Beatrice caught my eye from across the room and nodded toward Peter, who sat at his usual chair at the hearth with his nose in a book. She smiled as though to encourage me.
I had nothing to lose. If Peter no longer wished to be my friend, I would still be in the same predicament. But was he changed now that David stood between us? It was utter foolishness to pine after Peter Wood’s friendship with an engagement on my horizon, but I missed my friend. And I was not ready to let him go just yet.
When I reached him, I sat on a stool across from him. “What are you reading?”
“A book,” he replied, flipping a page listlessly.
“How intriguing.” I leaned forward, willing him to see me. “You seem motivated to continue reading.”
The crease in his cheek deepened. “I need a distraction. To get lost in a book.”
My heart sank. His voice was not angry, nor was it unaffected. In fact, it sounded rather melancholy. I could not bear it. I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “Shall I write you a story? So we can be sure you are getting lost in all the right places?”
He looked up at me. His brilliant green eyes searching mine. Sighing, he tilted his head at me. “Once upon a time there was a man—”
“A curiously wealthy man—” I smiled, not missing a beat.
“Who traveled the world in search of home.”
My heart ached, flipping over in my chest, and speech suddenly failed me.
Peter continued, “He was always looking for something, someone, who would fill the empty spaces within him. Only, every time he thought he held her close enough, she slipped through his fingers, like water or air, unable to be held. And he was left alone, sitting in a chair reading a book about trees and agriculture.”
“How boring,” I breathed. I’d only sought to jest, but Peter’s story was too real. To know he felt this deeply was agonizing. My heart pounded in my throat. It felt as if Peter and I were alone, our heads leaning together, and the crackling of the fire behind me.
“Let us go in,” Lady Demsworth declared from the front of the room, interrupting the mood between us.
Peter stood, but did not offer his arm to me. Instead, he looked around the room.
Could we not still be friends? At least for what time remained?
“Won’t you take me in?” I hoped he did not hear the pleading in my voice.
“Amelia, you are nearly engaged.” His seriousness was back, an honorable side to him he’d sworn he did not possess.
One day. That was all we had left. I could not let my last memories with Peter be of this forlorn man. Could we not part as friends? I had to try.
“Women get proposed to all the time.” I shrugged, attempting an easy smile.
“This is different,” Peter said on an exhale, not meeting my gaze.
Looking about the room, I saw we were the last to pair off. There was no longer a choice in the matter. Peter stretched his shoulders and looked to his boots. Hesitating, waiting. Finally, when the others had reached the door, he gently threaded my arm through his.
I could not keep a grin from my face. “And now you must engage me in conversation,” I teased, lifting my chin.
“Any conversation I please?” Peter peeked sideways at me.
“Anything,” I replied.Anything at all.
“Do you know Mr. Pendleton well?” Peter asked, walking slowly to the front of the room.
Anything but that.
“I only met him yesterday.”
A light grew in Peter’s eyes. “So you do not love him?”
I huffed. “I do not fall in love, Peter. I’ve told you this.”
