“You have,” he agreed. “But I do not believe you.”
“Believe me now. If I accept Mr. Pendleton, it will be entirely for his money, and he knows as much.” I blushed as the truth burst from me like jam in an overfilled pie.
He hesitated as we stepped out into the foyer. “It is true, then. Your stepfather is dying?”
I froze. He knew. But who had told him? Who had discovered our secret? “Any day now. Any moment, really.”
Peter tugged me backward, motioning to the butler to wait a moment for us before closing the door. He dropped my arm and faced me. “He leaves you nothing? No money or living? Is that why you would agree to marry Mr. Pendleton?”
Though I owed him no explanation, my heart begged me to explain. “Lord Gray leaves us nothing. A few days ago, I received a letter from our butler and another from Lord Gray. My stepfather’s illness is severe, and he has given our things to his barrister for delivery ... wherever we go next. We are never to return to Brighton.” My voice broke on the words, but I held back my tears. “Do not pity me, Peter. This is exactly what I’ve always expected. But I am horribly embarrassed to have it all unfold now. To be abandoned here.”
Peter raked a hand through his hair, his eyes severe and heavy. “I will go to Gray House immediately and speak to your stepfather. This is not right, Amelia.”
“No,” I pleaded, clutching at his arm. “Please, do nothing of the sort. It is done. I am fortunate to have found security elsewhere. Many women are not so lucky.”
“If you feel solucky, then why do you hesitate to accept him?” Peter tugged at my hands, pulling me closer to him, and the fire of his touch consumed me.
The butler cleared his throat, and I blushed.
“We should go in,” I said, breaking away from Peter’s hold.
As I composed myself at the table, I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering over to Peter. He hadn’t looked at me differently when I’d confirmed my poverty. He knew I had no dowry, and still his eyes had grown warm when they found mine.
But Georgiana had said Peter was looking to marry a wealthy woman. Why would she say such an untrue thing? Did she really hate Clara and me so much she would lie to pull our families apart? Did she feel no guilt in attempting to twist Clara’s confidence against making a match with Sir Ronald?
Regardless, I thought of only one thing throughout dinner, and again as we played charades in the drawing room: Nothing about me was too much for Peter. The more I admitted, the closer he moved. That, at least, was the truth.
But was he truly so unaffected by my poverty? Was love enough? I had one more day to find out, and I could not waste a single moment.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dressed in white with an emerald spencer buttoned tightly around my bodice, I set out early the next day to find Peter. Most of the company had already eaten breakfast and sat on the lawn watching Sir Ronald and Mr. Bratten play battledore. They played with such force, I worried the shuttlecocks might run straight through them.
“He is in the stables,” Beatrice called, pointing east. I did not need to question her further, nor acknowledge that my efforts were that embarrassingly obvious.
Sure enough, I found Peter standing at Summer’s side, brushing her mane with a thick brush. As I pushed the door to the stall open, it squeaked.
“Where were you at breakfast?” he asked, not looking up.
I racked my brain for an excuse. “Making sure my hair was just so.”
“Liar.” He tsked. “Tomorrow you must wake up with the sun for once.”
“Tomorrow I intend to still be up when the sun rises,” I joked.
“You plan to dance all night, do you?” He gave me a crooked smile.
“Only twice, actually.”
“Is Mr. Pendleton coming, then?”
I inhaled deeply, groaning on the exhale. “I meant withyou, Peter.”
He faked a grimace. “But I have not asked you.”
I took three long steps toward him, pushing him back with both hands and slapping his shoulders. “You irritating man!”
His eyes were wide with humor as I pelted him, which only served to anger me further. “I’m sorry?”
