I felt uncomfortable and uneasy to be seated in the middle of their exchange. Tension filled the air, negative and uninviting.
“I only heard Sir Ronald’s name and mine together.” Georgiana’s smile was bitter, tempting.
“You must hear only what you wish to hear,” I said before Clara could respond. “Clara and I speak of everyone here today. Your name is nothing special in our conversation, I assure you.”
Georgiana looked taken aback, and I felt a twinge of guilt. What would she say to Peter? And how would he react upon hearing how I’d spoken to his sister?
“Thank you,” Clara whispered to me. “I cannot stand her, not even for a moment anymore. She is like an unwelcome fly that cannot be squished.”
I let my shoulders fall, torn between the loyalty I felt for my sister in that moment and a sudden rush of emotion for Georgiana. Protectiveness? Compassion? Whatever it was, it opposed my natural instinct.
Georgiana traded seats with Beatrice a few minutes later, laughing with Lady Demsworth to Clara’s further annoyance. The afternoon grew hotter, both in temperature and temperament. My fan was nearly a blur.
“Time!” called an attendant, holding a large watch high above his head.
Each man handed his pole to the servant assisting him and brought forth his creel to be sorted through. One by one, the fish were placed on a table scale and measured in length.
Finally, the attendant brought a paper to Sir Ronald, who stood in a half circle with the other men around us. He unfolded it; the wait was unbearable.
“Weighing in at thirteen-and-a-half pounds, the prize goes to . . . Wood.” Sir Ronald wiped sweat from his brow from the unrelenting heat. “A night at the symphony. Name your companion.”
Applause filled the air, and Peter nodded with a half-smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost hesitant at the decision before him.
Who would he choose? How I wished things could be different between us. That he could choose me, and we could go as friends. I found myself studying the faces of the women around me, holding my breath. Distance was better. I had a plan, and I had to see it through.
“Miss Moore,” Peter said, squinting up through the bright sunlight at Sir Ronald. “If she agrees, of course.”
Me? My face grew warm despite my vigorous fanning, and Sir Ronald looked to me for my answer. I could not decline the invitation surrounded by the entire party, and Peter knew as much. He knew I meant to focus on Clara’s future. I had all but refused him last night, and yet still he chose me. Should I be angry at his blatant disregard for my wishes? Or moved that he cared enough to overlook them? My mind argued the former, but my heart . . . my heart felt only relief.
“I should be delighted.” I tried to sound nonchalant, and Peter looked curiously at me, as though to measure my sincerity.
“Wonderful,” he said. “We shall leave directly after dinner. Georgiana will join us as chaperone.”
At that, the party dispersed, some looking more dejected than others. No one could’ve been more displeased than Georgiana, who nearly stomped forward to confront Peter. Glancing over my shoulder, I could’ve sworn she was giving him quite a row. But he only smiled, kind and easy, as though he had not a care in the world.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After dinner, Mary readjusted my hair and freshened my dress with a misting of rose water. For the first time since we’d arrived at Lakeshire Park, I’d had little to eat for dinner and even less to drink. Mary forced me to eat a cold sandwich to keep from getting a headache. But all I could think about was Peter. If I was careful tonight, perhaps I could convince him that despite what I’d said, despite what I had to do, we could still maintain our friendship.
Peter and Georgiana waited for me in the foyer, and as I stepped forward to meet them, Peter took my hand.
“You look lovely,” he said softly.
“Thank you.” I allowed myself one glance at his fine fitted coat and wavy hair.
“You were absolutely right about purple. You wear it like a queen.” Peter took my arm in his, and Georgiana cleared her throat as we passed her. I winced in embarrassment to have her so close to us, but Peter did not seem to mind.
“I was joking about that, Peter,” I said in a low voice.
“I am not.” He helped me into the carriage, papered in shades of blues and golds. I cast him a pointed glance, and he merely smiled. The man was determined.
I sat on one side with Georgiana and him opposite me.
“How far is the drive?” I asked, shifting in my seat. Hopefully not far; I was already tired of Georgiana’s pursed lips.
“Less than a half hour. Further north of town toward Winchester,” Peter said, leaning back in his seat. “Relax, Georgiana. You love the symphony.”
“I do,” she muttered. “But I had different companions in mind.”
“You do not have to speak so mysteriously in front of Miss Moore. It is no secret that you and Miss Clara are vying for the same man.” Peter lowered his chin at her, and Georgiana cast him a horrified glance. What in the world was Peter thinking? Georgiana looked ready to leap from the carriage.
“It is true.” I cleared my throat. What was I thinking? The words spilled from my lips on an exhale, with not a single thought to control them. “Allow me to apologize for what I said earlier. Clara was indeed talking about you.”
“I knew it!” Georgiana pointed at Peter. “She hates me, and she means to ruin my life.”
In a flash, I realized Peter’s motive for the evening. He wanted to bridge the gap between his sister and me. Did he think that would make a difference? Would it?
“She does not hate you,” I said, capturing her attention. “Nor do I. But circumstances require us to be enemies for the time being.”
“You see?” Peter said as though to prove a point. “It is exactly as I’ve told you. Miss Clara could likely be your friend if Sir Ronald was not in the way.”
“But he is.” She crossed her arms. “And you’ve given Clara an entire evening alone with him, while I am stuck here with you.”
Peter’s gaze flashed to me in a moment of worry, before he turned to her. “Only for the first part of the evening. Miss Clara will likely go to bed with her sister when we return.”
Georgiana looked to me, and a familiar emotional pull resurfaced. A weighted force that begged for attention, cried for action, no matter how impractical and nonsensical. For truly, I had never wanted Georgiana to like me more than I did at that moment.
“Peter is right,” I said. “I shall make sure of it tonight.”