Peter raised his brows. His brother had been keeping tabs on the young woman at the request of her brother, Lord Westerley. Likely, there was a good deal more to that story than his mother knew.
“Ah. Well then. I suppose I won’t have to endure the night of carousing that he’s promised me.” Which was just as well. “Drinking and brothels—"
“I’ve no need to hear such details.” His mother made a face and Peter chuckled.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother, Rosa beckons from the music room.” Although not as persistently as normal, having been quieted some by sensual recollections of the night before. Even so, he needed to perfect the pieces Sir Bickford-Crowden expected him to know when he arrived.
And besides the ever-present need to practice, it was perhaps best that he spent as little time as possible alone with his mother. She had an uncanny ability to extract information he had no intention of sharing—private information. And he wouldn’t put it past her to do that this morning.
“I’m going to miss you, my love. Perhaps your father and I can travel down to Brighton for a few weeks after the Season ends.”
A lump formed in his throat at the reminder. He wasn’t leaving London to get away from his family. He was leaving because he needed to be better. It was that part of the “more” he sought. He’d not entered the church or the army as many second and third sons did. At the very least, he wanted to prove that his decision to pursue music had been the right one.
“I’m not sure I’ll have time to spare, but I imagine even Sir Bickford-Crowden must allow his apprentices time to eat.” He grinned.
“Of course, he will. And, Peter?” She stopped him again.
“Yes, Mother?”
“Give Lady Starling my best if you see her again.” A gleam sparkled in his mother’s eyes. “And tell her I’d love her to come for tea when she has a free afternoon.” She lowered her cup back to the saucer. In less than two minutes, his mother had sniffed out his interest in the widow.
This, he reminded himself, was why he would take Miranda to a hotel.
* * *
“Mr. Spencer.”
Peter turned from the window in the elegantly furnished drawing room, having waited nearly half an hour for Miranda to appear.
“I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up.” He all but drank her in with his gaze. The wait had been well worth it. Auburn curls peeked out from beneath a jaunty hat that was more decorative than functional. And today she wore a periwinkle muslin gown, decorated with emerald embroidered stitches that, although tiny, managed to complement her eyes.
Some of the darkness he’d felt from her was absent today. She appeared fresh, lovely, and innocent-looking.
“I considered it.” She licked her lips. “I can’t think Lady Ravensdale is going to approve.”
“Well, you are wrong on that count. Incidentally, she wants to take tea with you sometime in the near future.” He didn’t need to add after he was gone. “She’ll send a missive over to arrange it. My mother likes you, you know.”
“She’s in the minority then.” But he could tell that she believed him, and that knowing such a small thing gave her pleasure. “Should I bring a wrap?”
“Only if you wish to show it off. You’ll be plenty warm without one.” He found it difficult to grasp the fact that he had been inside this pristine-looking lady not quite twenty-four hours ago. He knew her intimately and yet he didn’t know her at all.
“Very well.” Her cheeks were flushed from his mention of his mother, and her lace gloves had her almost looking like a debutante.
“You are stunning,” he told her because it was true. Because she deserved to know he appreciated the efforts she’d taken.
“Thank you.” She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Shall we go then?”
Peter took one of her hands in his. He doubted his presence was the reason for her nervousness. It likely had something to do with his family. Her affair with Chaswick had been public knowledge, but Chase had been a known rake, a rogue. Carrying on like that had practically been expected of him.
Peter… was none of those things.
And as much as he’d like to deny it, his family’s influence in London had grown to almost epic proportions. His drive with the infamous Lady Starling in the park would indubitably be mentioned in theGazette. But most Mayfair residents would learn of it first from their neighbors.
If his vehicle was seen parked outside of her townhouse, he’d never hear the end of it. He simply wanted to be alone with her. He wanted toknow her.
“It’s positively fantastic!” She stared up at his curricle and then sent him a dazzling smile. He’d not seen her smile like that before, and the effect nearly had him stumbling backward. “Do you race it?”
“I used to.” He assisted her up before walking around and climbing aboard from the opposite side. Rather than have Michaels, his groom, ride on the back, Peter had instructed him to meet him at Mivart’s. That way, he wouldn’t need to park it in their mews. Peter trusted Michaels implicitly. Their privacy would be assured.
