“Miss Clara! You’ve arrived.” Sir Ronald made his way to her, guiding a bustling, curly-headed blonde by his side. “I trust your journey was uneventful.”
“Indeed.” Clara grinned. “We were so pleased for the invitation.”
“It is I who am pleased ... to see you again so soon.” Sir Ronald’s smile grew serious and sweet, and my heart swooned for Clara.
The blonde girl, who Sir Ronald introduced as Miss Georgiana Wood, wedged herself perfectly between him and Clara. Her smile was fixed as she said, “Surely you are tired from such a long journey.”
“Not at all,” I said, raising my chin. Her presence alone put me on guard. Georgiana was a certain kink in our plans.
Sir Ronald pulled both ladies into conversation, and a comfortable murmur filled the room as the company fell into pairs and trios. I stepped back, suddenly out of place, like a stranger among a group of old friends. Now was the perfect time to dress for dinner. I could be back down before Clara noticed I’d gone.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I turned to exit through the double doors. With a whoosh of my skirts, I ran straight into something tall and hard. Stunned, I grasped wildly for balance, my discomfort magnified as I was caught in an embrace.
“Amelia?” A low voice said, sounding much too pleased—and much too familiar.
My senses realigned, and I drew my head back, meeting the green eyes of the man from the shop. I stepped out of his hold, my mind spinning.
No. It could not be. Had he followed me?
“How did you find me here?” He leaned against the doorway with a wicked grin, echoing my own question.
“Excuse me?” Did he honestly think I would look forhim? “I am a guest here.”
He stood up straighter, eyes flooded with interest. “You know Demsworth? How?”
“Never mind. What areyoudoing here? And when are you leaving?” I could not hide the sudden worry that filled my voice. This fortnight was about Clara. I could not have any distractions.
“As it happens, I know Demsworth rather well.” He shook his head in disbelief, laughing. “Amelia, I cannot believe you are here.”
I crossed my arms, glancing over my shoulder, fearful someone might overhear our conversation. “You should address me as Miss Moore, sir. I have not given you permission to use my Christian name so openly.”
“I beg to differ.” He lowered his chin, eyes glinting. “And so would the shopkeeper four miles down the road.”
Embarrassment wafted through me, igniting my pride. Perhaps I had not behaved as ladylike as I should have, but he’d not acted his part either. I huffed at the thought. “What kind of honorable gentleman steals a pair of gloves from a lady? And then throws his money at her to solve the problem?”
He glanced to my bare hands, and I quickly tucked them behind me.
“In the first place, I never professed myself honorable,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I have regretted leaving that shop from the moment I stepped out its door.”
His eyes met mine curiously, like he wanted me to react to his regret. But the only emotion I felt was anger. His regret did not change his choices. And choices defined a person.
“Forgive me if I do not offer adequate sympathy.” At this point, it would be safer for me to retreat into the room to get away from him. A conversation with Lieutenant Rawles was more enticing than being forced to address the guilty conscience of this man.
“Wait,” he called as I stepped into the light of the drawing room.
“Peter!” Georgiana waved, and I turned, locking eyes with the strange man who’d followed me.
Sir Ronald also turned. “Wood, just in time. The Misses Moore have arrived.”
The man kept his eyes on me as Sir Ronald, Clara, and Georgiana moved toward us.
“Ladies, this is Peter Wood, a great friend of mine, and as I am sure you know, Georgiana’s brother,” Sir Ronald explained.
Mr. Wood—Peter, though I would never dare such informality aloud—offered a low bow. “How very fortunate I am to be in your company.”
If this was luck, then Lord Gray had cursed me.
“It has been too long.” Sir Ronald looked pleased. “Inheritance is such a tricky trade, is it not? I mourn the loss of your father as I have mourned my own, but I am glad to have you near. Have you finished things in London at last?”
