When she finally sought her bed, after much pacing and wringing of hands, Petra didn’t rest well. She tossed and turned, dreaming of the giant oak tree and Mam Tor. She scaled the oak up to the top in her dreams, and dangled from a branch, but she wasn’t afraid.
Morwick stood below waiting to catch her.
11
“Well, where have you been?” Mother barely looked up as Brendan entered the breakfast room. Taking a seat at the head of the table he tried without success to hide the wince as he sat. His ribs hurt like the blazes. Possibly at least one was broken or cracked. Danvers could throw a mean punch when he’d had too much ale. The man’s fists were like fleshy sledgehammers.
“Buxton, Mother. I told you. I needed to go to Buxton. A meeting with a gentleman who wished to discuss the methods for surveying his property on the other side of Castleton. Mr. Wilcox.”
“Hmm.” Mother looked up, her eyes shrewd and knowing. “The discussion took the form of a beating? You’ve a cut on your lower lip and a bruise beginning to bloom on your cheek. You look like a prizefighter who’s lost his last match. Please tell me the other man looks far worse?”
The beating had taken the form of a fight at the Whistling Pig tavern which Brendan, were he being honest, had instigated. “One of the miners took exception to the way I played cards.”
“You were accused of cheating? Brendan, please remember you are an earl.”
“Not exactly. Danvers simply didn’t care for the fact that I beat him fair and square.” There was also the small matter of the barmaid who had draped herself over Brendan’s shoulders like a well-used cloak, though he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to shoo the woman away. Danvers was sweet on the barmaid, and had objected strenuously to his woman flirting with Brendan.
“Well, I suppose that’s something.” She took the small, circular pair of glasses from her nose and laid them down along with the letter she’d been reading. “The heir to Dunbar has been born. Henry, they’ve named him. Nick is beside himself with happiness. His duchess is well and healthy, as is the babe.”
“I’m glad. Nick deserves every happiness, after all he’s endured.” Brendan and his cousin Nick were good friends. Brendan was pleased to know Nick had found peace and contentment. “And grandfather would be pleased to have the young lad named for him, I think.”
“Yes, he would.” Mother sipped at her tea and gave him a hard look. “You know, no amount of beating is going to help your situation.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” He knew exactly what she meant. He detested Mother’s Dunbar intuition for it showed itself in the most inopportune times. Brendan raised a cup of tea to his mouth, ignoring the stinging of the hot tea on his cut lip.
“Psh.” Mother waved a hand. “Petra,” she said firmly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His heart thudded dully. The last person he wished to discuss Petra with was Mother. “I merely offered her and Lady Marsh our assistance and hospitality, nothing more. I’ve met her exactly twice in my life. I barely know the girl and what I do know of her is not favorable.” Unless you liked sassy young ladies who could climb trees.
“Brendan.” Mother reached out and took his hand, frowning at the scraped knuckles. “I am sorry.” She squeezed his fingers. “I am the one to blame for the mess you find yourself in.”
The words surprised him. “What are you sorry for?”
“My grief over the loss of your father.” She looked away and cleared her throat. “I’ve known for some time my unhappiness did something to you and Spence. Perhaps, altered your view of affection between a man and a woman. You must understand, I was young and twice widowed, with one young son clinging to my skirts and another in my arms.” A sad laugh escaped her. “I found myself somewhat tragic. I was scared.”
“Mother —”
“It pains me that I have given you both an unfavorable impression of love. Had I ever anticipated such a thing…” She shrugged. “Perhaps I would have been a bit more careful to keep my grief hidden from you.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mother,” he lied. “I’m perfectly fine, as I’m sure Spence is. My little spat in Buxton had nothing to do with Petra. I merely ran afoul of a very hostile miner. Petra is destined to marry the illustrious Pendleton and live in a whirl of social activity in London. Besides, she’d shrivel and die in the Peak.” He thought of Petra, dangling from the tree and knew he was at least partially incorrect. But Brendan had spent the better part of of a week getting into fights, digging in the earth, and drinking until dawn in order to forget the feel of Petra in his arms. And he’d done a decent job, until Mother and her intuition had begun sniffing about.
“Don’t be too sure.” Mother patted his hand. “I’ve a feeling there is more to Petra than meets the eye. At any rate, you should go and get cleaned up.” She placed the glasses back on her nose and picked up the letter again. “I’ve already instructed Woods to pack your things.”
“Am I going somewhere, Mother? I’ve only just returned from Buxton.”
“No.” She laughed. “Weare going somewhere. An invitation has come from Brushbriar. A small house party. Dinner and dancing.”
Brendan waved over the footman holding a rasher of bacon, gesturing for the man to load up his plate. “No. Absolutely not.” He detested the way his pulse quickened at the thought of Petra. Apparently, not even a decent brawl was going to help his affliction.
“I’ve already accepted for thebothof us, Brendan.” Her eyes glinted like steel, before they softened. “I ask you for very little, my love, and I don’t wish to attend alone without escort. Do this small thing for me. I find I am in the mood to socialize. And think how much your presence will annoy Simon.”
Damn.
“I dislike house parties.”
A trill of laughter escaped his mother. “We all do, dear. Best hurry and wash up. I’d like to be there in time for tea.”
12
