I sensed his sarcasm to a sobering degree. “Was it a difficult transition, then?”
Peter shifted, brushing toward Summer’s rump. I noted the concentration in his profile. “I have a well-trained steward. But no, after I tied up loose ends in London, things have been moving slowly enough that I am not overwhelmed. The choice to move was mine, and I will learn quickly enough. I am simply not interested in upholding my father’s business ventures, nor do I think he would have expected me to.”
I pondered Peter’s words. Since the moment he practically threw his money at me in the glove shop, I’d assumed Peter relished being rich and loved the society that fed upon status and wealth, but perhaps he truly meant what he’d said a few days ago. His greatest wish, above even wealth, was to be seen for the workings of his hands and the thoughts in his head. Clearly, he could continue his father’s work and attain even greater status and wealth, but he did not. Why?
“But you admired him, did you not? Your father?”
“Very much. He was immensely intelligent. He could do math in his head in seconds, and he was an avid reader. But when I think of my father, I do not think of his work or what he accomplished. I think of the few memories I have of when he wasnotworking.” Peter rubbed his brow on his sleeve.
“You have my full attention,” I said, straightening my skirts.
Peter looked curiously over at me. He paused for a moment before resuming his brushing. “Once, when my mother was away visiting her sister, Georgiana begged me to teach her how to shoot an arrow. I must have been thirteen at the time—about to leave for Eton.
“Mother did not allow frivolities like archery or horse racing. Such skills, in her opinion, did nothing to better a person. I knew Father did not have time to teach Georgiana, so we snuck out together to practice.” Peter smiled at some distant memory only he could see.
“Georgiana was awful. She could barely hold the bow. When she let her first arrow, she shrieked in terror, and a few moments later, Father appeared on his steed. I thought for sure he’d reprimand me for acting without his permission. Instead, he dismounted, tied his steed to a nearby tree, and stood behind Georgiana to teach her how to hold a bow properly.”
I smiled, imagining Peter as a young boy with his father and Georgiana. The protective older brother even then.
He continued. “The three of us rode horses together every day that week. We practiced archery every afternoon, and Father even took us to an opera. Mother never knew. When she returned, things settled back to the way they’d always been.
“I saw in my older years that Father sacrificed a lot to keep order in our house, to keep my mother happy. And to give Georgiana and me as close to a normal home as possible. But it was in those weeks, when it was just the three of us, that I knew who my father wanted to be. And that was enough.”
Surprise robbed me of speech. Everything looked so much clearer through this new lens. Peter’s carefree nature, his loyalty to Georgiana, and his confidence. He knew what he wanted through experiencing a lack of it in his life.
“I think your father was smart in more ways than one,” I said at last. I imagined a man who stood as a cornerstone to an otherwise shaky family foundation. Perhaps even at the cost of his own happiness.
“Those memories led me here,” he continued. “There is peace in the solitude. What about you? Could you see yourself in the country?”
“Did I not tell you I grew up in Kent?” I leaned my head against the rough wood wall. “My childhood home was in the middle of several hundred acres. We were quite secluded.”
“And you liked it?”
“I loved it. My fondest memories are there. It was the last place that felt like home.”
“I wish I knew that feeling,” Peter said. He tossed the brush into a wooden bucket and rubbed his hands on a towel. “Some say home is created with your family. That it is more of who you are with, not where you are.”
“I am sure that is true. But I think the countryside will always feel like home to me.”
Peter turned and took a few steps toward me, sitting down and leaning against the wall, mirroring my position. We were about a foot away from each other, but I still felt a rushing through my veins at his nearness.
“Two questions,” he said.
I cast him questioning eyes.
“For your payment to me this afternoon.” He let out a breath. “One for fun, the second more serious. You must answer them both sincerely. And you may ask two of your own in the same fashion.”
My lips twitched. What was he after? “All right. Go on, then.”
“Question number one. What is your favorite color?”
Honestly? Peter bit his lip to keep from smiling, and I found myself doing the same.
“Oh, purple for certain. It is royal, and I look beautiful in it,” I said as though I believed the words with all the confidence in my bones.
Peter’s laugh echoed off the walls of Summer’s stall. “No doubt. I hope you have a purple dress for an evening here, or I shall have to buy you one.”
We looked at each other, more comfortable together in a mucky horse stall than in the most elaborate room in all of England.
