Mary let me soak for an hour before returning to help me into a peach-colored muslin dress. She had lit a fire in the hearth to dry my wet clothes and slippers. A tray of meats, cheese, and raspberries, paired with tea sat upon a small table.
I ate in silence, staring out my window at the afternoon sun drying the grass. How very unlike me to interfere in the matters of men. Would Lady Demsworth be angry with me for not only refusing to leave when Sir Ronald asked but also further demanding he oblige me? I did not regret my actions, but I could not bear to have Clara suffer for them.
I pulled on my boots and descended the grand staircase. I needed to see Lady Demsworth. I needed to know how she felt about this morning.
I heard voices from a room toward the back of the house. Instinctively, I followed the sound through an open door into the library. Bookshelves lined the walls and reached nearly to the ceiling. The ladies mingled with the men in close quarters throughout the room.
“Miss Moore!” Lady Demsworth flew across the room, encapsulating me in a suffocating embrace. “You dear, dear girl! I confess I did not even know you’d gone, but Ronald told me everything, and I am without words. What kind of hosts are we to have subjected you to such terrible circumstances?”
“The fault was mine entirely.” I drew back, and she loosened her hold. “Forgive me for interfering without permission. I had ridden Summer a few days ago and was quite taken with her. I could not bear to subject her to sorrow without doing something to help.”
Lady Demsworth squeezed my shoulders. “We are indebted to you, Miss Moore. Absolutely indebted. Summer is mine, and I thought I could love no horse greater until I met her colt.”
“I am glad I was able to be there at the right time.” I had not really done anything worth praising. I’d been most unladylike stealing Summer and riding her bareback in my morning dress, not to mention raising my voice at the man of the house and demanding the attention of four very capable men.
Lady Demsworth leaned closer, and I tilted my head. “I meant what I said, Miss Moore. If there is anything,anything, you need. Anything I can do for you or any way I can help. Please do not hesitate to ask me.”
I let each kind word sink in, leaning in to embrace her. “Thank you,” I whispered into her ear, and she tightened her arms around me.
“Of course, dear. We have grown quite attached to you and your sister here at Lakeshire Park.”
“Amelia,” Clara called as though on cue. “What rhymes with yellow?”
Lady Demsworth quickly excused me, and I fell into a chair beside Clara. “Hmm ... cello?”
“Yes.” She giggled. “A yellow cello. That will do.”
“What game are we playing, now?” I leaned on the arm of the chair.
“We’ve paired off and must write a poem with words that rhyme with yellow,” Clara said. “You should join next round.”
After my morning, a game of silly rhymes was as unappealing as eating grass. I tuned my ear to the hushed whispers as the company, most evidently paired off in the room, giggled and scratched on their papers. Clearly, the events of the morning had already blown over, and I had little desire to bring them up again.
Without a second thought, I excused myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d known staying indoors was not where I wanted to be, and I was grateful I’d already put on my boots. Now all I needed was my bonnet.
Chapter Eleven
The walk to the stable was quick, the air warm and humid after the storm. Instead of entering through the main doors, I ventured around back, which was a more direct path to the horse stalls. The wide door was already opened, its latch broken and dangling, letting sunlight illuminate the otherwise darkened corners. As I entered, the scent of stale hay permeated the air, magnified with the shifting of the animals.
I searched for a groom to no avail. Just so. To be alone for a while would suit my weariness.
Paces away from her stall, a voice drifted toward me.
“... nice to be taken care of, sometimes. And I think you’ve earned it with the scare you endured this morning.”
I stopped in my tracks. What was Peter doing here? I had not seen him in the library, so I’d assumed he was in his room.
As I crept up to the stall door, I found him crouched by Summer’s feet as he brushed her legs carefully. He wore a handsome gray coat—how in the world were his coats always so perfectly fitted?—and a pair of Hessians over equally well-fitting breeches.
I scolded myself silently, blushing. Eyeing a man’s breeches in a horse stall when he was completely unaware. How unladylike! Of all the times I should be focused, it was now. At last, I’d caught Peter Wood behaving more foolishly than I.
Summer whinnied, and Peter chuckled. “I understand completely.”
“I did not know you could talk to horses,” I said, leaning into the half-open stall with the fullest of grins upon my face. Peter had neglected to latch the door behind him, and it hung open freely.
He startled to his feet, brush in hand, and let out a breath when he saw me. “Amelia. What are you doing here?”
I smirked at his rosy cheeks. What would Peter Wood have to be embarrassed about? Surely talking to horses was not the worst thing I had against him. I tugged off my gloves and laid them over the top of the wooden wall. “Escaping games in the library. And you?”
