“No, thank you. I am quite content.”
Those bright eyes peered curiously into mine as he offered a deep bow and continued past me toward the spread. His walk—or saunter, really—was as carefree as though the wind itself carried him. His hair wisped with each step, and he threw a half grin to every person who greeted him. I bit my lip, letting out a heavy breath. Could I keep up with this game we were playing? Peter’s confidence far outweighed my own.
He seemed keen to continue our acquaintance, but for what purpose? The worst of it all was the feeling of deceitfulness that surged within me. I had not actually lied to Peter, or to anyone else, and yet I felt as though I had. Creating an illusion of a friendship based on such pretenses did not satisfy my moral compass, and yet I had no choice. Clara depended on me. Her very livelihood, her happiness, depended on these next thirteen days.
Before I resolved my emotional dilemma, Peter was back. He rested easily beside me, stretching out his legs in a lazy fashion and situating his plate beside mine. What would I say now that I had his attention? How could I entertain him?
“Gloves today, hmm?” He graciously broke the silence, motioning to the borrowed pair in my lap as he took a bite of cheese. He must’ve wondered where I’d found them. Or perhaps he assumed I’d lied about my desperation. I might have to toy with him to get the time I needed for Clara, but I did not wish to lie to him.
“Lent by a friend who happens to be much kinder than a man I met in a little shop down the way.” I sipped my lemonade, looking innocently along the back of Sir Ronald’s estate. It seemed to never end, even as it melted into a perfectly blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.
“As it so happens, I know that man.” Peter took a swig of his own drink, peering out into my same scene. “And I can tell you honestly that he is truly sorry for taking them from you.”
I highly doubted that. “Is he? Well, I hope he learned a great lesson about his actions. You never know who you are hurting by denying kindness.”
Peter hung his head, a gentle smile creasing his cheeks handsomely, and stared down at his plate like a troubled child. “I know.” He jerked his head up and met my gaze teasingly. “That is to say . . . he knows. And he will spend a great while thinking more on his actions. I promise he is not usually so narrow-minded.”
“Good.” I set down my cup and stole another glance at Clara. Her companions were in happy conversation, and it was clear to me that their trio worked best alone. But what game was Sir Ronald playing? And would it work out well for Clara? The question unnerved me. For her happiness, I would do anything.
“Now.” Peter turned to face me, the seriousness that had touched his features smoothed over with his original placidity. Apparently, the business between us was resolved. “Tell me something, Miss Moore. No one else has heard of you, nor of your sister. It is as if you’ve been in hiding and just brought to light. Why do you think that is?”
“In hiding” was a kind way to imagine our lives in Brighton. Without callers or friends, we likely seemed like recluses, though the truth was as simple as having no choice. Peter waited patiently for my response, as though my answer would unlock other important questions in his head. Unfortunately for him, I had more sense than to indulge him in our private affairs. Peter Wood, with all his charm, was nothing but an enemy to me.
“We live in Brighton with our stepfather, Lord Gray. We are no great mystery, I assure you. Clara and I have moved around quite a bit this last decade, so perhaps we’ve simply confused the ton.”
Peter furrowed his brow. Even frustrated, he was irritatingly attractive. “That is a deeply unsatisfying answer, Miss Moore.”
“You expect me to tell a stranger my secrets? Unlock the cavities of my heart, bare for the taking?” I mimicked his furrowed brow sarcastically.
“Yes. That would be fantastic, actually.” Peter grinned, leaning in closer. “I am eager to hear them.”
Too eager, in my opinion. What game was Peter playing? He was far too keen to get to know me. “Where do you hail from, Mr. Wood?”
Peter cast me a disappointed look before crossing his arms and staring at his plate. “Most recently London. Before that, I studied in Paris. My father thought it best for me to continue my education abroad for a time.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Or perhaps he sent me because he could not adequately oversee my studies on his own. Heaven knows my mother had enough work for him to do. But it matters not. Everything my father worked for is now mine, and I have every intention of creating what I want from his labors.”
“Which would be?” I could not pull my attention from the curve of Peter’s smile, the gentle way he shrugged when he finished speaking.
“Home.” The word was soft and full of longing. Whatever Peter described, he ached for it and cherished what was not yet his.
My heart suddenly beat, as though it awoke from a deep sleep, and an overwhelming longing overcame me. Home. I could almost hear Father’s low voice, see his bushy eyebrows, his nose wrinkling as he laughed, and feel his embrace swallow me whole.
“That sounds lovely,” I said with feeling, meeting Peter’s eyes with my own.
“Yes, well. Four-and-twenty years as their son. I think I’ve earned it.” Peter’s face fell as he looked away. An untold story lingered between us for a moment, filled with unanswered questions that itched to be asked. Who was this Peter Wood with a perfectly cut coat and tempting smile?
Before I could ask, the moment passed, and servants began clearing away empty platters, plates, and cups. Guests moved away from their blankets, and I saw Clara was still with Sir Ronald, Georgiana on his opposite side.
“Shall we?” Peter stood, offering me his hand.
Could I trust this man? He whose primary motive surely opposed mine? If my intuition was correct, he wanted Sir Ronald for Georgiana. And if his loyalty to her was half as strong as mine to Clara, he would stop at nothing to secure the match. Yet some mystery lurked just under his friendly facade. Some piece of him that was different, real.
No. This was Peter Wood. Though I took his hand, I could not trust him. He’d proven his character once already, and I did not need a second chance to form an opinion. Gloves would be the last thing he took from my sister.
Chapter Five
I dropped Peter’s hand once I was on my feet and followed him to the gathering a few paces away from the picnic.
“How is everyone faring?” Sir Ronald asked with enthusiasm. “The end of the tour is just up this hill. The view from there encompasses the northern end of my estate, with all the lands run by my tenants. I will warn you—it is a bit of a steep climb.”
“I am up for the challenge,” Georgiana said airily, and the rest of the company agreed.