After three failed attempts to find the right words, I opted for a simple approach:
Dear Mr. Pendleton,
I am writing to accept your proposal of marriage. My sister and I will arrive by late afternoon. I hope you will forgive such short notice.
Trusting you are well,
Amelia Moore
Letter sealed, I addressed the outside with David’s proper name. I stared at the paper. I did not know David Pendleton, not really. And he was not Peter. Still, I closed the inkwell.
I have no choice. One person could not walk two paths. And I could not—I would not—leave Clara behind.
“Mary, I want this letter sent out at first light.” I said the words, but they were not at all convincing.
“Are you sure, Miss Moore?” She took the letter, staring at the address. “Once this is sent, it cannot be undone.”
I paused, my shoulders falling. “I am aware.”
Mary nodded. “Of course, miss. I will send it.”
After Mary said good night, I rolled onto my bed, facing Clara. She lay with her back to me, her shoulders rising and falling in sleep.
Try as I might to silence it, my mind reviewed every second, every touch, every look, every word I’d shared with Peter. How I longed to hear him speak those words again. To bind the cords that pulled us together, to knot our lives as one. But to do so now, with Clara and Sir Ronald severed, would be torture for my sister. I could not ask her to live with Georgiana’s brother. Nor to be subject to Georgiana’s life with Sir Ronald, played out right in front of her face.
I shifted in my bed, holding my pillow. Georgiana had ruined everything with one kiss. What excuse had she given? Was she perfectly happy now, having tied herself irrevocably to Sir Ronald? And was Beatrice right? Did Georgiana mean to recreate my parents’ scandal as a means to win Sir Ronald? If so, I could only blame myself. I’d painted my parents as a love story, and Clara and I as happy, lucky even, to have resulted from scandal. The truth was far from it. I had neglected to admit the pain, the heartache, the sacrifices that came with their choice.
I sat up in my bed, fiddling with my unkempt braid. What was being said downstairs in the drawing room? Georgiana was now ruined through no fault but her own. If she had indeed acted on her own, Sir Ronald might suffer if he chose to reject her now, but he could recover. He had a choice, unlike my mother and father. Did he know as much?
Clara loved him still, I was sure, and if he loved her as well . . . they could recover from this. I needed to speak to Sir Ronald.
I slipped out of bed, throwing on a simple day dress and an unbuttoned pelisse before donning slippers and retrieving my candle.
“Is everything all right?” Clara stirred beside me. That she asked at all told me her sleep was not as easy as I had hoped it would be for her.
“I am just blowing out my candle. All is well, Clara.”
Perhaps the lie would ring true tomorrow. I covered my candle with a hand, waiting for a beat before leaving the room.
Down the stairs I raced, a new energy feeding my muscles. Georgiana would answer for what she had done, I would make sure of it. And Sir Ronald would have to make his intentions clear, once and for all.
The double doors to the drawing room remained closed, but dim lighting shone from the crack. I did not hesitate.
I pushed opened both doors as I entered, taking in the scene before me.
“Miss Moore.” Sir Ronald stood from his chair, surprise registering on his face. His hair looked like he’d nearly torn it all out, eyes bloodshot and afraid.
I ignored his greeting, seeing Georgiana standing in a back corner of the room, facing Peter. Her frown deepened, eyes wide.
“What have you done?” I asked loudly, pacing toward her.
Georgiana stepped closer to Peter, grabbing his arm. “This is a private matter, Miss Moore.”
“You know full well it is not.” My voice was harsh, full of spite.
“Miss Moore, might I have a word?” Sir Ronald asked, now standing at my elbow.
I flicked my gaze to Peter, the only one who had yet to speak. His eyes were heavy as he rubbed his jaw, unwilling to meet my gaze. Did he regret his words earlier in the garden? Perhaps Georgiana had changed his mind.
I looked back to Sir Ronald. “I have only come to spare my sister from having to see you in the morning. I’ve written to Mr. Pendleton, and we shall leave at first light.” I turned, intent on leaving the room. I made it back to the door before Sir Ronald stopped me.
“Miss Moore, please.” He begged. “Please, wait. You must allow me to explain.”
“I will not hear your apology.”
“And yet I offer it. I plead with you to forgive me. This night—what Georgiana has forced upon me, was not my intention.” Sir Ronald looked behind him, where Georgiana and Peter stood in intense conversation.
My lungs finally took a deep breath. “Then why would Georgiana feel a kiss would be permissible tonight?”
“I have yet to receive an answer. She suggests I—” He shook his head. His eyes were as broken and weary as his voice. “She suggests I moved first. But I did not. You must believe me.”
Judging from the reactions of the others, I had no reason not to believe him. But why did he work so hard to convince me of his truth? What was he not saying?
“Do you love my sister, Sir Ronald?”
“Miss Moore,” he breathed as though mere air was not enough to satiate him. “I love Clara with everything I am.”
I willed myself to remain calm, to not break down and weep for what should have been my sister’s fate. My Clara, who would not take a pence more than she was owed, had been robbed of her heart’s greatest desire.
“Then what is to stop you from her now?” I asked.
Sir Ronald dropped his head. “I can hardly hope she would accept me as a ruined man. To abandon Georgiana is dishonorable, and I could not ask Clara to stand beside me and endure the gossip and ridicule that is sure to follow me.”
Was that all? “She has endured far worse, I assure you.”
Sir Ronald looked up at me, a new hope in his eyes.
“But can you abandon Georgiana?” I asked. “I know you care for her, too.”
He shook his head. “I have never loved Georgiana as I love Clara.”
I raised my chin. “She comes with nothing. We have neither inheritance nor dowry.”
“I know. And I don’t care. I will turn things around soon, and money will never worry my family again.” His eyes were sincere, willing me to believe his words. And I did.