Standing in front of the only man I’d ever loved, I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to.
Distant noises broke through the far-off music. Peter looked over his shoulder, listening intently to the sound. A shout, it seemed. Panic.
“What is it?” I asked in a whisper, training my ears to the noise.
“Wood!” Mr. Bratten’s voice called. “Peter, where are you?”
Peter looked to me, unsaid words still on his lips, until footsteps approached, crunching on gravel.
“Wood?”
“Just here.” Peter held my hand as long as possible, before our hold gave way.
“It’s Georgiana,” Mr. Bratten called, breathless. “You must come immediately.”
“What has happened?” Peter asked, worried.
“She and Demsworth. A kiss. In front of everyone.”
Stepping backward, I gasped. A kiss?
Clara.
Without a second thought, I raced from the garden, barely aware that Peter called my name as I passed him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I clutched my skirts, heading straight for the veranda, skipping steps as I ascended to the ballroom.
Beatrice was the first person I saw. She leaned against a doorframe, her lips parted, her face pale as she stared ahead.
“Where is she?” I gasped as I approached her, breathless from exertion.
“Upstairs,” Beatrice answered in a daze. “She nearly fainted. Mrs. Levin is attending her.”
“Thank you,” I said, stepping forward.
“Amelia,” Beatrice called out, and I stopped. “Forgive me. This is all my fault.”
I reached for her. “Whatever do you mean, Beatrice?”
“That night, all those days ago, when we talked of your parents. I told Georgiana how romantic their kiss was. How indeed such a scandal was worth its happiness in the end.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I knew Georgiana was desperate. I could see it in her eyes tonight.”
“No.” I grasped her arm soothingly. “Whatever happened tonight, you are not to blame.”
Beatrice nodded, wiping her eyes, and I hurried upstairs. If anyone should have seen Georgiana’s desperation, it was I.
A servant led me to the library, where Mrs. Levin sat on a settee beside Clara, whose face was buried in a cloth.
“I am here,” I said when I saw her, but when she looked up at me, I was not prepared for the pain in her eyes, the devastation writ across every line in her face. “Oh, Clara. What has happened?”
Mrs. Levin stood, kindness softening her features. “You must be Miss Moore. I am glad you found us. I believe Miss Clara has suffered a reaction from being privy to a scandal in the middle of my ballroom. Please allow me to apologize again, most fully. If I had expected such a circumstance, I would have never invited Mr. and Miss Wood into my home.”
“Please, you must explain. I was not present.” It could not be as bad as it seemed. Surely someone was mistaken.
Mrs. Levin smiled sadly. “Forgive me. The simplest explanation is that Miss Wood—”
“She kissed him.” Clara’s voice was rough and broken. “In front of everyone.”
