“Of course,” I said. What could Peter have to disclose? Surely it was no worse than what I had just offered.
He shifted in his spot, turning toward me. “My mother ... perhaps you have guessed. She is not exactly well. It is more of a sickness of the mind than a physical illness.” He looked to me, sadness in his eyes.
“When my father died, I rowed at her. On and on and on. I blamed her for his heart attack. She had caused it, I was sure, from her constant bickering at him about his dress, his habits, his expressions ... nothing was ever good enough for her.” Peter’s shoulders sunk, and I ached for his weary heart. His parents. For the burden he carried. “I told her he’d worked himself to death trying to please her, to build enough wealth to satiate her, and make our life appealing so she would stay. We barely had him home long enough for a conversation some weeks.
“But of course she rowed back, blaming everything and anyone but herself. I can’t remember ever seeing her so angry and terrified all at once.” He shook his head. “She did not even cry.” He paused. “I have not seen nor spoken to my mother since. It has been almost a year. And it’s not that any of it was untrue to say. Only, perhaps some things are better left unsaid.”
Peter stared at his hands, lost. How had I never seen this wounded side of him? Bruised and tormented like my own? Without thinking, I reached out to him, my fingers grazing his, and he took my hand, locking us together.
“I’m sorry, Peter. That sounds very unfair,” I managed softly, captivated by the warmth of his hand on mine.
“Yes, well. I think unfairness in life is something we have in common, do we not?” He thumbed my fingers, igniting a blaze in my chest. How was this the same Peter I’d met days ago? My enemy and the single most irritating man in existence? Something was changing between us, like a cloud evaporating under the sun.
Winter twitched in his sleep, and Summer looked over her shoulder, quickly satisfied that all was well. But a scraping of wood on stone startled her, and a melody of voices filled the room.
“She’s over here,” Sir Ronald said loudly.
“What handsome stables, Sir Ronald.” Beatrice praised. Most likely paired with Mr. Bratten.
Releasing Peter’s hand, I stood, snatched my gloves from their perch, and dusted off my skirts. He rose and opened the door more fully to greet them.
“Wood, there you are. We’ve been wondering after you,” Sir Ronald said, examining the stall door. “Good. Beckett’s fixed the latch here.”
Winter woke, and though I tried to calm him back into slumber, his curiosity got the better of him. Summer tensed but allowed him to hobble toward the door near her. Georgiana approached him first, taking off her gloves and fingering his mane. Then Beatrice, followed by Clara, took turns admiring him under the watchful eye of Summer.
“And Miss Moore as well, I see.” Georgiana eyed her brother pointedly. “Where is the groom?”
“Not far,” Peter said, and I wondered if he truly knew.
Clara reached for my hand, pulling me outside the stables. Part of me wanted to stay with Peter, to continue our conversation, but loyalty to Clara won out. When we were alone and out of earshot, she smiled.
“Alone in the stalls with Mr. Wood? You are dedicated to your task to the risk of propriety.”
“It was an accident, actually. I had no idea he would be here.” An accident resulting in the most real conversation I’d had in years.
“I must ask you to continue your time with Mr. Wood, though I know how he irks you.” Clara looked past me, as though assuring herself that no one had followed us. “Sir Ronald is paying me particular attention now. And I mean to encourage him.” Clara looked at me shyly, and I drew a breath.
“You are sure?” Could it be true? Had Sir Ronald finally come to his senses? The thought of Clara’s heart opened wide for the breaking terrified me.
“I am.” She gave me a tremulous smile. “One of us needs to marry with Lord Gray so ill. And if I get a say in whom I shall marry, I’d want it to be Sir Ronald. If he offers for me, would you approve?”
I pulled Clara into a tight hug, feeling confident that should she more fully encourage a match, Sir Ronald would be happy to oblige her. Not to mention that their marriage would help us both immensely when Lord Gray left us. “I approve wholeheartedly.”
“Do you? Your opinion, your blessing, means the world to me. I could not accept him without your approval.”
“Clara, you have always had it. You do not need my blessing to follow your heart.”
Clara’s smile touched her eyes. “And what of your heart, sister? I fear your afternoons with Mr. Wood are being noticed by our company. Beatrice asked after him this afternoon, and Georgiana was sure he was sleeping. And the look on her face when she saw you together just now. I thought she would shoot arrows from her eyes. Are you quite sure your affections are not swayed by the time you’ve shared with him?”
I scratched my neck, looking away. People were talking? Our arrangement, having been made and kept in secret, might indeed seem confusing from the outside looking in. But Peter knew as well as I did, if not more so, that our afternoons together were only part of a greater scheme for Clara and Georgiana. Admitting our secret arrangement to Clara now would not please her, and we’d just shared such happy news. I would have to feign innocence for a few more days.
“No, of course not. Mr. Wood and I are barely friends.” My mind was in agreement, but as I said the words, something else inside me fought against them. A curious feeling. Some hope within me that demanded its voice be heard. In truth, I’d never experienced such a feeling before.
Clara let out a breath. “Good. I confess you had me worried for a moment. Can you imagine being tied to the Wood family after Sir Ronald proposes? How awkward and uncomfortable. Or worse, if he proposed to Georgiana, having to be tied to her. To them together. I couldn’t. I never in my life wish to see the Woods again after this trip.”
The disgust on Clara’s face tightened my chest. Peter was not allthatbad. True, his presence had not always been one I desired, but something was different these past few afternoons.Hewas different. I’d seen a new piece of Peter, perhaps even a missing piece he kept from the rest of the world. He’d shared some rather personal thoughts with me. Things he likely did not want shared any more than I did the things I’d admitted.
But even still, I could not disagree with Clara. It wouldn’t work to be tied to the Woods after Sir Ronald’s proposal. There was no way to tell how things would go, and life had taught us not to risk chance. Practicality always seemed the safer bet. It would never be possible to form any sort of relationship with the Woods. We would always be on opposing sides.
