Peter tapped on the Georges’ front door, frustrated that he was running late. It wasn’t his fault exactly. He’d overslept and then his housekeeper had decided he needed a much bigger first meal of the day than usual. She’d gone to so much trouble on his behalf he hadn’t had the heart not to at least sample every dish. He pressed a hand to his stomach. He’d have to stop her from doing that again. If he ate in such a grand fashion too often he’d never fit his clothes.
Perkins eventually opened the front door.
“I’m here to see Miss George.”
“I’m sorry, Sir Peter,” Perkins frowned. “Mr. George and Miss Imogen are already en route to the gathering by the sea. You have missed them by a quarter hour.”
“Damn. Thank you, Perkins.” Peter firmed his hat on his head and set off down Cavendish Place. Imogen wasn’t aware he had intended to join them at the race. He’d hoped to surprise her and linger in her company. Then, when the race was over, Peter had a plan in mind to steal her away from Walter and propose at the exact spot she had proposed to him a year ago.
As he turned onto the next street, he ran into Miss Pease and the vicar coming from the direction of the beach. “Ah, Sir Peter Watson. As I live and breathe. My daughter and I were just discussing hosting a dinner in your honor next week. Jane has spoken of you very warmly and I’m sure you must feel the same.”
Peter scowled. “Is that so?”
“Why yes, of course,” the vicar went on. “’Tis difficult, given the subject of our last conversation, to declare one’s feelings so soon, but I am sure that can be forgotten.”
The last time he had spoken to the vicar was to advise him that Imogen wouldn’t be marrying him. At the time, Peter had been a touch harsh in his tone, but his feelings hadn’t changed in any way.
He wanted to marry Imogen.
“Sir Peter!”
Peter turned at the sound of Valentine Merton’s voice and found his friend rushing toward him, his arms full.
“I need you,” Merton insisted, tossing several wrapped parcels into his arms and dragging him away from Vicar Pease and his daughter at speed. “We’re late.”
“I know.” Peter glanced down at the parcels in his arms. “What is all this.”
“A monstrosity. Please don’t laugh too hard when you see me in it?”
“Merton, what the devil are you banging on about?”
“I’m the one racing against Julia Radley today.”
Peter stopped in his tracks. “Are you out of your mind? I thought she must have convinced her brother to race her and he was too embarrassed to say.”
His friend hooked his arm and dragged him onward, frowning. “Radley is against the competition.”
Peter shook his head. “Your sister has also been quite scathing of the whole idea. She has been rather harsh toward Miss Radley on the subject, or so I hear. What does she say now?”
“Melanie has no idea and I’d like to keep it that way until the very last moment. I had to wait for her to leave the house before I could follow. Could you imagine the earache I would have gotten if I’d let slip our plans for the race?”
Peter glanced ahead and saw Merton’s sister and cousin just ahead. “She’d be unbearable.”
Merton spotted his sister too and jerked Peter behind a slowly moving carriage so they wouldn’t be seen, but could still proceed. “Exactly. When this is over I’m sure she’ll complain for at least a week or two solid without pause.”
“You could always change your mind.”
Merton shook his head decisively. “I won’t let Miss Radley down at the last moment and have her be disappointed. She has wanted a chance to prove herself for a long time and this is it.”
Peter g
lanced at his friend and noticed the stubborn set of Merton’s jaw. He was committed. “Do you think a lot about Miss Radley’s happiness often?”
Merton grinned. “There are worse ladies to be captivated by. I like her energy very much.”
Peter gave up all attempts at seriousness and laughed at the trouble Merton was heading into with open eyes. “She’ll be the death of you. Linus is always complaining about her antics.”
Merton shrugged. “Harmless fun. Nothing more.”