“I am sorry for your loss,” I said, pausing briefly. “I understand you have two daughters?”
His eyes lit up then, if only for a moment. “Margaret and Annalise. This is the first time I’ve left them since ...”
“Of course,” I said quickly, to keep him from having to discuss a painful topic. “How hard that must be for all three of you.”
Mr. Pendleton nodded. “Do you only have the one sister, then?”
“Clara, yes. She and I come as a set. At least until she is married.” I earned a full smile from Mr. Pendleton then, but not a response. We walked together in silence for a long moment, and I feared I’d said too much. Surely he would speak, if nothing else but to relieve me from my obvious discomfort.
I counted my steps as we walked. I’d reached twenty-three before he spoke again.
Mr. Pendleton cleared his throat, slowing his pace. “You are prettier than I imagined. And easier to talk to. I’m having a hard time believing a woman like yourself is in need of the arrangement I am offering.”
I stopped, staring up at him. “That is kind to say, but also accusatory, sir.”
“I only mean I would not put it past my aunt to try her hand at matchmaking.” He raised a brow at me.
I released his arm, crossing my own. “I shall take that as a compliment, but I assure you my circumstances are dire. In all honesty, my stepfather will die any day. He has abandoned us both in home and in financial security, and unless Clara or I find a match by the end of the fortnight, we will both be homeless and destitute.”
Mr. Pendleton reared back his head. “Surely not.”
“Are you trying to convince me to look elsewhere? I think both of us could do far worse than each other.”
Mr. Pendleton looked thoughtful. “You are a force to be reckoned with, Miss Moore.”
“You may call me Amelia. We haven’t much time to get to know one another.”
Mr. Pendleton studied my face, and I lifted my chin to give him a full view of me. Speaking my secrets aloud to a man felt entirely liberating. Here I stood, completely vulnerable before him, and yet I did not care in the least what he thought of me.
“David,” he replied. “I am happy to meet you, Amelia.”
David and I finished our tea, enjoying the light breeze that blew across the veranda. We talked easily, and I felt comfortable enough in his presence. He was quiet, soft-spoken, but held his opinions firmly. I liked that he cared enough to speak his mind, but only when he deemed it necessary. He liked to talk about current affairs, and I listened with interest, though I had little to say in return. He did not tease me, though, and he rarely laughed or joked.
Dust grew above the trees, signaling the arrival of horses. A carriage perhaps. Peter. I straightened in my chair, suddenly nervous and feeling painfully exposed. What would Peter think, seeing me with David? Did Peter know to expect him? Of course not. Peter had no idea of this secret.
“Perhaps we should go for a ride?” I turned to David. I needed an escape, and fast.
“It looks as though your party has returned.” David motioned for a servant to take away our trays. “I have not seen my cousin in some time. We are not especially close, I’m afraid.”
I licked my lips. Why had I not been more forthcoming with Clara? I’d not thought any of this through. Any ounce of control I thought I had was seeping like honey through my fingers. I followed David to the drive, where Mr. Gregory opened the door to the carriage.
Peter stepped out with a frown, helping Clara out first, then Georgiana. Another carriage followed, carrying the rest of the company. Had they left together after all?
“David!” Sir Ronald called. They clasped hands as the party enveloped them.
I felt Peter’s eyes before I found them. “How was your morning?” he asked, drawing me away from the company.
Already, I missed the easy tones in Peter’s voice, the gentle smile that never seemed to leave his lips when we were together, and the light in his eyes. I remembered his letter from this morning and smoothed the curls framing my face.
“I am well rested, to be sure,” I said, captivated by the sudden seriousness in his gaze. “Thank you for the tea, and the blackberries.”
“And the note?” Peter stepped forward. He held a pink flower in his hand.
My gaze dropped to his cravat. The note. Was I wrong to allow my heart to leap at the thought? Even now, with David only a few paces away? Try as I might to push Peter away, he only ever seemed to move closer.
I cleared my throat. “The note was ...”
I could not look at him. We were too exposed, too vulnerable standing there in our secret conversation, surrounded by people. I felt as backed into a wall as I’d ever been. “The note was very thoughtful, Mr. Wood, thank you.”
