Her compliment, while sincerely offered, meant nothing beyond the friendly banter it was meant to be. “Thank you,” he replied.
Miss Long gestured to the slightly built lady lingering in her shadow. “Are you acquainted with Miss Jane Pease? She is the daughter of our vicar, Mr. Pease, if you recall and has recently come out in society.”
When he bowed over her outstretched hand, the frail creature dipped a curtsy and smiled up at him in transparent joy. “So happy to make your acquaintance, Sir Peter. My father was pleased to hear of your return today.”
Was he now? Peter couldn’t fathom why. The vicar had cast many a sour look in his direction on Sunday mornings during services until he’d quit the district a year ago. The only thing to account for Mr. Pease’s sudden happiness was that Peter was titled and rich, and the vicar had a daughter to marry off.
Peter sneezed suddenly. His eyes watered and as he inhaled, he became aware of the scent of lilac lingering heavily in the air between them. He hastily dug for a handkerchief and apologized.
Miss Pease touched his arm. “I do hope you’re not in poor health, Sir Peter.”
“No. No. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Peter sneezed again, certain now that Miss Pease’s scent was the trigger for his reaction. A year of dodging traps and snares laid by wily debutants in London had prepared him for heightened local interest, but his response to the scent of lilac gave him the perfect excuse to move away. He bowed to her again and dabbed at his eyes. “Excuse me, there must be a scent in the air that disagrees with me.”
Before Miss Pease could delay him, he slipped around her toward safer territory and an open doorway. Miss Julia Radley, a firm friend of his sister, stood in the path of the light breeze blowing in from the sea. She grinned from ear to ear and when he joined her, Miss Radley quickly curled her arm through his, leading him out into the night just a few steps. With fresh air in his overwhelmed senses, he quickly recovered his composure. He was grateful of the lifeline but then he grew aware of what he’d unwittingly done. He glanced back into the room anxiously. Luckily, they were in full view of all and in no danger of being considered alone. He did not wish to marry Miss Radley. No sane man would. The girl was exhausting.
Miss Radley shook her head. “She’s not here. I doubt she’ll come if you’re looking for who I think you’re looking for.”
He glanced down at the cheeky sprite on his arm in alarm. “Am I looking for someone?”
“I think you were from the moment you joined us. It’s in the way you scanned the room and couldn’t wait to leave the others behind. I knew you wouldn’t turn your back on her as others have done.” She patted his arm. “The perfume Miss Pease doused herself in tonight merely gave you the perfect escape from her clutches. My brother had the very same reaction earlier. I overheard Miss Merton reassure Miss Pease that the scent was utterly delightful. Devious of her indeed. Be mindful or one of them will catch you.”
Peter glanced inside again and his gaze settled on Miss Merton and Miss Pease while they engaged in whispered conversation. Miss Merton paused, turned her head toward him and her smile brightened as if she’d discovered a rare jewel. Peter shuddered. “Hmm, that is an unfortunate development. Miss Pease could do with a friend who would tell her the truth. I didn’t come home to find a bride.”
Miss Radley peered at him. “Are you married then?”
“Good God, no. Why ever would you think that?” He held up his hand. “No never mind answering. You’re too much like Abigail for me to not remember how you all think. A man must be married, yes?”
For an answer, Miss Radley merely laughed. The girl was trouble.
“Before I forget, would you by chance be at home tomorrow? I ask because my sister sent some additional parcels to Brighton with me. She sai
d it’s rather urgent but the contents have to be kept private from everyone. I’ve no idea what that entails so I hope you understand. If nothing else, my calling on you first may thwart whatever plans and hopes are being hatched over there.”
Miss Julia clutched his arm tightly. “Oh, I cannot wait until tomorrow. Abigail is so sweet to have remembered my request. I cannot wait until I can show Imogen or maybe I should not. She’s always fretting over the things that matter to me.”
Miss Merton joined them. “Showing Miss George anything is an exercise in futility. Even when she could see she lacked that certain panache in her mode of dress to truly stand out from the crowd.” As Miss Merton delivered her put down, she fanned herself with the languid air of someone who was sure of her place and her right to say whatever she liked. She may be in her own home, but Peter’s blood boiled. How dare she say such a thing?
However, she was his friend’s sister. He couldn’t say exactly what he pleased without consequences. He forced a tight smile to his lips. “Unlike some, Miss Watson has no need for the expense of a London modiste to make herself presentable. I’ve always thought her natural beauty was without artifice or design.” He examined Miss Merton’s fussy gown and artfully arranged hair with as mocking a stare as he could manage. How many hours had she spent primping before her looking glass?
Miss Merton pinked slightly and looked beyond his shoulder as if he hadn’t just insulted her. “Dinner should be announced soon. Excuse me while I tend to my brother’s guests. A hostess must see to everyone’s needs.”
Peter did not miss her one last dig at Imogen’s sightless state. He cursed softly, but then caught Julia’s open-mouthed stare. He quickly apologized for his poor choice of words.
“I am so pleased to see you haven’t become entirely top-lofty.” Miss Julia smiled as a blush climbed her cheeks. “Is it wrong that I don’t disagree with your sentiments?”
He smiled at her honestly. “Not even a little in my opinion, but let’s keep that a secret between us.”
Recovered sufficiently from his sneezing fit, Peter stepped back inside, accepted a glass of wine from a servant, downed it, and then wished for another. He might need reinforcement to make it through to the end of the meal.
When they went into dinner, Peter was forced to sit at Miss Merton’s side and endured even more subtle jabs at Miss George’s expense. He couldn’t imagine why Walter George had failed to attend but he didn’t blame him one bit if this was the usual dinner conversation. From a disparaging remark he overheard, Walter George had changed his mind at the last minute.
Despite the annoyance of Miss Merton’s company, he did glean more information from her conversation to cause him further alarm. The loss of a woman’s sight was a huge blow to her status and prospects for a fulfilling life she assured him. As an unmarried woman with hopes of one day making a match, her chances for future security would be greatly reduced. Miss Merton heartlessly confided that Imogen George would never marry, despite her fortune, and that ‘poor Mr. George’ would be saddled with an unwanted burden.
Imogen could never be a burden. Some lucky man would fall in love with her easily if given half a chance. The idea of her married, and it was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind, didn’t appeal. It never had. Peter applied himself to the meal laid out before him and made small talk, but he lapped up every single mention of Imogen George—the woman who would never see him again.
CHAPTER SIX
Imogen stretched her senses as far as she was able but detected nothing except the quiet night of Brighton beyond the black of her vision. Walter had long since retired for the night oddly quiet of chatter and not in the least willing to consider her suggestion of moving to a less populated location. She should not have lost her temper with him. Her blindness wasn’t his fault nor was there anything he could do to improve her situation. She bit her lip. Her decision was the only sensible future she could imagine for both of them.