Peter still held my old gloves, brushing the fabric with his fingers as though the touch connected us. He turned his gaze to the stars, lost in thought.
If only things were different. If only I was free. I knew I should go back inside—nothing good would come from sitting on this stair with Peter—but I wanted one more minute.
“If you could be anywhere right now, where would you go?” I leaned on my hand nearest him. “And do not say something to tease me.”
Peter looked at me with a grin, his full lashes hiding the smile in his eyes. “You asking me not to tease you is a tease in itself. But I have my answer, actually. I’ve been thinking about going back to Paris. It is a beautiful time of year for it.”
“I’ve never been,” I admitted as a breeze blew through the shadowy trees.
“You would love the food.” Peter winked, and I slapped him playfully on the shoulder. He ducked, grinning. “And the flowers, and the views of the Seine.”
“I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Wherehaveyou been?”
“London,” I answered with disdain. Clara and I had seen most of the city during the Season, but the busy chaos of town did not entice me to return.
“Ah, yes. Your Season. Was it not all you’d dreamt?” He shot me amused eyes, still thumbing my gloves absentmindedly.
“Not exactly.”
“That is because I was not there for you to tease. Imagine this fun multiplied exponentially.”
“Ah, yes.” I laughed, leaning closer to his twinkling eyes. “I can see you now, clad in your fancy tails with a colored cravat and a wicked grin on your face, trying to decide what to do with yourself.”
Peter laughed alongside me, then leaned back and met my gaze. His eyes grew distant, thoughtful. An owl hooted above us in the trees. “I would steal your first dance.”
My heart rattled and regained a faster beat. I had not yet imagined what it would be like to dance with Peter. Pulled close, only the two of us. My eyes dropped to his lips, and I took a shallow breath. I grew tired of fighting the pull between us. Why did I try to deny what my heart so clearly wanted? If I had to marry a stranger, didn’t I deserve to enjoy one evening with Peter? I could worry about forgetting him later.
“I would ruin you for all other women.” I nudged his shoulder softly with mine. “Where I lack in socializing, I excel in dancing. You wouldn’t be able to let me go, and we’d dance set after set. Everyone would stare at us. Think of the talk.”
“Oh, yes, everyone would talk.” Peter looked heavenward. His jawline was smooth, squared, though a smile danced across his lips. “We would be banished from the assembly rooms for months. It would be delightful.”
I could think of nothing better. “There is a ball at the end of the week. We can outrage the poor people of Hampshire all evening if you wish.”
I reached for his arm to tug into mine. But instead of lacing arms, he pulled me up from the stair, grasping my right hand in his and placing my left atop his shoulder.
“And dance we shall.” He grinned, holding my waist close with his left hand.
“Peter!” I sucked in a breath as he waltzed me along the grass under the light of the moon. “If anyone sees us—”
“You were not lying. You are quite a good dancer, even with no music.”
We danced to the music made up in Peter’s head, and I laughed as he twirled us under the stars, lifting me up and twirling me again. His green eyes smiled into mine, and for a moment I felt like nothing bad in the world could ever happen again. Like I finally belonged, right there, with Peter.
When our silent music ceased, Peter slowed, swaying me back and forth in his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in pine and soap, and he released my hand to brush a curl from my face. I ran my hand up his arm and to his shoulder, my heart pounding against my chest.
I loved Peter Wood. I could see that now. As clearly as I could see each star in the sky.
But would my love be enough when he was expecting a dowry? Would he be forced to continue his father’s legacy despite his own personal dreams? I could not bear the thought of his rejection if he knew the truth of my circumstances. Neither could I endure our love turning into bitterness or resentment or pain. How could I know that choosing Peter would not end as tragically as Father’s choice with my mother had? Days, weeks, even sometimes a year was not enough to know if love would last. I could not risk it.
Mr. Pendleton was the safer choice. His was a match where both companions knew what they would receive. Where neither party was in danger of disappointment. He was a companion who could protect me, keep Clara from pain, and provide security for us both.
All I had to do was reject my heart.
I pushed back from Peter and retreated a few steps. “We are both here for our sisters. We should go inside and focus on them.”
Peter frowned, his hand gripping air as though he still held a part of me. I turned back to the stairs to retrieve my lantern.
