“Conceited and pompous are more accurate descriptions,” I muttered.
“Amelia, hush. He will hear us.” Clara laughed behind a gloved hand. “To think we’ve hardly been here a full day—”
“And already he irks me.” I stretched my neck, rubbing it between my hands. If Clara knew Peter was the man from the shop, she likely would not keep quiet about her opinion.
“If he really is so terrible, I do not want you to sacrifice for me,” Clara said in a firm voice.
“Come, ladies!” Sir Ronald called. “Shall we stop by the gardens before returning to the house?”
I pulled Clara close as we moved toward the group. “Nothing for you is a sacrifice. I can manage Mr. Wood.” Though even I was not convinced. Peter Wood was different than any other man I’d ever met. In everything he did, he gave too much. He was too bold, too aware. And entirely too handsome.
Chapter Six
Dressed for dinner, I tugged on my evening gloves and pinched my cheeks for a final touch of color. Clara had already descended to the drawing room after I insisted she not wait for Mary to finish my hair. The delicate curls she fashioned atop my head had taken longer than I’d wanted, and I hated to be late.
No one seemed to notice me slide in, condensed together as they were, conversing merrily in the center of the room. I kept to the side wall, searching for a view between heads. Surely Clara was in the middle of the group.
Crackling from the nearby hearth drew my attention, where Peter sat with his back toward me. My nerves ignited, pulsing through my body, when I realized Clara sat opposite him.
“Amelia.” Clara waved me over, a desperate look in her countenance.
Peter rose to greet me, bowing as I approached. His wavy hair was tamed, and I could smell the freshness of soap from his shaved jaw.
“Good evening, Miss Moore,” he said innocently.
“Mr. Wood.” I curtsied ever so slightly. “I see you have found my sister.”
“Georgiana admires her. I thought it only fitting that I come to know her better as well.”
Did he? That seemed an unlikely motive.
Clara looked questioningly to me, and I nodded toward Sir Ronald. With even the slightest of gestures, Clara could read my mind.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I think I will join Sir Ronald and see what all the men are laughing about just now.”
Once she had retreated, Peter relaxed, sinking into his chair like a thief giving up his mask.
“You seem a bit too interested in my sister. Perhaps you would be better suited to Miss Turnball.” I hovered over him, arms folded across my chest.
“Bratten has set his sights on her. Not that I disagree with you, though, about your sister. She is too sweet.”
“Right, you need someone as cunning and as overconfident as you.” The words slipped from my tongue like water flowing in a stream. Why could he not just leave Clara be?
Peter reared back slightly. “You are as brash as you are beautiful this evening, Amelia.”
I raised a hand to my neck, glancing around the room, though no one was in earshot of us. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
“Shall we go in, Ronald?” Lady Demsworth called from the settee.
“Of course, Mother.” The men stood, and without hesitation, Sir Ronald offered his arm to Clara.
“Well done,” Peter muttered under his breath. “She left me just in time. Georgiana could learn a thing or two by watching your sister.”
What was that supposed to mean? Did Peter believe that everyone schemed as he did? That he and Clara were compatible in their attempts? The thought was insulting.
I anticipated Peter would offer his arm to me, willed it almost, as it would give me a chance to reject him. But the words spoken were not his.
“Might I escort you inside, Miss Moore?” Lieutenant Rawles asked from behind.
