Margery, usually so placid, so calm, was quickly working herself into a furor. Lenora placed an arm about her friend’s waist, giving her a comforting squeeze. “You silly thing. There’s nothing to regret. And you were not the only one in her cups that day.”
“But I should have had the clearer head. You’ve spent years avoiding any mention of Hillram. Then to go to the one place you can’t help but think of him? And it’s all my doing.” She made an agitated sound in her throat. “And now this thing with Mr. Ashford. What if facing your memories of Hillram has left your heart open? I would be happy for you if you fell in love with someone, of course. There’s nothing I want more than your happiness. But Mr. Ashford doesn’t mean to stay. And if you fall in love with him, and he leaves at the end of his month, it will break your heart.” She looked at Lenora then, her eyes brimming with misery. “You’ve suffered so much already. I’ll never forgive myself if that happens.”
Lenora was silent, stunned, Margery’s fears so closely mirroring her own. And if Margery had so quickly seen inside her heart, then Lenora was beyond being in mere danger from Peter.
She was already in love with him, completely and totally.
As if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she saw the truth in all its clarity. And she wondered how she had ever fooled herself into thinking she could prevent it. The future stretched out before her then, colorless and bleak. But though she might not be able to escape it, she refused to allow Margery a minute of guilt over it.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from her friend, she rested her cheek against Margery’s shoulder, the better to avoid her anxious gaze. “Have no fear on that score,” she murmured. “For my heart is no way in danger.” And as she looked out on the landscape with weary eyes, she prayed for forgiveness for lying—once more—to someone who loved her so well. Though it seemed divine grace had been lost to her long ago.
Chapter 16
Peter stared hard at his reflection. “I want my damn boots,” he growled.
Quincy looked up from adjusting his cuff and raised an inky brow. “Even you in all your stubbornness must know that you can’t wear boots to a ball.”
“Butpumps, Quincy?” He pointed down to his feet in disgust. “Truly? And these pantaloons. I’ve never worn pants so tight. Are you certain the tailor didn’t cut them too small? I wouldn’t put it past the man to have shorted us on material to save some money.”
His friend did laugh at that, though it was accompanied by a roll of the eyes that told Peter more than words that he was being an unmitigated ass about the whole ordeal. “Trust me,” he drawled as he came to stand beside Peter, “you look perfect for an evening out.”
StillPeter was not convinced. Especially as he looked on his and Quincy’s reflections side by side. His friend was all lean muscle, and the snug evening wear fit his form perfectly. From the deep blue of his tailcoat to the tight white of his pantaloons, to the glint of the gold chain watch fob at his waist, the man looked every inch a London rake.
Peter, on the other hand, looked as awkward as he felt. The stark black of his coat and pants did nothing to hide the fact that he looked ridiculous. He was too large, too rough. Even with his beard trimmed neatly, his hair brushed and tied back in a queue, there was nothing debonair or elegant about him. He looked like the imposter he was.
Tugging at the edges of his coat, trying with all his might to keep his fingers from the intricate knot of his cravat, he turned from the sight. “Well, I hope Lady Tesh appreciates my efforts at least.”
“I’m sure she will, old man.” Quincy retrieved their gloves from the dressing table, handing Peter his before tugging on his own. “Now, shall we?”
Fighting the urge to look back one more time on the horror that was his reflection, Peter straightened his shoulders and stormed from the room. He may as well get it over with. And if his steps were a bit too quick, he would certainly not attribute it to wanting to see Lenora. He may not be the smartest man, but he wasn’t stupid enough to pine for a woman who he would never allow to be more than his dead cousin’s former fiancée.
Despite this, however, he found himself scanning the front hall as he descended the stairs. Lenora wasn’t there. His fury toward himself for noticing her absence doubled as disappointment surged in him. He was a stupid arse.
“My goodness, Peter,” Lady Tesh called out as he made his way to her, “I cannot believe the change in you. I would hardly know you if I saw you on the street. Though,” she continued with a touch of sarcasm, “I do believe that scowl would reveal your identity right away. Do try not to scare all of the young ladies tonight.”
“I’ve forced myself into this ridiculous costume,” he gritted, “and am attending the event against my will. I refuse to pretend to be happy for your amusement.”
“You look as beautiful as ever, my lady,” Quincy said with a bow. “And Mrs. Kitteridge, that color of amethyst on you is stunning. But where is our fair Miss Hartley?”
“She’ll be down momentarily,” Mrs. Kitteridge said. Was it Peter, or did the woman give him a worried glance?
Surely she didn’t know what had transpired between him and Lenora. Though perhaps she did, for the women were thick as thieves.
In the next moment, however, that suspicion was laid to rest. Her face smoothed to its typical calm, a small smile lifting her lips. “And my grandmother is right; you look very handsome tonight.”
He inclined his head, his face heating. His fingers twitched, itching to tear at his cravat.Just get through the night.Surely one ball wasn’t going to kill him.
Though that may be a distinct possibility, he thought as he spied Lenora on the staircase.
He had done his best to keep his distance from her over the past three days. And so it only hit him harder, spying her for the first time in her finery. She was stunning. Gone were the stiff flounces and overly embroidered hems, and in their place was a vibrant orange gown that fell in delicate folds to the floor. The skirt was split, revealing a creamy satin underskirt that flashed and flirted as she made her way down the stairs. Cream-colored ribbon adorned the small puffed sleeves and the low curve of her bodice.
It was simplicity, and elegance, and a touch of innocence. Undeniably and completely Lenora.
She hurried to Lady Tesh’s side. “I’m sorry I’m late, Gran,” she said as she gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek.
“Nonsense,” the viscountess said, patting her arm, “for we’ve just been joined by Peter and Mr. Nesbitt. But you are a vision, child. That gown is becoming on you. Peter,” she said, startling him, “don’t you think our Lenora is lovely?”
Lenora had not looked his way once since her arrival. He should simply grunt an answer and turn away.
