Peter gave a small bow that indicated she should speak first.
“It’s good to see you again, Peter,” she said. “I thought I imagined it until you were announced here this morning.”
“The soiree last night did have a dreamlike quality, didn’t it?” he answered. “It’s good to see you, too.”
To her dismay, the conversation faltered. There was much they needed to say to one another.
Opal bobbed a curtsy. “I’m afraid I must leave… I have friends waiting. We’re going to the Heath, perhaps take a walk to Parliament Hill. If you’re free, I’d love to have you join us.”
Peter looked uncomfortable, but he managed to set a rueful expression.
“Alas, I cannot, but I’m honored to be considered.”
She nodded her understanding and headed toward the door. Opal turned back.
“It’s good to have you home, Pete.”
And she meant it with all her heart.
Chapter Eleven
The horse sniffed the clear air of the woodlands ahead. A firm nod of his head indicated to his rider that he wanted to go faster.
Peter obliged, touching his heels to the horse’s flank in silent permission to canter. He, too, took a deep breath, filling his lungs with countryside air.
Seeing his chance, the horse headed toward a large meadow, a canter transforming into a gallop. Peter allowed his body to fall into the rhythmic gait.
He felt better today than he’d felt in more than a year now.
Many years now, if he was honest with himself.
He’d forgotten how much he appreciated Major Jones’ counsel both as a military man and as a father figure. There was no one else he could talk to about his inner turmoil. To have him understand and not condemn was a balm for the soul.
For the first time in years, he could speak about his father without the heavy weight of expectation on his shoulders. The conversation flowed freely thanks to the major’s very fine bottle of Indian Feni, a spirit made from fermented cashew apples. It wasn’t his habit to drink alcohol so early in the morning, but he could not refuse a toast to his late father.
Perhaps some of the candor fueled by liquor was what now brought him up here, where Opal said she would be. He surveyed the vista of shrubby landscape and woodlands where, through the thin trunks, he could see sunlight glinting off the ponds.
Acres and acres of untouched landscape, so unlike the rolling green fields of Berkshire.
He didn’t want to think that he came here to find Opal, but that would be a lie. He needed to speak to her about last night. Today, after speaking with her father, he finally had the vocabulary with which to do it.
He rode northwards toward Highgate before doubling back toward Kentish Town without catching sight of her or her party. Even then, Peter couldn’t bring himself to feel disappointment. He would see her again soon enough. He imagined that she still rode. If not, they could rent something and take a turn around Hyde Park or promenade through the Vauxhall Gardens.
Did she ever see the British Museum? They spoke of it on the voyage back to England. Perhaps she would like to see it with him.
The sun was on his back, urging him on and upwards to the highest point, Parliament Hill. He’d been told one could see the whole of London from that vantage point.
Opal set down her book and reclined against a wicker picnic basket. She watched Miles Rutherford stand behind and put his arms around Lady Amber Honeyfield, ostensibly to help hold the telescope to afford her a better view of the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and the Houses of Parliament.
Opal knew much better. She wished her friend the best of luck in his quest to win back his fiancée. The direction of Opal’s attention was noted by Oliver who raised a bottle of beer in her direction. She leaned forward to pick up a strawberry from the bowl before her before nodding in acknowledgement. It was wonderful to see Miles and Amber rebuild their relationship after such extraordinary events – the bride left at the altar, the groom discovered months later with “amnesia”, a ruthless criminal gang…
Still, that wasn’t the only romance in the air. Oliver had turned his eyes to Veronica, a pretty blonde woman who sat across from him with a sketchbook on her knee, capturing the view of London from their vantage point.
Veronica was naturally shy and far too easily dismissed as a wallflower because of it. But once you had gained her trust, she proved to be a witty and insightful friend. Opal hoped Oliver valued it, too.
The rest of their party had decided they’d had enough lounging in the sun. They were enjoying a walk through the woods and would meet them at The Spanish Inn.
Veronica turned over a page in her sketchbook and started a new sketch in earnest.
“What’s caught your attention, Verry?” Oliver asked.
“The man on the horse over there. You can’t see him clearly. He’s in silhouette on the ridge,” she said. “It’s just so striking. I have to capture the view before he disappears.”
“Well, you might impose on him to pose properly,” Oliver observed, “he seems to be coming this way.”
Opal might have ignored the interloper except there was something about the way the rider carried himself. Something familiar.
She picked up her book and used it to shade her eyes. The horse she did not recognize, but the rider…
The rider and mount stopped a dozen yards away.
Peter?
She straightened up.
“Peter?” she called out.
Veronica looked back at her with a frown. “Peter who?”
“You know, Verry, Peter,” said Oliver. “The Peter we’ve all heard about for years and years. See, I told you it wasn’t a figment of my imagination – we did meet him last night.”
The young woman’s face lit up. “Oooh! That Peter. I’m sorry I doubted you, Ollie. You must invite him over here now, Opal.”
