Georgiana’s grin bolstered, and she turned to Peter. “But I shall still find a way to make you pay for this. The night is young yet.”
Her words reminded me of Peter’s owed favor from our quarrel in the mud, and I glanced between the two of them.
“Indeed, the fun has only just begun,” I said. “Mr. Wood has to make good on his promise to me.”
Peter raised a brow, but the corners of Georgiana’s mouth twitched.
“What promise is that?” she asked.
“He owes me one very generalized ransom, a duty or whatever I wish of him, for which I have yet to make him answer. I thought perhaps you could assist me in choosing his fate this evening.”
“Ooh, the intrigue. To have such advantage over him. That does sound like fun. What shall we have him do?” Georgiana reached out to Peter and straightened his cravat.
Peter’s lips were pursed as he flicked a look of betrayal at me.
“Perhaps he could cater to our every need, like a butler?” Georgiana laughed.
Her sudden change in mood encouraged me. “Or we could make him stand with applause after every piece?”
“Humiliating.” She beamed. “And brilliant.”
“Need I remind you that this ‘favor’ you are sharing with my sister was meant as a gift, Miss Moore.” Peter lowered his chin at me.
“Never fear. I am sure you will owe me another soon enough.”
Georgiana and I schemed for the duration of the ride while Peter wavered between laughter and sulking. The drive took about twenty minutes, but it felt like five in conversation.
The carriage stopped outside a large, tan brick building with two pillars on either side of the entryway, and Peter hopped out immediately. He helped me down, but held fast to my hand, assisting Georgiana with his left hand.
When she was out of earshot, he pulled me close and wrapped my arm through his.
“I am trying to be angry with you,” he said, his voice light. “But my sister is actually smiling, which is worth more than my pride.”
“I promise to keep you from ruin, Peter.” Nudging him in the side, his full grin surfaced, and it was as though our conversation the night before had never occurred.
“Hardly. Though I had hoped you’d use the favor for something more . . . mutually beneficial.”
I nearly tripped over my shoes. “Peter Wood.”
A servant opened the door to the theatre for us. Georgiana had already found friends, conversing near a wide, red carpeted staircase that led to seating higher up. Georgiana stepped beside us as we started up the stairs, her eyes alive with excitement. I’d never attended a symphony orchestra, but Georgiana’s enthusiasm was contagious.
Peter led us upward to the balcony seats along the left side. Hordes of people were already taking their seats around us. The area was decorated with red cushioned chairs overlooking the broad black stage. Walking toward the edge of the balcony, I was struck by the size of the audience below us, and even above us higher along a back balcony. The ceiling was crowned in ornate carvings of flowers and vines, and the walls were papered in hues of red and brown.
I took an empty seat beside Peter, settling in just as the curtains drew back and the symphony orchestra appeared. Each member was dressed in black, their sleek instruments gleaming in the stage lights. We were close enough that I could see the musicians tightening their strings and shuffling pages at the last-minute as the conductor stood to greet the audience.
“Amelia,” Georgiana whispered from Peter’s other side, “perhaps we should force Peter to play his viola when we return. He is quite accomplished.”
“I would rather fall over this balcony.” Peter crossed his arms regally, and Georgiana scrunched her nose in a suppressed fit of laughter.
An older woman turned around and shushed him, furthering Georgiana’s fit, until at last the conductor spoke. A hush came over the room.
“Look at the carvings,” Georgiana said quietly to Peter. “I’ve never seen them from this view.”
Peter’s hand brushed my skirts as he balanced himself, looking up at the ornately carved ceiling. “Fascinating. Grecian, I believe.”
I loved his appreciation for architecture and culture. As I watched him studying the room, his chin lowered slowly, and he found me, a seriousness expression on his face.
“What do you think of it all?” he asked.
“I love it. All of it. The lighting, the wallpaper, the carpets . . . even the musty smell.”
Peter breathed a laugh. He set his hand on his leg, near to mine in my lap. “All part of the experience, is it not?”
I looked away, forcing myself to remember my place and my goals. We could be friends, but that was all. Any affection Peter thought he held for me was fleeting. I willed the music to begin.
“Georgiana knows about the gloves,” Peter said softly beside me. “I told her this morning.”
My gaze sharpened. “Why? What did she say?”
“I am tired of secrets. I hate them, actually. Georgiana thought the story funny but has not said a word about it since. I should have told her that first day at Demsworth’s. I should have told everyone.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It is better this way.”
“Why?” Peter looked at me fiercely. “What is the benefit of keeping a secret from someone you care about?”
I had a feeling his question was more pointed than innocent. “For fear of losing that person’s good opinion. Or being seen differently in their eyes.”
“That is exactly the thing I appreciate most about love, Miss Moore. Its opinion is not easily swayed by status or money or flaws. Unless it is betrayed, it is most forgiving. And it holds steadfast in any weather.”
I closed my eyes, letting out a breath. I felt like a feather tossed in the wind—dizzy and floating and high. Did Peter mean his words? That money, or a lack thereof, could not sway love? My secret was not as small as a pair of gloves. My secret would be shocking to discover. No matter how Peter tried to convince me, I knew the truth. At best, love was a double-edged sword.
Music filled the air like a tidal wave rushing upon us. A perfect harmony of notes, loud but soothing, reverberated off the walls. The musicians played one song after another, some fast and merry, others somber and slow.
Peter tilted his head, closing his eyes in appreciation.
Regardless of what the future held, I was glad to share this moment with him. This memory. Where music changed us.
I leaned closer to his ear. “Can you feel it?”
Immediately his eyes snapped to mine. “What do you mean?”