He raised a brow, looking at me with narrowed eyes and a smile on his lips. “Are you attempting humor, Miss Moore?”
I pressed my lips together, trying to remain serious. “I believe it was less of an attempt and more a success. Though I cannot say I find messy hair all that funny.”
He chuckled. “For what it’s worth, I think horseplay looks rather good on you.”
I shot him a look of playful derision. At least four curls had loosened from their pins during our escapade with Winter. “Your joke is not as funny as mine, Peter.”
“What would Lieutenant Rawles think?” he asked, peering at me through his lashes.
I raised my chin. “I am sure I do not know. Perhaps we should stick to proper conversation on our journey to the orchard.” Especially if Peter meant to continue this conversation.
“That would not suit me. And I believe I have the final say in our afternoons, do I not?” Peter tilted his head. The orchards were just coming into view, with darkened clouds lulling overhead.
Powerless, I frowned. Was everything a game to Peter? These afternoons were becoming more than I’d bargained for. “I do not remember creating rules. I also do not remember having much choice in the matter at all. You were the one insistent on these afternoons.”
He looked straight at the leafy orchard as we approached. “It was necessary, was it not? You cannot have me distracting Sir Ronald. And I cannot have you encouraging your sister.” He said the words flatly, without sincerity, and I wondered if he had another motive. Something more personal, perhaps.
“Is that all?” I asked.
He released my arm, thumbing tiny fruit on the apple trees. “What other reason could there be?”
I studied his unreadable expression to no avail. Of course there was no other reason. Peter and I were enemies, two people on opposing sides of a battle. Only sometimes it felt like his compliments were earnest, his attentions given out of care. I shook my head. My inexperience with men made Peter’s tiny compliments feel much bigger than they were. It was clearly Peter’s nature to smile freely and flatter as he wished. Yet another difference between us.
“We share that priority, then. Loyalty to our sisters.” I picked a jagged leaf off the nearest apple tree.
“Indeed.” Peter said with as much indifference as though he’d spoken to the wind. That was what I’d wanted to hear, was it not? At least now we were both at an understanding. I wouldn’t have to wonder about Peter’s intentions with our bargain, for they mirrored my own after all.
Chapter Ten
Thunder rolled threateningly all evening, preceded by sharp lightning. I’d awoken to the storm several times, and now that it was morning, I hoped the sun would soon break through and dry up the ominous rain clouds atop the hill.
Our room was dark and dreary even with the curtains pulled back. I dreaded spending an entire day indoors with little chance of escape, but as I peered out into the darkened morning, my thoughts turned to Lord Gray. I became keenly aware of my breathing, how smoothly my lungs pulled in air and blew it back out again.
How was Lord Gray this morning? Had he slept at all? Many nights I wondered as much, having awoken to his coughing throughout the night. How much time did he have left? His home had been a haven for my mother, but a source of misery and pain for me. Perhaps I should feel grief knowing his illness was worsening, but I felt so little emotion, no hope other than for Clara’s future. If she was happy, and we were together, then nothing else mattered.
“Is it morning already?” Clara’s voice was hoarse with sleep, her eyes still closed.
“Just barely. It appears it will be a rainy day.”
“Good. Then the men will have to stay in,” she answered.
I peered out our window, listening to the pitter-patter of rain hitting the glass. She was right. I could hardly avoid Peter today. But at least indoors we would not be alone together. Perhaps then I would not kiss his hand or run wild on a hill or loosen my tongue and tell him even more of my secrets.
“Perhaps I will go down,” I whispered. Being up early meant I could excuse myself later. “Will you sleep another hour?”
“Or two.” Clara rolled over, tightening her covers around her.
The only person in the drawing room was Lady Demsworth, who looked disheveled with a messy braid and a loose morning coat about her shoulders. I’d known her to be casual in company, but this was quite unusual. What had prompted her to rise so quickly without first dressing?
“You’re awake early, Miss Moore. Is everything all right?” she asked as I entered the room. Only a few candles were lit along with the hearth at the back of the room.
“Quite. I fear I’ve overslept these past few days. I am finally well enough rested. Might I ask you the same question? Are you well?”
Lady Demsworth yawned politely. “A tree was struck by lightning in the night. It felled a fence and loosed a herd of cow. A few of the horses got out as well, likely scared by the storm. Mr. Beckett alerted Ronald a few hours ago. He is fortunate to have so many dear friends staying with us. All four men have gone out to assess the damage. I am sure they will also assist our servants in repairs and in rounding up the animals. Ronald never could sit idly by. As for me, I could not sleep for worry of the cost if he cannot recover the animals and mend the necessary repairs on his own.”
“Heavens.” But weren’t the Demsworths wealthy? Why would Lady Demsworth be so distraught over the cost? At any rate, I had not expected such severe news. “I am terribly sorry to hear it.”
“Ronald will get it sorted out. I am sure I worry for nothing, but I am his mother. It is my life to worry over him, being that he is my only child.”
“Of course you worry. That is natural. He is fortunate to have you, Lady Demsworth.”
She sighed, brushing her skirts and thin coat. “Forgive my appearance. If you are awake, the others will soon be joining you. I should go and be properly dressed.”
“Of course,” I said as she stood. I wanted to tell her I did not mind one bit if she dressed properly or not. Given the circumstances, there were more important things to worry about. She did not have to pretend or put on a face with me. But before I built up the courage to speak, she’d gone.
Left alone in the drawing room, I moved to a chair facing the window. Raindrops slid down as though racing for a finish line, and for some reason, between the crackling of the hearth and the flashing of lightning, I thought of Peter.
Was he out there in this storm?
Was he safe?
The women gathered in the breakfast room one by one as the storm began to dissipate. More candles were lit to combat the dreary bleakness outside. We ate together without the men, who were taking a stressfully long time to return.