I searched for a groom to no avail. Just so. To be alone for a while would suit my weariness.
Paces away from her stall, a voice drifted toward me.
“. . . nice to be taken care of, sometimes. And I think you’ve earned it with the scare you endured this morning.”
I stopped in my tracks. What was Peter doing here? I had not seen him in the library, so I’d assumed he was in his room.
As I crept up to the stall door, I found him crouched by Summer’s feet as he brushed her legs carefully. He wore a handsome gray coat—how in the world were his coats always so perfectly fitted?—and a pair of Hessians over equally well-fitting breeches.
I scolded myself silently, blushing. Eyeing a man’s breeches in a horse stall when he was completely unaware. How unladylike! Of all the times I should be focused, it was now. At last, I’d caught Peter Wood behaving more foolishly than I.
Summer whinnied, and Peter chuckled. “I understand completely.”
“I did not know you could talk to horses,” I said, leaning into the half-open stall with the fullest of grins upon my face. Peter had neglected to latch the door behind him, and it hung open freely.
He startled to his feet, brush in hand, and let out a breath when he saw me. “Amelia. What are you doing here?”
I smirked at his rosy cheeks. What would Peter Wood have to be embarrassed about? Surely talking to horses was not the worst thing I had against him. I tugged off my gloves and laid them over the top of the wooden wall. “Escaping games in the library. And you?”
He found a grin to match mine. “I confess I was worried over these two, but Winter has completely forgotten the trauma of this morning, and Summer will indulge in the attention she’s getting for the rest of her life, I am sure.”
“May I?” I gestured to the brush in his hand, stepping closer.
“Of course,” he said, offering it and patting Summer on the nose. “How are you faring?”
“Much better. Did you rest?” I drew the brush across Summer’s back, smoothing her coat and cleaning off the dust.
“I slept for a few hours. I thought I was the only one who needed a nap, until I came down and you were nowhere to be found.”
“You were looking for me?” I looked up at him.
“I am always looking for you, Amelia,” he said, smiling and lowering his chin.
A wave of nervousness stunned my heart, rippling through my chest. It tickled and excited me. Of course, this was only Peter’s game, but I could see the fun in it.
“Can we believe him, Summer?” I asked as I brushed her. “He is such a ridiculous tease, with quite the record of persuading and baiting to get what he wants.”
“I have no such record.” He raised a brow from across Summer’s back. “Only a few, small instances of exaggerated loyalty.”
“Well, heaven help those who have not yet earned your loyalty, Peter Wood. For they could find themselves made quite the enemy over something as meager as a pair of gloves.”
Peter huffed, a determined look in his eyes, his voice harsher than usual. “I wish I’d never entered that shop.”
My heart fell to my toes. I stopped brushing Summer as sudden emotion welled in my throat. Was he saying he wished he had never met me?
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, something I was beginning to notice he did when he felt uncomfortable or out of control. “If I’d made Georgiana search for that deuced pair of gloves herself, I could have first met you here. And perhaps you would not look at me like you are now. Disappointed and . . . unaffected.”
My brow furrowed, a sudden dryness in my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I only wish you were not angry with me anymore. It would be nice to have a genuine conversation. Not something forced by an absurd bargain.”
Is that what he thought? That I was angry with him? That because our friendship was forced by the bargain we’d made, it was therefore disingenuous? I walked slowly around Summer to face Peter, half afraid that I’d read him entirely wrong and was about to make a complete fool of myself for the millionth time.
“I am not angry with you, Peter. Not anymore. I’d venture to say I talk more with you than I do with Clara these days. I’ve grown fond of our afternoons.”
He smiled softly, and I wondered if he believed me, if I was right to be so honest and open with him. He hesitated for a moment, then took the brush from my hand and continued Summer’s pampering.
Winter blew out a breath from the corner; he was fast asleep on his belly. Kneeling beside him, I rubbed his nose and petted his mane. He was so peaceful, so perfectly adorable.
Peter was quiet, and I worried I’d said too much.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“You,” he answered, still facing Summer.
I scoffed at his teasing, waiting for him to laugh or cast me his playful grin. Instead, he stayed quiet as he gently attended to Summer. Guilt washed over me; I’d been sure Peter was exaggerating his claim. Regardless, after today, I had to admit he deserved for me to take him more seriously.
Winter stirred, and I coddled him until his eyes closed again.
In truth, I knew so little about Peter, aside from the small clues he gave me about his parents. If we were going to be genuine friends, it was my turn to ask questions. “Where is your estate?”
He stopped brushing for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at me. “About twenty-five miles from here, in northwest Hampshire.”
“Did you grow up there?”
Peter’s coat stretched handsomely against his back as he reached higher along Summer’s mane. It was hard not to notice how naturally handsome he was. My gaze too willingly admired the strength in his arms and shoulders. And those breeches. I bit my lip.
“No. My father spent most of his time in London. He was more interested in the business side of things, which is why I am so well-trained to take over a farming estate.”
I sensed his sarcasm to a sobering degree. “Was it a difficult transition, then?”
Peter shifted, brushing toward Summer’s rump. I noted the concentration in his profile. “I have a well-trained steward. But no, after I tied up loose ends in London, things have been moving slowly enough that I am not overwhelmed. The choice to move was mine, and I will learn quickly enough. I am simply not interested in upholding my father’s business ventures, nor do I think he would have expected me to.”
I pondered Peter’s words. Since the moment he practically threw his money at me in the glove shop, I’d assumed Peter relished being rich and loved the society that fed upon status and wealth, but perhaps he truly meant what he’d said a few days ago. His greatest wish, above even wealth, was to be seen for the workings of his hands and the thoughts in his head. Clearly, he could continue his father’s work and attain even greater status and wealth, but he did not. Why?