“People who are in love,” Madeline snapped.
Their mother’s response was much calmer.
“The Fitzroys are one of the few people I have grown fond of while living in Arlington,” she said. “They are good people, Peter. Besides, an anniversary party? I believe that is the most romantic thing I have heard of in my entire life.”
Peter huffed, exasperated.
“Also, I believe their daughter has not married yet. Perhaps you could get acquainted with her,” his mother suggested. “She is a lovely girl.”
“Mama, no!” Madeline screeched. She had been angry with Peter before; that much was true. But now, when she spoke, her eyes blazed with fury. “You cannot doom Lavinia to a life with Peter. He will not be a good husband to her. He is incapable of loving anyone other than himself.”
Peter shook his head slowly. His little sister did not understand him at all.
“I do not plan to marry, Mother. Not now, and perhaps not ever,” he muttered in a stern but quiet voice.
He was about to say more, to explain why he could not see himself settling down with any woman, when the carriage slowed.
They arrived at Crawford Hall right before dinner.
Peter had not spent much time in Arlington. As Madeline had mentioned, he seldom visited, and when he did, he only stayed for a handful of days. But when the carriage stopped in the drive, and the footmen began to unload their luggage, Peter took the chance to admire the place.
Crawford Hall was a gigantic fortress. It was made of massive slabs of stone that even in the afternoon light looked dark gray and imposing. Tall turrets reached high into the sky. Near the center of the structure, there was a large bit of masonry work. Peter squinted up at it.
Ah, the Crawford coat of arms.
He could not see the words, which he presumed were in Latin, traced around the shield, but he admired the craftsmanship, nonetheless.
He meant to stand there a bit longer, simply admiring the verdant lawn and the spectacular wooden doorway, but his mother tugged at his sleeve, indicating they should go inside.
They were immediately escorted to the door, through a hallway, and into the drawing room, where the Fitzroys awaited them.
“Henrietta!” a woman with wispy brown hair and a wide smile exclaimed in greeting.
Even though Peter had not been introduced to their hosts yet, he assumed this was Lady Crawford, since she greeted his mother with such warmth.
“It’s so delightful to have you back.” A gentleman strode forward next. He wore a waistcoat that perfectly matched Lady Crawford’s gown, so Peter quickly figured that this was the Baron Crawford.
Lord Crawford bowed his head and gave a smile.
“You look lovely, Lady Madeline,” Lady Crawford said.
“I could, and I will, say the same for you, Lady Crawford,” Madeline replied. Her light brown eyes twinkled merrily. “One would think you got married just yesterday rather than twenty-five years ago.”
“Ho-ho!” Lord Crawford let out a bellowing laugh. The sound reminded Peter vaguely of bagpipes being tuned. “You are a sweet young lady, Lady Madeline. We are so pleased to have you here.”
The Dowager Duchess leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I do hope you did not delay dinner on our account.”
“Yes,” Madeline said as she tossed a cold look over her shoulder at Peter. “We did not mean to be late. It is only that Peter was dragging his feet.”
Lady Crawford blinked at him. Her eyes, which were a nice, soft blue shade, flickered with concern. “Are you unwell, Your Grace? Should you perhaps have stayed at the cottage?” She gave his mother a horrified look. “I would hate to think that His Grace carried dreadful miasmas with him all the way from London.”
She backed away a step, putting plenty of distance between the two parties.
“Lady Crawford,” Peter uttered in a low voice, “I feel perfectly fit. I am here now and am pleased that you chose to invite me to your party.”
It cost him a little something to craft such a beautiful lie. There were dozens of places he would rather be at that moment than standing in Lord and Lady Crawford’s home. But when he looked at the beatific smile on his mother’s face, he knew he could not leave. He must stay the week and make the very best of this party.
“You are most welcome, Your Grace.” This time, it was Lord Crawford who spoke. “We have heard so much about you, and I admit that I am relieved to finally meet you in person.”
