“No.” She held up a hand to silence him. “I may not be as bloodybrilliantas your cousin Arabella, or as daring as my own cousin, Jemma. I am not interesting and I lack a proper purpose. I’ve no special talents.” She shook her head. “I can’t even poor tea without spilling a little. But I can climb a tree.” She shook as the painful words left her.
“You couldn’t climb down. I had to fetch you.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
“Don’t you dare mock me. Ordinarily, I find your sarcasm tolerable; just now, I do not.” She stepped around him, determined to return to Somerton and the relative safety of her room. He saw her as a joke. A pea-wit. All the joy at climbing and looking at Mam Tor had been crushed. “You are a horrible person to accuse me of such a thing.”
“I see your pebble is no longer bothering you.”
“Leave me alone.” Petra turned and strode off in the direction of Somerton, not trusting herself to say more. He’d succeeded in making her hate him, at least for the moment, which she suspected was his ultimate goal. He had kissed her and now regretted it. Well, that was his problem. Guilt filled her over her own behavior. While she hadn’t agreed to marry Simon, and wasn’t certain she would, Petra owed him the courtesy of not kissing another man behind his back. His offer deserved honest consideration. An ugly thought occurred to her. What if Morwick was only toying with her because she was involved with Simon? While he’d not said so, Morwick’s dislike of Simon was evident. Maybe this kiss had nothing to do with Petra at all.
The thought sobered her enough so that she stopped. It was bad enough to have her mother manipulate her life. She’d not stand to be used in such a way by Morwick.
Taking a deep breath, Petra turned, prepared to meet his annoyed smile, but the moors at her back were quiet except for the chattering of the birds flitting about the heather. She could see nearly all the way back to the oak and there was no sign of him. She should have known he’d gone, as not one sarcastic remark had been hurled in her direction for at least the last ten minutes. She’d been so angry, so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized she was alone.
Good.
Straightening her shoulders, Petra brushed off her skirts, frowned at the small tear she found in the muslin, and began walking again down the path. Hopefully Tessie had packed the remainder of her things so there would be nothing to delay their departure tomorrow. She hadn’t thought she’d feel quite so relieved to leave Somerton.
* * *
Brendan watchedPetra’s slender form, stiff with anger, until she reached the gate leading into the gardens. Her little tirade had been more than justified. The remark about Simon had been particularly cruel, givenhehad kissedher. And he’d practically accused her of being a lightskirt, a woman who flirts with one man while involved with another.
Not nearly as bad as having Petra compare herself to a worm.
The words, choked and bitter, pained Brendan as if someone had taken a fist to his chest.
He’d hurt her, terribly. The worst was, Brendan had meant to. His emotions, once buried so deep as to be nonexistent, had bubbled up while Petra was in his arms, feelings he’d sworn never to entertain for any woman. Worse, she was promised to Simon, a man who’d Brendan loathed since they were children. The last time he and Pendleton had been involved with the same woman had ended with Brendan’s expulsion from Oxford.
I have to stay away from her.
Brendan needed to think and he simply couldn’t when the scent of roses and sugar cookies crept into every part of Somerton. He couldn’t seem to keep from touching her, which inevitably ended in hurting her in some way. It would be best for them both if he didn’t see her again. There was a man in Buxton who had asked after Brendan’s services and written to him several times. Mr. Wilcox had found a small cave on his property and was convinced the glittering streaks through the rock were copper. Brendan hiked the rucksack up higher on his shoulder.
Now would be a good time to visit Buxton and Mr. Wilcox.
9
The sun shone brightly as the newly repaired Marsh coach lumbered toward Brushbriar. The moors were filled with waves of flowering rowan and heather. Small patches of brush stood out against the rolling hills and the stark outline of Dark Peak. Simon’s home, Brushbriar, lay to the west of Somerton, closer to the area known as White Peak. Dark Peak and the moors circled the White Peak, which was strewn with limestone and dotted with farms. From this angle, Petra couldn’t see Mam Tor; it almost felt as if the mystical peak had deserted her.
“Goodness, but I am pleased to not have my stomach in such disarray. I am feeling right as rain today. After several days of broth, I believe my dresses may have to be taken in.”
Petra gave her mother’s purple dress a curious look, thinking the need for a seamstress to be premature. “I’m happy you are feeling well, Mother.”
“Can you imagine if we had landed at Brushbriar in such a state? Both of us ill and casting up our accounts in front of Lord Pendleton and his mother? I believe it was divine intervention that caused our axle to break.”
“Yes. It was most fortuitous,” Petra murmured. She wished to still be climbing a tree and, if she were being honest, she’d like to be kissed senseless again by Morwick. It was a terrible thing to admit, given how unkind he’d been.
“I do hope we will see Lady Cupps-Foster upon our return to London. Possibly we shall see her again during our visit. Sheisneighbor to Lord Pendleton, after all. I mentioned to her that I’ve always wished to make the acquaintance of Lady Canfeld, and she has promised an introduction.”
Lady Canfeld was Her Grace the Duchess of Canfeld. Mother was socially ambitious and always on the lookout for a way to ingratiate herself within theton. Poor Lady Canfeld had no idea what was headed her way. After meeting Petra’s mother, the duchess may decide to retire to the country.
“I was rather surprised our host did not appear for dinner last night. One could see how embarrassed Lady Cupps-Foster was for his absence. A previous engagement in Buxton he couldn’t delay, apparently. Terrible breach of etiquette to leave your guests without even a polite goodbye.”
So that’s where Morwick had fled to after their encounter in the woods yesterday. Petra found riding all the way to Buxton in an effort to avoid her a cowardly act. Upon her return to Somerton yesterday Petra had ventured into Lady Cupps-Foster’s small sitting room again. She’d walked over and stared at the portrait of the previous Earl of Morwick, wondering at the pain Lady Cupps-Foster endured at his loss and the damage her grief wrought on her youngest son.
No matter his reasons for kissing her, Petra understood that much about Morwick.
A week ago, when Petra had climbed in her coach for the journey to Brushbriar, she had been uncertain whether she had a future with Simon. Now she was doubly so. She’d seen Mam Tor and discovered a piece of herself she hadn’t even known was missing. Kissing Morwick only muddied the waters further.
“He’s rather odd, isn’t he?” Mother cocked her head, eyes boring into Petra. “Wild. Involved in dirt and rocks. His clothing certainly leaves much to be desired.”
