And it was obvious that he wasn’t beingasked; he was beingtold. If he passed this opportunity up, nothing like it would ever come again.
He would be relegated to playing in London occasionally, for his mother’s friends at their balls, at the occasional society benefit. But he would have essentially already peaked in his field. He’d have drawn the disapproval of the most lauded man in the international music community.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
Waiting
“Welcome home, Mr. Peter! We didn’t expect you’d make the trip. Nasty weather. I wouldn’t plan on making it to Raven’s Park by Christmas this year, not unless this storm lets up overnight.” Mr. Thomas, his parents’ butler at Burtis Hall, pushed the door closed behind Peter, silencing the blistering wind and swirling snow.
Nothing short of a blizzard at least ten times this violent would have kept him from making it back to London in time for Christmas Eve, even though the journey had already taken him three times as long as it ought to have.
But he had made it with time to spare and not lost a single appendage to frostbite.
Today was the twenty-third. He would purchase a ring and flowers for her tomorrow morning before checking into the hotel and settling in for what he hoped wouldn’t turn out to be the greatest disappointment of his life.
“I do believe there must be three feet of the white stuff outside.” He was exaggerating, but the butler merely laughed with a twinkle in his eyes as Peter handed over his scarf, hat, and gloves.
“Four at the very least,” Mr. Thomas responded. “Of course, you’ll be wanting hot tea after you’ve changed out of those wet garments. I’ll have a fire burning in the drawing-room before you can whistle your favorite carol.”
Peter smiled gratefully before turning to climb the stairway to the main part of the house. The manor felt unusually quiet; most of his family and all but a skeletal staff would be spending the holidays in the country, at Raven’s Park.
He wasn’t worried about telling his parents of his decision to marry Miranda. His father might have a few questions, but where push came to shove, he’d never failed to support his children when they’d made less than conventional choices.
By God, they’d hardly blinked when his oldest brother, Rome, married a woman who’d spent most of her adult life working as a lady’s maid, nor when his youngest brother married after barely reaching his majority. And his father had encouraged Natalie to marry Hawthorne, despite discovering that the man’s deceased father had been a murderer.
Other gentlemen might happily leave their families to travel to exotic places and see the world, but Peter had realized he was content to be the favorite uncle to his nieces and nephews, a friend to his brothers and sisters and their spouses, and a comfort to his parents.
Life was too short to live far from the people who loved you.
Miranda would gain his entire family when they married.
He stepped into his familiar chamber, which had been dusted in preparation for his return home, but did not remove his jacket right away. Instead, he moved across the room to stare out the window.
Would she be there? For seven months, he’d wondered. He’d wavered between fearing the worst and imagining a future with the woman who, he truly believed, was destined for him.
Peter’s gut clenched. Even if Miranda did not meet him at the hotel as he’d hoped, as he wished for with all of his heart, he’d find a way to make her his. If she didn’t want him, he was going to need to hear it from her own lips.
She had been correct in that they’d barely had a chance to know one another but not in that he did not, in truth,knowher. Because he did. In every way that mattered. He knew her heart, her soul, her needs, and her dreams. He knew them, he dared to think, almost better than she did.
Because she’d given him a glimpse into her soul, into her heart.
And then he’d handed over his.
He only hoped she was brave enough to keep it. And that she could trust him enough to give him hers in return.
* * *
“No one else has checked in.But the room has been prepared, just as you requested, Mr. Spencer.” The hotelier handed Peter the familiar key. It was early yet, barely four in the afternoon. She wouldn’t have come yet.
And the weather, he was certain, wouldn’t be enough to keep her away either. Meeting the love of your life after several months’ absence was not the sort of decision a person put off because of a few snowflakes.
“My thanks.” Peter removed his hat before climbing the stairs, noticing the oddly familiar paintings in the corridor as well as the scent of lemon oil and wax hovering in the air.
For an instant, recollections replaced anticipation and nervousness.
The door opened easily, and as he stepped inside, memories rose up to taunt him. All the doubts he’d done his best to dismiss assaulted him in that moment, weakening his knees and settling a queasy feeling in his gut.
In the corner, the tray he’d ordered awaited him. Meats, cheese, fruits, pickled vegetables, and bread along with a bottle of champagne sat ready to be consumed in celebration.
