Margery, in the process of adding a splash of milk to some tea, blinked at him, which caused considerably more milk to be added if her horrified expression was anything to go by.
“Oh, Mr. Nesbitt, I am so very sorry. Here, let me prepare you another cup.”
“No need,” Quincy said with a smile. “I was actually hoping for a bit more milk today.” He took the cup, casting Peter a hooded look.
It took Margery a moment to regain her calm demeanor. “Let’s see,” she fretted, looking at the tea tray. “Oh! Peter, of course I can give you a glass of lemonade.”
Peter accepted the glass she offered him, refusing to look Redburn’s way as he did so. Despite his determination, however, he could not keep from glancing at Lenora. Her face was impassive, a blank mask. But there was something deep in the pale green of her eyes, an emotion he couldn’t fathom.
Conversation turned to innocuous things, the weather, the quality of Miss Peacham’s biscuits at the Beakhead Tea Room versus the ones made by Lady Tesh’s own cook, the assembly ball that evening that they all expected to attend.
At the next lull in conversation, Lady Tesh, who had been silent until then, spoke up. “Have you decided when to return to the cliffs? It’s the final painting I require for my records, you know.”
“Yes, we know,” Margery said with the patience she had used in fielding the very same question for days now. “But Lenora is not ready to draw.”
“And when will she be ready?”
Peter chanced a glance at Lenora. She had fallen silent at Lady Tesh’s question. While the other women talked about her as if she were not there, she gave no indication of having heard them.
Save for the slight tightening of her lips, the convulsion of her fingers on her untouched glass. In a flash, he remembered the frustration on her face as she’d struggled at the cliffs to draw, her unexpected failure to sketch anything. He’d been unable to stand by silently and do nothing then, though she had not appreciated his concern in the slightest. He could not stand by now.
“She will return to the cliffs when she’s good and ready to,” Peter growled.
That seemed to break her from the fog she was in. She looked at him fully, for what felt like the first time in over a week.
Oh, she had glanced at him, her lovely green eyes with that maddening fringe of thick lashes skimming over him like a ladle taking the thick cream from the top of a bucket of fresh milk.
But she had not allowed her eyes to settle on him, to take him in. No, the last time she’d done that, she’d been begging him to understand about Redburn, claiming he was not of her choosing. Asking Peter if he’d had a near miss with her.
He’d been a fool, a damn fool, for turning away from her.
He took a deep draft of his lemonade, trying to shock the ridiculous regret back into the ether where it belonged. Redburn was her match in every way. He would give her the life she deserved.
But did he understand her? Would he make her happy? For the first time, doubt settled in Peter’s gut. And all over a damn glass of lemonade. It was an overreaction on his part, surely. The two had been nothing but pleasant with one another over the past week, to the point that Peter had been nearly physically ill watching it. One small disagreement did not indicate their future unhappiness.
Mundane talk buzzed about him for a time. It was interrupted by the butler entering.
“Lady Clara and Lady Phoebe are here to see you, my lady.”
The two women sailed into the room, their faces wreathed in smiles as Peter, Quincy, and Redburn rose from their seats.
“My dears,” Lady Tesh said with a wide smile, “what a splendid surprise. Is your father feeling better today then?”
“He is, thank God,” Lady Clara replied. Just then her gaze snagged on Quincy and her steps faltered. With seeming effort, she tore it away, turning a bright smile on the rest of them.
“When he ordered us out of the house, we could not think of a better place to come than here,” Lady Phoebe chirped happily, moving forward to kiss Lady Tesh’s cheek.
The two sisters headed for seats. Suddenly Quincy lurched away from his chair next to Peter. “Here’s a fine seat, Lady Clara.”
The woman appeared startled by the offer. Coloring, she nodded her thanks and moved to the chair in question. “And how are you, Aunt?” she asked as she sat. “You seem well.”
“How can I not be well, when I have such company to keep me young?”
Happy greetings commenced. Finally they came to Peter.
“Cousin,” Lady Clara said warmly, “it’s good to see you.”
Peter grunted a response, turning back to his drink in the hopes they would leave him in peace.
