’m sure his manner is directly related to being raised without a proper male influence.”
Petra kept her tone polite and her expression bland. “I’m quite sure Lady Cupps-Foster would not care to have you pity her, Mother. And Morwick’s grandsire, the late Duke of Dunbar, would disagree with your assessment of Morwick’s upbringing. I understand he was involved.”
“His Grace fell short of the mark, in my opinion.” Mother straightened her purple skirts, puffing slightly, looking like an overfed orchid about to explode, regardless of having lived on broth for all of two days. “I understand Morwick’s brother is little better.”
“That’s rather unkind.” Mother was such a terrible gossip. “I don’t know Baron Kelso, and to the best of my knowledge, you don’t either. I’m not sure Lady Cupps-Foster, who has been so kind to us, would appreciate you disparaging her father, the duke, or her children. You may wish to recall the previous Duke of Dunbar also raised the current duke, whom you are related to by marriage. Do you think His Grace suffers from a proper male influence?”
Mother’s mouth pursed, the tiny hill forming at the top of her upper lip. “Your impudence has only gotten worse and I find such a manner intolerable. What has gotten into you? Questioning me in such a way?”
“Perhaps I’ve always been impudent, and you haven’t noticed. Imagine your disappointment were you to find out I am not as demure and obedient as you assume.”
Mother’s eyes blinked, shocked at Petra’s statement. She searched every line of Petra’s face, then her eyes ran over the bodice of her daughter’s dress, before flitting down her form, as if looking for something improper. Finding nothing, her lips slowly eased into a smile. Relaxing back into the squabs she tapped Petra playfully on the knee. “Shame on you for teasing me. I know you better than anyone. You’ve always been the most obedient of daughters and know what is expected of you, unlike others.” Mother’s eyes clouded and Petra surmised she was thinking of Rowan’s marriage to Arabella. “You are malleable.”
Petra bristled. What a horrible description. “Malleable? Do you see me as clay which you can form into whatever you wish?”
“A poor choice of words, my dear. Of course that isn’t what I meant. You are open to direction and guidance. Your willingness to further your future husband’s career is a perfect example. Reading books on a boring topic you can’t possibly hope to understand all in an effort to assist Simon speaks well of your character. The true hallmark of a good wife is her ability to be a helpmate to her husband and a mother to their children.”
Though she knew Mother meant her words as a compliment, it was difficult to be told her value only depended on her ability to support someone else.
“Lady Cupps-Foster was not in the least biddable and look where it has landed her,” Mother continued. “Her first marriage to Baron Kelso was to spite her father, the duke. And before you tell me I am gossiping, the good lady told me so herself.” Mother’s face took on a wistful gleam. “I remember Kelso quite well. I had just married your father and Kelso was known as one of the biggest rakes in the ton. Handsome. Dashing. Possessed of incredible wit. The barony is one of the oldest in England and very wealthy. Kelso died mysteriously while out and about in London with his cronies. Some speculated the old duke had had his son-in-law killed, for Kelso made no secret of being unfaithful to his wife. Lady Cupps-Foster was with child at the time. I’m told the current Baron Kelso, Lord Morwick’s brother, is cut from the same cloth as his sire.”
Mother clutched the squabs as the coach hit a pothole.
“Dear me, I do hope we don’t break another axle, although I suppose Lord Pendleton would come to our rescue this time. Lady Cupps-Foster’s second husband, the Earl of Morwick, was handsome as well, but possessed little more than his title and several struggling mines. The old duke disapproved of that marriage too, though Lady Cupps-Foster would not be dissuaded. Theirs was a love-match. Unfortunately the mines proved more profitable than the marriage. He disappeared rather suddenly.”
“You make it sound as if he left her by choice, Mother, which you know is not the case.”
Mother puffed her cheeks. “They have never found his body and there is some…gossip.” At Petra’s look, she swallowed. “Very well. Death by misadventure, we shall call it. While Lady Cupps-Foster felt terrible at Kelso’s death, Morwick’s devastated her. She wore black and didn’t appear in public for years. Everyone was surprised when she finally remarried. Lord Cupps-Foster was another husband cut from the same mold as Kelso. Handsome, wealthy, but known for his rash temper. He died in a duel six months after they were wed.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about Lady Cupps-Foster, and most of it’s conjecture and gossip.”
“I’ll have you know, Marissa told me these things herself. And yes, she asked me to call her by her Christian name. I had quite a bit of time on my hands while you were upstairs recovering. When I experienced the same stomach distress, she was beyond kind to me. Marissa,” Mother emphasized the name, “read to me and kept me company. You were nowhere to be found. Where had you gotten off to?”
I was climbing trees and getting kissed. Becoming impudent.
“The garden, Mother. I found a quiet bench where I could read.” Knowing she was destined to be subjected to her mother’s dramatics and possibly further suspicion, Petra said quickly, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.” She lowered her eyes, playing at contrition. “I only walked in the gardens and to the library. I’m sorry you weren’t informed.”
Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5 Page 9
