“Finally, yes. A year’s worth of settling affairs. And thank you, Demsworth. Georgiana is thrilled to be closer as well.”
And then it hit me, like the weight of a thousand bricks pressing into my chest. Miss Georgiana Wood. The woman Clara claimed to be in competition with for Sir Ronald’s heart was this man’s sister. Frustration boiled hot within me as I clenched my skirts with my bare hands. To have lost Clara’s gloves to Georgiana Wood, whose nose could touch the ceiling for how high she held it, was unacceptable. Judging by her expensive blue silk dress and shiny pearl necklace that rivaled Lady Demsworth’s, Georgiana did not often fail to acquire her heart’s wishes.
“Dinner will be ready in a half hour,” Lady Demsworth declared from the doorway.
“Perhaps we should dress,” Clara said into my ear.
I caught Georgiana motioning to her brother, and Peter turned to Sir Ronald. “I fear we have missed quite a lot of each other’s lives. You have much to tell me.”
“Shall we sit? Your travels surely rival mine.” Sir Ronald grasped Peter’s shoulder.
“Georgiana, join us, won’t you?” Peter edged the three of them toward a settee near the window, pointedly away from the rest of the company.
Clara looked back at them, frowning, and I realized my mistake. We should have dressed for dinner first instead of making introductions. Clearly, Peter had not hesitated to navigate his sister into the center of Sir Ronald’s attention. Meekness or timorousness would not be afforded here if I was to keep up with the competition.
“Yes,” I whispered back to Clara. “Let us dress quickly. The sooner we dress, the faster we will be back down.”
Our room, large and square, held two beds with brown wooden headboards occupying the rightmost wall and a fire crackling in the hearth on the opposite side. The fireplace was framed in white marble with light blue velvet chairs placed in front of it. A bouquet of lilacs in front of the open window filled the room with a sweet scent.
Mary had placed our gowns and long evening gloves over our beds, and she quickly pulled Clara over to the dressing table.
Despite the urgency I felt to return to the drawing room, I couldn’t help but lean my elbows on the windowsill and take in a deep breath as the chill of the early evening breeze brushed across my face. Daylight waned, casting shadows in the crevices of the rolling hills outside. It was a beautiful scene.
My bones ached from being caged in the carriage all day, but worse, my mind spun with the faces of all the people I’d just met. Each seemed kind enough, save the Woods. Georgiana would be trouble. And her brother was intimidating to say the least.
“Amelia,” Clara chided. “If you start dressing now, Mary can attend to you when I am finished.”
“Of course,” I said, tearing myself away from the window. There was no time to waste.
Dinner was a boisterous event and more casual in seating arrangements and conversation than Lady Demsworth could possibly have anticipated. Between the men, no one else could get a word in, and their stories from past hunting adventures turned poor Lady Demsworth green as she picked at the lamb on her plate.
I took a small bite of roasted potatoes and risked a glance at Peter. He was grinning at something Lieutenant Rawles was saying, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. Before reason called me to my senses, I caught his eyes with my own for a brief second. Nerves seizing, I stared down at my plate. What was it about his gaze that intimidated me so? I moved the remaining vegetables around with my fork while Georgiana encouraged the men with perfectly framed questions, batting her eyelashes as she sipped from her cup.
After dinner, Mr. Bratten entered the drawing room ahead of the other men, choosing a card table with Mrs. Turnball and Beatrice and motioning for Lieutenant Rawles, who was piling a stack of books next to a chair, to join them. Sir Ronald began a game of whist with Clara, Georgiana, and Peter, which left me alone with Lady Demsworth.
“I am feeling rather tired. I think I will do some stitching by the fire,” Lady Demsworth said. “Would you care to join me? You should know that I appreciate honesty over obligation.”
“In that case, I would love to join you and enjoy the firewithoutthe stitching.” I stifled a yawn, and she nodded.
“You look exhausted, Miss Moore. Should I call for a cup of chocolate with our tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
Lady Demsworth led me to the coziest chair I’d ever sat in, the velvety fabric as soft as the plump pillow at my back. A cup of chocolate arrived shortly after with the tea tray, and I leaned into my chair, listening to the muffled voices in the room.
Clara was laughing, a gloved hand covering her lips, clearly taken with something Sir Ronald had said. The striking transformation of my sister over the course of a single day was astounding. Yesterday her sadness had been overwhelming, but today her countenance was filled to the brim with elation. To keep her like this, happy and free, I would do anything.
Lady Demsworth was drifting off, stitching only once every few minutes. Her casual nature permeated the Demworths’ home. I felt so at ease already, and we’d only just arrived. Half of me still expected Lord Gray to march in and demand his cigar, his relentless cough shaking the walls. I was glad Clara did not fully understand the gravity of this visit, of how quickly we needed security. But a small part of me wished there was someone who felt the weight of my burden too.
Peter’s loud laugh echoed off the ceiling, and I straightened. That man. How could I keep him—and more importantly his sister—from getting between Clara and Sir Ronald? Certainly not by sitting in a corner sipping hot chocolate.
Careful not to disturb Lady Demsworth, I rose and made my way across the room. Sir Ronald and Peter stood at my approach.
“Miss Moore. If only whist could be played with five instead of four.” Sir Ronald smiled regrettably. “But, please, join us if you’d like to watch Georgiana and I rob your sister and Wood of their dignity.”
Clara scowled playfully at him, eliciting a grin from Sir Ronald that creased his cheeks. Peter cleared his throat, and I met his gaze. His eyes held curiosity, and I shot back as much indifference as I could muster. I would no longer be timid. If a battle raged between his sister and mine, Clara would win.
“Now I am invested wholeheartedly,” I said. “I cannot see Clara losing at whist, unless Mr. Wood is a terribly unskilled player.”
