After dinner, Mr. Bratten entered the drawing room ahead of the other men, choosing a card table with Mrs. Turnball and Beatrice and motioning for Lieutenant Rawles, who was piling a stack of books next to a chair, to join them. Sir Ronald began a game of whist with Clara, Georgiana, and Peter, which left me alone with Lady Demsworth.
“I am feeling rather tired. I think I will do some stitching by the fire,” Lady Demsworth said. “Would you care to join me? You should know that I appreciate honesty over obligation.”
“In that case, I would love to join you and enjoy the fire without the stitching.” I stifled a yawn, and she nodded.
“You look exhausted, Miss Moore. Should I call for a cup of chocolate with our tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
Lady Demsworth led me to the coziest chair I’d ever sat in, the velvety fabric as soft as the plump pillow at my back. A cup of chocolate arrived shortly after with the tea tray, and I leaned into my chair, listening to the muffled voices in the room.
Clara was laughing, a gloved hand covering her lips, clearly taken with something Sir Ronald had said. The striking transformation of my sister over the course of a single day was astounding. Yesterday her sadness had been overwhelming, but today her countenance was filled to the brim with elation. To keep her like this, happy and free, I would do anything.
Lady Demsworth was drifting off, stitching only once every few minutes. Her casual nature permeated the Demworths’ home. I felt so at ease already, and we’d only just arrived. Half of me still expected Lord Gray to march in and demand his cigar, his relentless cough shaking the walls. I was glad Clara did not fully understand the gravity of this visit, of how quickly we needed security. But a small part of me wished there was someone who felt the weight of my burden too.
Peter’s loud laugh echoed off the ceiling, and I straightened. That man. How could I keep him—and more importantly his sister—from getting between Clara and Sir Ronald? Certainly not by sitting in a corner sipping hot chocolate.
Careful not to disturb Lady Demsworth, I rose and made my way across the room. Sir Ronald and Peter stood at my approach.
“Miss Moore. If only whist could be played with five instead of four.” Sir Ronald smiled regrettably. “But, please, join us if you’d like to watch Georgiana and I rob your sister and Wood of their dignity.”
Clara scowled playfully at him, eliciting a grin from Sir Ronald that creased his cheeks. Peter cleared his throat, and I met his gaze. His eyes held curiosity, and I shot back as much indifference as I could muster. I would no longer be timid. If a battle raged between his sister and mine, Clara would win.
“Now I am invested wholeheartedly,” I said. “I cannot see Clara losing at whist, unless Mr. Wood is a terribly unskilled player.”
“That I am not.” He winked at me, and my nerves tightened. “But if we have an audience we should raise the stakes. What do you say, Demsworth? What should the winning pair get?”
“Tea on the veranda,” Georgiana said, leaning closer to Sir Ronald. “Under the stars.”
Clara exhaled, eyes dropping to her cards. I could not blame her. Who would want to spend an evening with Peter Wood on the veranda?
“Agreed.” Peter smiled as if he’d already won. Clara’s slumping shoulders conceded. “Miss Moore, allow me to offer you my chair.”
I wanted to say no. I would have stood all night before taking anything from him. But Sir Ronald looked expectantly at me, and I nodded my acceptance. For Clara’s sake.
I thanked my stars for Peter’s formality in front of the company. Perhaps he meant to keep our secret after all. He slid his chair nearer to Clara so I could sit by her, and then retrieved another from a nearby table.
The game continued another half hour until, as predicted, Clara and Peter lost three points to one. I clenched my jaw, knowing Clara had played her best. Peter had obviously thrown the game so his sister would win.
“I thought you said you were skilled, Mr. Wood?” I cast him a disparaging frown.
“Every man has his day. Apparently, this was not mine.” His easy grin added fuel to my fire.
“No, it was not,” I grumbled. And neither would tomorrow be, nor the rest of the days we might spend in each other’s company. My patience for Peter Wood and his scheming had just run dry.
Chapter Four
A gentle breeze rustled my skirts as I walked upon the soft grass, farther and farther from Sir Ronald’s house. He’d taken our company on a tour of the grounds, and I was determined to find them. If only I hadn’t slept away the morning like an old spinster. With aching feet and not a man in sight I could almost claim the part. Plopping down on a lonely stump at the edge of the tree line, I wiped a trace of sweat from my brow.
I was lost. I must’ve already walked an hour or so but was no closer to Clara than I’d been at the house. What if she was struggling? What if she needed me to laugh at her jokes or boast of her successes? Neither of us had experience with winning a gentleman’s heart. The only example we had was my mother’s, and Father had not been her choice at all.
On the bright side, at least I had gloves. I pulled Lady Demsworth’s old pair tighter upon my hands as though they had imbued me with power and courage. Mary’s stitching was masterful. An eighth of an inch proved precisely the difference in our measurement. And according to Lady Demsworth’s maid, there were a dozen more pairs waiting to be mended, so these gloves would not be missed.
Hooves pounded in the distance, startling flocks of birds in the trees.
When a small carriage rounded the bend, I waved my arms like a stranded islander lost at sea, and the coachman pulled up beside me.
“Ma’am, what are you doing all the way out here?” a servant asked.
“I fear I’ve walked too far. I am trying to find Sir Ronald and his party.”
“I see. We’re meeting them up north with the picnic he requested. There is room in the carriage for anyone too tired to return by foot. Would you like a seat? The ride is bumpier in the pasture, but you’ll get there all the same.” The coachman dismounted, guiding me to the carriage door and helping me inside.
The drive was indeed bumpy, but my sore muscles welcomed the respite anyway. When the carriage stopped, I peered outside and there, just up the hill, stood Clara. Her hair was loosely curled and pinned under her bonnet, crowning her face like an angel. She wore a wispy pink dress that flowed with the breeze, the color matching the hue in her cheeks. She stood out just enough in the party without being overly conspicuous in appearance.
I stepped out of the carriage and approached the group.
“Miss Moore, you’ve arrived just in time.” Sir Ronald waved me over. Clara, Georgiana, and Peter stood in a half circle at the base of a hill. Peter looked annoyingly handsome in his navy overcoat, his hair windswept as though he’d just rescued a dozen damsels in distress. I felt his stare as I approached the group, though I pretended not to. He’d had his fun last night, but today was a new day.