“Tabetha Fitzwilliams.” Peter shook his head. “I still can’t conceive how you pulled that off. What did you do, clobber her over the head and drag her to the nearest anvil priest?”
Stone’s eyes danced. “Something like that. I’ll tell you everything later. But for now…” Stone planted his feet wide. “I’ve heard… interesting things about you and Lady Starling.”
“From who?” And what could anyone possibly have to say? He’d taken all the necessary steps to keep their meetings private. Not for his sake but for hers.
“Mother. Greys. Mantis. Blackheart.” Stone cleared his throat. “Natalie told Tabetha the widow is pining over you. She visited with her and mother a few times before they left for Ravens Park.”
Pining for him? His heart all but leapt. Peter had always been inclined to respect his younger sister’s opinion on these types of matters. So why was Miranda insisting they stop writing one another?
“I’m in love with her.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I asked her to marry me.”
“She is that good, eh?” The corners of Stone’s mouth tipped up even as he held out a defensive hand and stepped back.
“Watch yourself.” Peter stiffened, clenching his fists. Even knowing that a single punch from Stone would knock him out cold, Peter was determined that no one disparage her reputation. Especially his brother.
Why the hell should she be disrespected for taking lovers when gentlemen did it all the time with no censure whatsoever? Not that Peter could change that, but he’d be damned if he’d allow it in his hearing.
“My apologies.” His brother was watching him curiously now. “I wondered, but have to admit that I did not see that coming.”
Peter’s shoulders slumped. “She’s refused me—twice now—I think.”
“Refused you? As in marriage?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that was awfully quick.” Stone rubbed his chin. “At the risk of drawing more of your wrath, I asked Chaswick about her.”
“Chase?” Miranda’s former lover? “Why in the hell would you do that?”
“He is my brother-in-law now.” Stone shrugged as though the new relationship provided all the explanation required. “It’s notable that Lady Starling allowed you to take her driving and shopping. There are even rumors that you took her to Gunters.”
“What of it?” Peter didn’t require a recitation of the best memories of his life right now. He’d have plenty of time to mull over them over the course of his long and lonely future.
“Chase admitted, in confidence, might I add, that… in the course of his… association with her, she was not inclined to spend time with him… outside of the boudoir.”
Peter knew this. She’d all but demanded the same of him… initially. But he’d forced his way into the other aspects of her life.
“She’s not like that. She may have been before. It’s because she was…” He couldn’t explain it, and talking about her, even to Stone, felt like a betrayal.
“She’s changed since you’ve left London.” Stone shoved his hands in his pockets and pretended to be examining the room’s sparse furnishings. “You are the last gentleman she’s been seen with. Rumor has it, she’s… reformed.”
“People would do well to pay more heed to their own lives and less attention to things they can’t possibly understand.”
“I didn’t come here to harass you.” Stone exhaled. “But our mother said you hardly set foot in the music room while you were seeing her, and I couldn’t leave that alone. That just simply isn’t like you. And now you admit to having fallen in love with her.”
Peter exhaled and then strolled back and sat down with Rosa again. He drew the bow across the thickest string, extending out a long note with an abundance of vibrato. His brother settled onto the well-worn divan at the opposite end of the room. How often had they had conversations just like this, Peter practicing and Stone lounging comfortably, staring up at the ceiling? Their lives were changing. Not only his, but good Lord. Stone had a wife now!
He stared across the room with an apologetic grimace.
Stone suspected a change in him, and he wasn’t wrong.
Because…
Peter was coming to realize that music, playing the cello, was not the only thing he wanted from life. And unfortunately, Sir Bickford-Crowden was already hinting he’d invite Peter to tour with him. What was that old saying? Be careful what you wish for?
Peter’s gut clenched.
The thought of spending a year traveling with a man who barked his instructions and had never learned any proper manners, placing practice and study above everything, both inanimate and living, sounded less and less appealing every day. His mentor was a man who was adulated most everywhere he went. He expected similar devotion of all who dwelt in his realm.
And yet, Sir William was not a happy person. He rarely smiled and had not laughed even once in Peter’s presence.
Peter didn’t like the man and had no desire to spend the next few years in his proximity. Even more importantly though, he didn’t want to become him—an angry, sad, and lonely musician.
Peter loved playing, he loved making music, but that didn’t necessitate that he turn his back on everything else important to him. It didn’t oblige him to abandon love.
Miranda—his one true chance at happiness.
“I want to marry her.” He didn’t care that she was barren. He didn’t care about her past with Chase or with anyone else. “I want to take her to Essex and make our home together at Millcot Lodge. More than anything, I want to spend my life with her.”
Stone turned where he sat, rested his elbows on his knees, and then stared intently across the room at him. “Then I support you in that decision. But I think accomplishing that is going to require patience on your part.”
Peter winced. Because his brother’s thoughts confirmed his own—even though he wanted nothing more than pack up and drive up to London that very day. “But—”
“As far as I know, she isn’t going anywhere,” Stone said. “But Natalie says Lady Starling is particularly concerned about your career. And anxious to hear that you are making the most of this,” he burst off the settee and gestured around the room, “opportunity.”
What did that mean? Peter’s own words taunted him.
She’s more than a possession. She’s my life.
Miranda hadn’t understood why he’d named his instruments. “But it, pardon me, she, is replaceable. She’s an inanimate object—wood, metal, glue.”
She owns my heart, He’d told her.
His music was a part of him. A part of his soul, of his heart.
But it no longer owned his heart.
Miranda did.
“The first night… I told her music was my life,” Peter uttered mostly to himself.
“Brilliant way to start a relationship.” Stone punched the air with his right fist, dancing around restlessly as though fighting a ghost.
Peter grunted. “I didn’t set out to—”
“So, why did you court her then?” He stopped long enough to send Peter a hard stare.