“Well, I hope they felt our absence last night,” I said, shooting her a laughing grin, which she returned.
“It is clear they did, as well they should’ve. Have you seen Mr. Wood yet today?” Beatrice broke from her stitching, raising a playful eyebrow at me.
“I have not.” And I was not sure I wanted to.
Beatrice studied my face. “Do not tell Georgiana I said this, but you two Moore sisters have given the men here quite a stir. She wouldn’t admit as much, but I have never seen Mr. Wood pay more attention to a lady than he has paid to you this past fortnight.”
A strange laugh bubbled out of me. “No, no. Mr. Wood and I are good friends, but we are ill-suited for anything more than that.”
Beatrice suppressed a smile. “Your secret is safe with me, Miss Moore.” She took back up her stitching, and I sat in stunned silence.
Did I have a secret about Peter? He was handsome and charming and delightfully funny. And I’d been thinking of him much too often. Certainly more than Mr. Pendleton, and he was as good as my intended. More than I thought about Sir Ronald or Mr. Bratten or Lieutenant Rawles, and those men were my friends. But I did not wish to spend all day with them like I did with Peter. Our time together was never enough. And those moments I’d imagined kissing him . . .
Oh, no. I did have a secret about Peter.
A knock sounded on the door, and Mr. Gregory stepped in. “Miss Moore, Lady Demsworth would like to see you in her sitting room.”
“Of course,” I said, rising and following him from the room. How could I have opened my heart so willingly to Peter? If he had any intention of courting me, his mind would be swayed by my lack of dowry. Indeed, it was only a matter of time before he found out the dire truth of my circumstances.
Moments later I stood in Lady Demsworth’s doorway, and she ushered me in with a girlish squeal.
“Miss Moore, I’ve received a response from David! He is eager to meet you and will arrive in four days’ time. Business nearby requires his attention, so unfortunately we will only have him for dinner, but before he leaves, I am confident you will have your engagement and the security you need.”
My mouth fell open, and I quickly closed it. “Th-that is . . . wonderful news. I . . . hardly know what to say. Thank you.” The last was nearly a question. Why was I surprised? Of course Mr. Pendleton would come. That had been the plan all along.
“I am so pleased. So very pleased,” she continued. “I just know the two of you will be a perfect match.”
“Yes,” I breathed. A perfect match.
Loveless.
Risk-free.
Easy.
Chapter Nineteen
Closed away in my room, I successfully avoided the company for the rest of the afternoon, knowing Peter would be after me to claim my indebted time. His words from last night filled my thoughts, fighting against those spoken by Georgiana. What would he say if he knew I had no dowry? Would he think me a fortune hunter? Would he look at me differently? Would he look at me at all? I could not bear to see a change in him. I could never tell him. Especially since I would be meeting David Pendleton in a few days’ time. Soon, it wouldn’t matter if Peter loved me, dowry or not, at all.
Mary begged some lavender vinaigrette from Lady Demsworth’s maid, and I stayed in bed for an hour sniffing it in hopes it would bring relief from what I assumed were the early symptoms of a heart attack.
“Are you in pain? Shall I call a doctor?” Mary asked, fanning me with the biggest fan she could find.
“No pain,” I said on an exhale.
“I think I should call on Miss Clara,” Mary said.
“You musn’t. She cannot know.” I tried to stand, but Mary held my shoulders down.
“Has something more happened since the letters?” Mary looked at me, worried.
If I did not tell someone my secret, I feared I might burst. Mary listened intently as I relayed my conversation with Lady Demsworth and explained that Mr. Pendleton was actually coming to meet me for an arrangement of marriage.
“Oh, Miss Moore.” She shook her head. “How can you keep all of this to yourself?” She fanned harder. “For what it’s worth, belowstairs I hear Lady Demsworth’s nephew is quite the catch. Amiable, kind, wealthy. You could do far worse.”
“It’s not that.” I waved away her fan, sitting up. “This is all so fast, Mary. Before, I thought we had weeks, not days. I hoped for a month before Lord Gray died. Then I made this arrangement, because what choice did I have? And yes, I’d felt rushed, but not entirely so. Now I am days from engagement . . . to a stranger . . .” I clutched my chest, and Mary hastily started fanning again.
“Do not think of it as only marriage, Miss Moore. Think of it as a saving grace. This match will give you everything you need.”
Yes, but what will I lose?
The door creaked open, and Clara stepped in. “There you are. Where have you been all day, Amelia? We’ve all wondered after you. Beatrice said something about Lady Demsworth needing to see you?”
Clara strode to the armoire, fingering through her evening gowns. Mary and I exchanged a worried glance. I knew I should tell Clara the whole of it. But how would she respond? Would it devastate her beyond repair to hear how close we truly were to poverty? Or that I’d spoken in secret with Lady Demsworth and agreed to marry a stranger? Her knowledge of either of those things would change nothing, only cause more pain. I could bear it all for us for a few days more.
“Oh, that was nothing. She was only being a good hostess. Checking on our stay.” I motioned to Mary to help me change for dinner.
Clara looked over her shoulder at me. “Thank heavens. I had the strangest idea that Lord Gray was calling us home early.”
“No, of course not,” I said quickly. The truth was just the opposite. I bit at my finger, hating to keep the truth from my sister. “Never mind. What shall you wear tonight?”
Clara chose a pretty pink gown, and I wore lavender. I had Mary let my hair down, rearranging it to hang softly down my back. I feared a headache was coming on despite my vinaigrette.
At dinner, Lady Demsworth shot me a knowing smile, which I returned with as much gratitude as my nerves would allow.
“Miss Moore,” Peter called from the opposite end of the table. His attention stung, now that I knew how incompatible we really were. “Your absence was noted this afternoon. Are you quite well?”
His hint at our bargain was as subtle as a yellow rose. Lady Demsworth looked at me curiously, as though anticipating my answer with equal interest. I knew she’d judge my response as a reaction to our earlier conversation. I needed to choose my words carefully. “Quite. I trust this evening will make up for this afternoon’s lost time.”