“Thank you.” I nodded, swallowing back my rising emotion. “I miss him very much. As I’m sure you miss your father.”
“What is this wretched lot we’ve been cast? There must be happiness ahead.” Peter offered a gentle, easy smile.
I thought of Lord Gray and my impending engagement, how everything would be changing soon. In Peter’s presence, I’d nearly forgotten what awaited me. “There must.”
Peter walked me to the clearing, our hands locked together.
“What would you choose for your future?” I asked. “If you could create your own happiness.”
Peter stopped his pace as though he was surprised by my question, but he did not hesitate. He hardly blinked. He simply said, “Time. I want those moments where time stands still, where you’re aching from laughter and everything is right in the world and you are surrounded by the people you love. That is happiness to me. I refuse to work as hard as my father did. I refuse to sacrifice time for the sake of greater wealth or status. For at the end of the day, what I wish for now is not his money, but his time.”
Peter’s words filled me like new breath, and my fingers tightened around his. His thumb traced mine, and he pulled me alongside him, forward.
In truth, I felt a similar desire for my future, especially since meeting Peter, and I envied the ease with which he admitted his hopes. Time was not something I had control over. Would I find such happiness with Mr. Pendleton?
Walking back to the house must’ve taken hours, for our clothes were nearly dried, but I found myself wanting more time, more conversation, and more of Peter’s hand holding mine.
As we stepped around the tree line, Peter pulled my arm through his, and I peeked up at him. Though the creek had washed away much of the mud on our clothes, there were traces of our adventure evident in every crease of us.
“Perhaps we can sneak through the servants’ quarters,” I suggested as we approached.
“I think it is too late for that.” Peter gestured to the terrace.
“Miss Moore, what on earth has happened to you?” Lady Demsworth stood in the entryway with Georgiana.
“Peter!” Georgiana said aghast, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “What have you done?”
I racked my mind for an explanation. We’d been so caught up in conversation, neither of us had come up with a story that might soften the blow of our muddied clothes and hair. We were surely a sight to behold. Perhaps I could tell them the truth—while somehow omitting the fact I’d started a mud fight that ended with me wanting to kiss Peter Wood.
“Miss Moore was bucked from her horse, and I managed to save her from getting trampled,” Peter lied. “Unfortunately, the dirt in the pastures was soaked from rainwater, so we stand before you alive, but very much filthy.”
“Is that true, Miss Moore?” Lady Demsworth asked, aghast.
I glared at Peter’s smug expression. Some nerve he had, painting me as a damsel in distress. If he thought I would agree to his story, he was entirely mistaken. Even if the tale had been spun in my favor, I could not lie to Lady Demsworth.
“You are every bit the tease,” Georgiana said to Peter, then whispered something to Lady Demsworth.
“Miss Moore?” Lady Demsworth pressed, suppressing a smile.
“Peter lost his watch in the mud trying to prove he could ride Grace. He couldn’t find the watch on his own, but with my help, we found it.” It was mostly true, with a few omissions.
“Fortunately, Miss Moore has the eyes of a hawk,” Peter said.
Nudging him in the ribs for that last remark, I moved toward Lady Demsworth. “I am sorry, Lady Demsworth. Please forgive me. I swear it will not happen again.”
“You are forgiven. But it is nearly five o’clock. You must be famished. Dinner will be ready in the dining room in an hour.”
“Thank you, Lady Demsworth.” Shrinking as I passed into the foyer, I winced as my footsteps echoed across her immaculate marble floors, my boots spreading mud and creek filth behind me.
Mary managed to draw me a bath, though she scowled the entire time. I did not complain about the biting cold water, nor the roughness as she brushed dried mud from my hair. Instead I thought of Peter and this new, blazing feeling in my chest that warmed every bit of me. What did it mean? And did he feel it too?
After drying off, I chose a blue silk gown, and Mary salvaged my hair, pinning it into a loose bun at the base of my neck. Before leaving my room, I retreated to my trunk, pulling out a small, secondhand vial of perfume my cousin Caroline had given me in London. It smelled like lilacs, and I rubbed a few drops along my neck and in my hair before descending the stairs for the evening.
At dinner, Sir Ronald announced that the men would be attending a fencing exhibition the following day. Beatrice swooned at the mere thought of it, likely imagining Mr. Bratten with a sword, until Lady Demsworth demanded that none of the four men fight but only attend as spectators. Peter grimaced, clearly put out by the request.
For some reason, the gentlemen took longer than usual with their port. Clara picked at her gloves beside me on the settee, eyeing the open doors twice a minute.
When she stiffened beside me, I looked to the door.
