“I must ask you to continue your time with Mr. Wood, though I know how he irks you.” Clara looked past me, as though assuring herself that no one had followed us. “Sir Ronald is paying me particular attention now. And I mean to encourage him.” Clara looked at me shyly, and I drew a breath.
“You are sure?” Could it be true? Had Sir Ronald finally come to his senses? The thought of Clara’s heart opened wide for the breaking terrified me.
“I am.” She gave me a tremulous smile. “One of us needs to marry with Lord Gray so ill. And if I get a say in whom I shall marry, I’d want it to be Sir Ronald. If he offers for me, would you approve?”
I pulled Clara into a tight hug, feeling confident that should she more fully encourage a match, Sir Ronald would be happy to oblige her. Not to mention that their marriage would help us both immensely when Lord Gray left us. “I approve wholeheartedly.”
“Do you? Your opinion, your blessing, means the world to me. I could not accept him without your approval.”
“Clara, you have always had it. You do not need my blessing to follow your heart.”
Clara’s smile touched her eyes. “And what of your heart, sister? I fear your afternoons with Mr. Wood are being noticed by our company. Beatrice asked after him this afternoon, and Georgiana was sure he was sleeping. And the look on her face when she saw you together just now. I thought she would shoot arrows from her eyes. Are you quite sure your affections are not swayed by the time you’ve shared with him?”
I scratched my neck, looking away. People were talking? Our arrangement, having been made and kept in secret, might indeed seem confusing from the outside looking in. But Peter knew as well as I did, if not more so, that our afternoons together were only part of a greater scheme for Clara and Georgiana. Admitting our secret arrangement to Clara now would not please her, and we’d just shared such happy news. I would have to feign innocence for a few more days.
“No, of course not. Mr. Wood and I are barely friends.” My mind was in agreement, but as I said the words, something else inside me fought against them. A curious feeling. Some hope within me that demanded its voice be heard. In truth, I’d never experienced such a feeling before.
Clara let out a breath. “Good. I confess you had me worried for a moment. Can you imagine being tied to the Wood family after Sir Ronald proposes? How awkward and uncomfortable. Or worse, if he proposed to Georgiana, having to be tied to her. To them together. I couldn’t. I never in my life wish to see the Woods again after this trip.”
The disgust on Clara’s face tightened my chest. Peter was not all that bad. True, his presence had not always been one I desired, but something was different these past few afternoons. He was different. I’d seen a new piece of Peter, perhaps even a missing piece he kept from the rest of the world. He’d shared some rather personal thoughts with me. Things he likely did not want shared any more than I did the things I’d admitted.
But even still, I could not disagree with Clara. It wouldn’t work to be tied to the Woods after Sir Ronald’s proposal. There was no way to tell how things would go, and life had taught us not to risk chance. Practicality always seemed the safer bet. It would never be possible to form any sort of relationship with the Woods. We would always be on opposing sides.
The company spilled out of the stables, and Sir Ronald led an examination of the grounds. Much had been ravaged by the storm. Small tree limbs and leaves littered the clearing, with overturned buckets and feed barrels scattered around as well. What a mess. Clara locked arms with Sir Ronald of her own accord, and I nearly fell over at her confidence. It seemed I was not needed here after all. Slowing my pace to separate myself from the group, I saw Peter tossing a stick into a heaping pile by a fence.
Would he notice my absence? Did I want him to? As I trudged back to the house, I could not help but think that secretly I did. And that was a problem indeed.
Chapter Twelve
With nowhere in particular to go, I entered the drawing room, which was lit with afternoon sunlight.
“Miss Moore, what a surprise. Are the others far behind you?” Lady Demsworth asked from the settee she shared with Mrs. Turnball and looked up from her stitching expectantly.
“They continue their walk along the grounds. I fear I have not quite recovered from this morning,” I answered, finding a seat nearby.
It wasn’t entirely untrue, but after my conversation with Peter in Summer’s stall, I could not deny a new feeling also. A lighter, happier feeling that surpassed the lingering exhaustion from this morning. But Clara was right. What place did Peter Wood have in my life? Who knew his intentions for certain? I was here for one purpose, and one purpose only. To secure Clara’s match with Sir Ronald.
“Of course, dear, and how could you be? Though I am sure the party misses you.” Lady Demsworth returned to her stitching. “Mrs. Turnball and I were just discussing the upcoming ball my dear friends the Levins are hosting at the end of the fortnight. It was so kind of them to extend the invitation to our entire party. They are lavish hosts. I am certain their ball will feel as polished as any in London. Do you not agree, Mrs. Turnball?”
“To be sure,” Mrs. Turnball added. “Do you enjoy dancing, Miss Moore?”
“I love it. And I did not dance enough in London. A ball sounds very inviting.”
Lady Demsworth clucked, pulling her needle up through canvas. “With your beauty? Were the men blind this Season?”
Mrs. Turnball motioned to the pianoforte in the corner of the room. “Play for us, won’t you, Miss Moore?”
I had not played since arriving at Lakeshire Park, but with a nearly empty room, now seemed the perfect time. I knew Lady Demsworth and Mrs. Turnball would forgive my inadequacy. The only song I could play well was Father’s. And that did not render me an accomplished lady.
The women sitting next to me made the job of being a proper lady seem effortless, easy, as though the training was ingrained in their bones. They made conversation easy and pleasant. In fact, as I studied their faces, their gentleness and easy comradery, I could not help but wish to be like them. They were so vastly different from the women I’d met in London.
Mrs. Turnball, though quiet and serious, held depth behind her eyes. I truly believed if she was forced into a battle of wits, she would win, and yet her first instinct would not be to battle at all, I was sure of it. Her elegance and grace took precedence. The way she held her head, high and unyielding, confirmed it.
The same was true of Lady Demsworth. Even earlier while wearing her morning clothes, she exuberated dignity and propriety. In her eyes was a natural kindness, a sympathetic compassion, and yet she fiercely devoted herself to her family. Clara would do well to tie herself to such a mother-in-law. To be among such society.
A Mozart piece spanned the music desk on the pianoforte, and I slid my fingers along the smooth, cool keys to find my place. My eyes studied the notes. I could already tell my playing would be far too slow for what was required.