It seemed Peter didn’t need any such instruction. He dismounted and approached their party.
“Forgive me for dropping in on your picnic unannounced,” he said. “My business concluded earlier than expected, and Opal mentioned you would be here.”
Oliver got to his feet and shook Peter by the hand.
“Do by all means join us. Amber? Miles? Come and meet Opal’s friend, Peter.”
Before Opal could begin to rise, Peter came forward and offered her his hands. She took them, his strong fingers closing over hers. She let him take her weight as she stood.
The powerful memory of their kiss on board the ship returned to her. She searched his eyes. Did he remember?
She had never forgotten.
Peter was subjected to friendly interrogation by the others. When had he arrived back in England? Where had he served? What were his plans in London? Did he intend to stay long?
He answered the questions politely but with little commitment.
Opal remained quiet. These were the questions she wanted answered and she felt cheated somehow by it not being her asking them.
This was her Peter, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to share him – even with her closest companions.
Was she foolish to be jealous? Peter was not an object to covet. He was a man with his own mind and his own life.
As she had been reminded all those years ago.
She bent down to pluck at a buttercup.
But she loved him, as much now as she did before he went away. At least she was reasonably sure she did. She knew the boy who became the youth. But how much did she know about the man? What had happened to him in India that turned him into a stranger?
He had slipped into convivial banter with Oliver and Miles. Obviously, as a soldier, he was comfortable in male company. But how did he relate to the fairer sex?
She glanced at Amber and Veronica in turn and instantly felt ashamed. They were her friends, not love rivals.
“What do you say, Opal? We could get Peter an invitation to Lady Basker’s party next Wednesday, could we not?”
Lady Baske
r and her two daughters.
Lady Basker and her two eligible daughters…
Those young women were known to sink their claws into any eligible bachelor for as long as they had coin lavished on them. There had been many a prospect left low in the water after falling foul of one or other of the Basker sisters.
Oh no, that would be a terrible idea.
Amber jumped in before Opal had a chance to draw breath.
“Oh, yes! That would be perfect. I can drop a note by Lady Basker’s house tomorrow. I know she was wanting an extra couple of gentlemen to make up numbers. What do you say, Opal?”
Bother!
Opal offered Peter a very exaggerated look of consideration.
“I don’t know… Captain Ravenshaw has spent considerable time abroad. His manners may not up to drawing room standards,” she said.
Damn it – the man gave her a roguishly handsome smile before standing to attention before her.
“Are you afraid I’ve ‘gone native’, Miss Jones? Perhaps if my manners need a polish, I need a teacher. Are you volunteering for the position?”
In that moment, there was no one else about but the two of them.
“I remember teaching you how to dance when you were eleven,” she said. “You had two left feet.”
“I remember you had an uncanny ability to get yourself lost. Perhaps I should volunteer to be your escort.”
“Are you quite sure? You might be familiar with elephants and tigers, but you will not have faced the danger of being a handsome bachelor in the den of predatory mothers and their she-wolf daughters.”
“So, I need a protector and you are volunteering for this dangerous assignment?”
She saluted him. “Private Jones, reporting for duty, sir.”
Chapter Twelve
Was that a flash of jealousy he saw in Opal’s eyes?
Peter set down his glass, feigning interest in the nonsensical dinner table prattle of the Honorable Miss Caroline Basker.
Little Opal knew that he was quite capable of observing two things at once. It was a survival skill honed in the highlands of India.
The temptation to continue to tease her was great. He gave into it and laughed at one of Caroline’s bon mots.
The more time he spent with Opal and her friends – the card parties, the at-homes, the rides in Hyde Park each day – the better he understood them. He liked the group and was pleased to have been so quickly adopted into their number. What had he learned?
Miles and Amber, sat opposite, were on a journey to repair their relationship after some kind of estrangement. Oliver and Veronica were both unattached. And although Oliver had been Opal’s escort to The Lyon’s Den, there didn’t seem to be a romantic attachment between them.
Peter suspected – or was it that he hoped? – that Opal remained steadfast in love for him. But was it the love of an adult woman, or a tendre of a young girl?
He considered his own feelings. He was no longer an impetuous youth, ready to race in where angels feared to tread.
Did he love her?
He wasn’t sure.
It would be easy to fall in love with her. She was beautiful, smart, charming – and she knew him. It was all too easy to imagine a future together. But there was too much water under the bridge for him to appeal to their shared history. If they were to have a future together, it would have to be built on the here and now.
Opal would have to learn to love the man he was now, with all his scars of mind and body.
Without question, he would have the better part of the bargain.
Love. As an army officer, he’d seen many a young man lose his head over a pretty girl, the calf-eyed fool declaring himself in love only to have his heart broken. Not that it was all one way. Outside his commander’s office, there would be the occasional girl looking for redress from a soldier who had broken her heart and worse, seeking provision for a baby on the way.
