Dressed in white with an emerald spencer buttoned tightly around my bodice, I set out early the next day to find Peter. Most of the company had already eaten breakfast and sat on the lawn watching Sir Ronald and Mr. Bratten play battledore. They played with such force, I worried the shuttlecocks might run straight through them.
“He is in the stables,” Beatrice called, pointing east. I did not need to question her further, nor acknowledge that my efforts were that embarrassingly obvious.
Sure enough, I found Peter standing at Summer’s side, brushing her mane with a thick brush. As I pushed the door to the stall open, it squeaked.
“Where were you at breakfast?” he asked, not looking up.
I racked my brain for an excuse. “Making sure my hair was just so.”
“Liar.” He tsked. “Tomorrow you must wake up with the sun for once.”
“Tomorrow I intend to still be up when the sun rises,” I joked.
“You plan to dance all night, do you?” He gave me a crooked smile.
“Only twice, actually.”
“Is Mr. Pendleton coming, then?”
I inhaled deeply, groaning on the exhale. “I meant with you, Peter.”
He faked a grimace. “But I have not asked you.”
I took three long steps toward him, pushing him back with both hands and slapping his shoulders. “You irritating man!”
His eyes were wide with humor as I pelted him, which only served to anger me further. “I’m sorry?”
My shoulders slumped, and I felt as defeated as I had when Mama had thrown my music in the fire. “I want to spend my last evening here dancing with my dearest friend. Is that so much to ask? Why does anything have to change between us now?”
Peter stilled, his smile dropping instantly. “Forgive me, Amelia. I only thought—”
“Stop thinking.” I crossed my arms, frowning at him. “I like you much better when you don’t.”
Peter nodded once, looking both terrified and pleased. “Would you like to brush Summer?”
“I would,” I said forcefully, loudly, and much too swiftly. I took the brush from his outstretched hand and moved around him.
Peter coughed. Or was it a laugh?
I could hear him rustling behind me, like he scuffed his boot back and forth in place upon the dirty floor.
“Dearest friend?” he asked suddenly.
My neck flushed, but I only had one day left. And I wanted it to be perfect, one way or the other. “Yes.”
Peter grabbed my free hand, spinning me around to face him. His eyes were beaming. “Amelia?”
I swallowed, finding it hard to meet his gaze.
“Would you give me the pleasure of your first dance tonight?”
I raised my chin, suppressing my smile. “Yes, thank you. And I shall take your last as well.”
Peter squeezed my hand before releasing me. “It is yours.”
We spent the entire afternoon together, returning to our usual easy conversation. I loved the way Peter simply understood me. Even when I lacked for words, he knew what I meant. And when I moved awkwardly or fell out of step, Peter always adjusted to make up the difference between us.
Evening fell before I had time to catch my breath, and Mary laid out my ball gown. It was cherry red with a simple V-shaped neckline, hugging my figure and flowing out behind me. Mary pinned a spray of white flowers at the back of my hair and painted my lips with a dab of Rose Lip Salve. I pulled on the ivory evening gloves Peter had given me and followed Clara down the stairs.
My pulse quickened when we reached the top of the final floor. We were the first of the ladies to descend, and thus the first to be admired by the men. Sir Ronald escorted Clara to the back of the room, whispering something in her ear that made her blush.
Peter waited at the base of the stairs, hands tucked behind his back, moving forward as I approached. “Miss Moore,” he said, “there are not words to describe your beauty tonight.”
I would have thought him teasing, if not for the red upon his cheeks and the parting of his lips as he received me. Was it true? Did my appearance affect Peter as his did me? For the handsome wisp of his hair, the fine cut of his suit along his broad shoulders, and a heightened smell of pine and soap were entirely affecting me tonight. Only, tonight I would not avoid his charm.
Tonight, I would let myself fully admire Peter Wood.
Peter led me to the carriage parked on the drive, and I caught him stealing glances as we walked. He chuckled when I pinched his arm.
“I am sorry,” he said on a laugh. “I am desperately trying to stay honorable.”
“Perhaps I should find a different dance partner?” I teased.
“You are not leaving my side tonight, Miss Moore. Not for a moment.”
Beatrice and Mr. Bratten joined us soon after we settled in, and our carriage departed.
Listening to Mr. Bratten prattle on about some business of his, I felt Peter’s stare once more. His eyes, when I met them, were firm and serious, and I lifted my chin under his scrutiny. He did not look away for a long moment, but held my gaze with admiration and—could it be?—affection. I bit my lip and moved my gaze to the window beside me. The stars were just beginning to shine.
When we arrived at the Levins’ house, Peter helped me down from the carriage, pulling me close. I hadn’t expected such a crowd in such a small town. The house was large and filled with fancy dresses and flowers, and the hustle and bustle reminded me of London. I clung to Peter for balance.
Our first country dance was every bit like our secret waltz. Neither of us could contain our smiles, and we danced with as much enthusiasm as we could muster. My cheeks ached from laughter, and when Peter pulled me close, my nerves tingled and flurried. Everything felt right again. My heart alternately settled then leaped to be with Peter.
I caught his eye through every subsequent dance, so that it felt as though we never truly left one another’s company, despite changing partners. Clara and the rest of our company danced and conversed amidst the crush, and not a frown existed among us.
“You look no less exercised than when we first arrived,” Peter said, nearly out of breath when he found me in my chair between dances. “To think you tried to trick me into believing you could not climb a hill on our second day.”
I laughed. “Is it time for our next dance already?”
“It is nearly one in the morning, so yes, it should be about time. But I am exhausted. I need a moment’s rest, or I shall fail you entirely. These women do not dance with such grace as you.”
My heart flipped in my chest. “Is that so?”