“For what?” he asked, slowing his pace. He looked alarmed, as though I might break. And I felt as though I might.
“For hearing me.” I could not contain my emotions. It was so silly, how one small choice influenced me. I rarely cried, and when I did, it was in private. Absolutely not in front of Peter Wood.
Peter stopped, calming Winter before lifting my chin with a finger. He hesitated, and an energy pulsed between us. “Of course I heard you. How could I not pay attention to you, Amelia?”
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, steadying my breath. “That’s not what I mean. You listened when no one else did. You tried when no one else would. You can’t know what that means to me.”
Peter thumbed away a traitorous tear from my cheek. “I am glad to hear it then. Only please stop crying. I cannot bear to see your tears. You’ve just saved this colt’s life; you should be happy.”
“I am,” I said weakly. “I fear I am feeling quite a lot of emotions right now.”
“Come,” he said, wrapping the lead around his hand. “You need to rest before our afternoon together. You still owe me, remember?”
I should have cringed at the reminder, but instead my body calmed. It was an odd feeling that radiated through me, overtaking the rush of shock. For once, I did not feel foolish in Peter’s company. On the contrary, I felt seen. Seen and accepted.
Peter let Winter set the pace, and we followed along, unrushed. The wind blew through Peter’s hair, and his eyes were more gray under the clouds than green. He had not shaved, nor had he bothered to button his coat, under which he wore a thin nightshirt dampened by rain. It clung to his chest, and I blushed to have been so near him only moments ago and yet so unaware.
When Summer saw Winter again, she nearly broke through her stall to get to him. Peter placed Winter with his mother, who embraced him for a moment with her nuzzled head and neck before pushing him under her to eat.
I held myself perfectly still, taking calming breaths through my nose to keep from crying, though Peter eyed me knowingly. He laced my arm through his, pulling me close, and said nothing as he led me to the house through a drizzle of rain.
This was not the same Peter who hurt Clara with his scheming and attempted to drive a wedge between her and Sir Ronald. This man was real, genuine. My foggy mind could not find the anger and irritation that had so comfortably dwelled there. Instead, I leaned into Peter’s arm, letting him bear the weight I struggled to carry. Judging from his small smile, he did not seem to mind.
We entered through the servants’ quarters to avoid questioning. Peter was in no mood to relay the event, nor was I. He looked exhausted, as I was sure all the men were from such an early, stressful morning.
At the top of the stairs, he released me. As I walked to my room, I had the oddest desire to glance over my shoulder. My legs were weary, my eyes heavy, but my heart for some reason was alive.
I opened my door as another one closed down the hall. I hadn’t realized Peter was staying so close.
“Miss Moore, thank heavens you’re safe.” Mary pressed her hands to her chest, voice thick with anxiety. “The house has been in fits with you being out with the men this morning. When Sir Ronald burst through the door of the drawing room to tell the story of you saving that colt, Lady Demsworth liked to have had an attack. If anything had happened—”
“Mary.” I cut her off, peeling off my damp pelisse and mucky slippers. My arms were suddenly shaking, my hands trembling as though my body knew it could finally rest.
“You know that a lady ought not to interfere—”
“Mary.”
Mary’s eyes fell, and my shoulders sank. I had not meant to scold her. There was silence save for the water dripping from my skirts.
I sighed, exhausted. “Forgive me. I know you mean well, and I am sure I have caused you quite the fright. But Idearlyneed a bath.”
Mary smiled her motherly smile, though she was hardly older than I, and nodded. “Of course, miss. Never mind my prattle. A bath it is, and a bath you rightly deserve.”
“Amelia!” Clara burst through the door and rushed to my side. “Are you hurt? Your dress! It is ruined.” Her words were as near a reprimand as any I’d heard from her, yet still as gentle as ever. “What were you thinking going out alone? What would I have done if something had happened to you?”
“I had to help.” I shrugged, and she pulled me into an embrace.
“So I’ve been told. Sir Ronald is very grateful.” Clara drew back with a scrunched nose. “You are sopping wet.”
“Indeed. How are you, sister?”
“Well enough, though being locked inside has been miserable. I cannot bear Georgiana in the same room for more than a half hour. I fear she is more irksome than her brother.” Clara frowned and rubbed my arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Do not worry over me. I shall join you downstairs soon.” I tried to nudge her toward the door.
“Take your time to rest and recover,” Clara said as I closed the door behind her. After days of oversleeping, this one morning had drained my energy entirely.
Within the hour, Mary had a tub filled with warm water, and every muscle in my body sighed as I fell into it. I was still as tense as if I’d run for miles. I breathed in the freshly cut lavender leaves floating around me, soaked in the water, and let myself relax, closing my eyes and emptying my mind.