Love.
It had to be different from carnal desire. It had to be a foundation strong enough to last a lifetime.
Could that be the future for him and Opal? That’s what he had to find out.
He smiled at the thought.
Caroline Basker thought the smile was meant for her.
Unfortunately, so did Opal.
She excused herself stiffly and headed out of the French doors into the garden.
She seethed.
For an intelligent man, Peter Ravenshaw was the most ridiculous addlepated individual in all of Christendom.
Could he not see how false Caroline Basker’s flattery of him was and that her sister, Cecilia, was no better? What happened to the steady and reliable Peter?
“Are you going to remain out here alone all evening?”
Instead of making her laugh, Peter’s teasing fed her ire.
“I shouldn’t have expected my presence to be missed,” she replied, well aware of how peevish she was being.
“I missed you.”
She gritted her teeth. His silky voice sent shivers of delight through her. How dare he?
“Are you quite sure? It looked as though you were not lacking for company.”
He shrugged his shoulders. It was not the reaction she expected. The merriment in his expression vanished and he became serious.
Another shiver went through her. This one was not pleasant.
“Things are different, Opal. Six years may seem like no time at all considering how long we’ve known one another, but it does change people. We can’t possibly go back to the way things were between us in India.”
She closed her eyes and turned away. She could not look at him and still keep her heart and her dignity together.
“My feelings for you have remained unchanged,” she whispered.
She sensed his hesitation; willed him to take her into his arms. But he did not. The silence continued several beats more before he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Your feelings are for someone you used to know, not for the man I am now.”
“And you will deny me the chance to know him?”
Peter drew breath as if to say something but then hesitated.
Opal turned to him and made sure she could see his face. If this was to be a rejection, she wanted to see the truth of it in his eyes before she would believe him. His blue eyes glittered like quicksilver in the moonlight. They showed her uncertainty mixed with desire.
He shook his head.
“You are the dearest, most exasperating woman I know. You have never shied away from asking direct questions.”
“If nothing else, you concede we had honesty between us. Then will you be clear and honest with me now?”
“It’s the very least I can do.”
“Do you care for me in a manner beyond that of friendship?”
Again, there was another pause.
“I cannot say.”
Opal stiffened her back.
“Then I can see little that is fruitful in continuing this conversation. Good evening, Captain Ravenshaw.”
She hurried up the steps but took one last glance back to the garden. Peter stood there alone, his head bowed, a lonely figure in the dark.
Her heart broke anew.
In her dream, Opal’s feet ached as she pressed on. She called after Peter again. He didn’t stop, didn’t hear her. He continued down the corridor. She pleaded with him to wait for her.
The distance between them grew.
From somewhere within, she pushed through the molasses she felt she waded through. Every part of her body ached, but at least she came closer. Even though her arms felt like lead, Opal was able to raise a hand and drop it heavily on Peter’s shoulder.
He stopped.
Thank goodness!
She panted with the exertion of catching up with him. He turned. But where his face ought to be was nothing.
She screamed.
When she awoke the next morning, the nightmare was only half-remembered, but just enough to leaving her feel uneasy. Pete
r, her first love, her only love had returned. To all appearances, he was the same person she had always known, and yet somehow not.
Even a trip to the dressmaker for the final fitting of her new ballgown wasn’t enough to completely lift her mood.
She had heard whispers about the remarkable service Mrs. Dove-Lyon had done for women deemed unmarriageable. Might she possibly do the same for her?
Chapter Thirteen
The Lyon’s Den was an unprepossessing place by day. In fact, the building looked blank and ordinary. That had not been her impression during the fundraising ball for war veterans when it had seemed mysterious and exciting. She exited the hired hansom cab and adjusted the veil over her face as she looked around the busy street.
Despite the fact her face was covered, no one paid her any special attention. They went about their own business more concerned with their own doings.
Opal glanced at the grand entrance to the building, the stairs flanked by two stone lions. She made her way toward them before she could change her mind.
As soon as she reached the landing, a footman – a rough-looking character with close-cropped red hair and a pockmarked face – made an intimidating appearance.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t come in here.” His manner was no less firm for the polite delivery of it. He stood in the entrance, legs aside like a Colossus, ready to bar her physically if need be. Then he dropped his voice slightly. “You’ll find the ladies’ entrance just around the corner.”
She murmured her thanks and hastened down the stairs, past an unusual jeweler store called The Dragon’s Hoard. She stood at the window momentarily, pretending an interest in the display of jeweled brooches, to gather her courage before she found the smaller entrance she’d been directed to.
Opal paused in the main salon, looking for an attendant to direct her to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
If there was little to recommend the outside of The Lyon’s Den during the day, the inside was even more desultory. What seemed luxurious and glamorous when lit by lamps and chandeliers came across in the daylight as a tacky stage set.
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