“Mama,” he said softly as he dropped onto the divan next to her. “Why are you inside? Do you not wish to go out and mingle with the others?”
“I was hoping to speak with you,” she replied.
Peter twisted slightly so that he could look her fully in the face. Her eyes were not sparkling with delight the way they had been earlier in the week, and her hair, instead of being twisted and curled into a fashionable style, was tucked underneath a simple gray cap.
She looked better than she had during his childhood, but her features were currently lacking some of the joy she had exhibited earlier this week.
He did not blame her for looking a bit haggard. He was exhausted, too. After watching Lavinia steal out of his room last night, he had stayed awake for hours, hoping that she would return. When she did not, he eventually closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into a world where he dreamed of her sweet lips and gasping sighs.
“Peter…” His mother sat up straighter and made a show of adjusting her cap.
“Yes, Mama?”
“I would like to speak to you about something important.”
“Of course.” He chased away memories of Lavinia’s face and focused fully on his mother. “What weighs on your mind?”
“This week, I have been approached by many people… many who have been curious about your situation.”
“My situation?” Peter’s eyebrows lifted faintly.
“There are rumors about your affairs, of course,” she said hurriedly, “but there are also those who wish to know if you have given up your rakish ways and are ready to settle down and take a wife.”
Peter thought of his former mistress, Lady Isabelle Overstreet. She had pierced a piece of his soul when she walked out of his life, but this week, when he had spent time with Miss Fitzroy, he had not been so bothered by her absence.
Does that mean I want to get married?
“I think you and your friends have gotten the wrong impression, Mama,” he said gently. “I attended this house party because you and Madeline… well, you both schemed to get me here and?—”
“But you have enjoyed yourself, thus far?” his mother interrupted. She lifted her hand and tapped his chin. “I have seen you smiling these last few days, Son. I know that you have found some source of happiness.”
“I have made the best of the situation,” Peter corrected her. “But that does not mean I wish to take a wife and endure events like this regularly.”
His mother’s hand returned to her lap, and she laced her fingers together. She avoided his gaze when she added, “You know that you are free to marry any lady you like. If she should be someone who catches your eye this week, so much the better.”
Peter scoffed. “Stop pushing, Mother. I have made my position clear on this subject.”
“Very well,” she sighed. “If you wish to remain a bachelor all your days, I will not press the issue. But I hope your opinionof marriage will not keep you from doing what is right by your sister.”
“Madeline?” Peter frowned. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“Your sister is one-and-twenty. She has never spent a Season in London, but that will mean nothing if you can help her secure a suitable match.” She nodded toward the window.
Just outside, a couple was strolling through the lawn, talking to one another animatedly.
“I trust that you will choose wisely, Peter. After all, your choice of her future husband could be advantageous for our family,” she said, her tone so bland that Peter was forced to look at her to see what she meant.
“And did you think your brother picked the right man for you to marry?” he asked.
His mother tensed at the mention of his late father. Peter saw disappointment flash in her eyes. However, he remained unapologetic. He stood by what he said.
“My brother made a mistake,” his mother replied.
“One that haunts all of us to this day,” he snapped.
His mother’s shoulders slumped. “You will do better, Peter. For yourself and for your sister. I am sure that if you set your mind to making a match, you will not fail.”
Peter opened his mouth to argue and remind his mother that he never meant to marry, but his words evaporated before they left his mouth.
