He ought to be angry at being lied to for weeks on end, and perhaps a part of him was.
But if it was true… there was another solution. One that would prevent Morley—or whatever her name was—from walking out of his life.
The tears beganbefore Georgie could get even halfway down the hill. She was aware Peter was watching her go, likely with that same stunned expression on his face, but she could not risk a look back. If she did, she knew she would run back up the hill, throw herself into his arms, and confess all, and that would beeven worse, because what could possibly come of such a confession?
She bit her lip and set her jaw.No.This was the only way to save him from scandal.
Georgie skirted around the meadow to the kitchen door, staying out of sight of the otters’ enclosure. It ripped her heart out a second time to leave them behind, but it was the only sensible thing to do.
Not that she had acted sensibly in any of this.
She crept up the stairs to her room, and closed and locked the door behind herself before sinking onto the edge of the bed. Her knees were still shaking, as were her hands. She twined them together to try and still them.
She must not weep. Peter must never know how difficult this was for her, or how she felt about him. She must fully disappear from his life and never look back.
But it was hard. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
She sat there for a very long time, unmoving, barely aware of the dimming light outside. Breathing deeply as she tried to calm herself.
Surely, he would have no more questions for her. Surely, she would only need to tell him a few more lies so she could depart as quickly as possible.
Surely, he hadn’t seen her heart in her eyes when she had looked at him before walking away.
Peter allowed Morley—orwhatever her name was—to walk nearly out of sight before he got to his feet.
If he had made an unwarranted assumption about Morley’s sex based on a few suppositions and was wrong, he would feellike the biggest fool in Christendom, and would still be faced with the dilemma of his unwonted attraction.
He must find proof, if he could. And given that Morley had made his—her—announcement so soon after receiving that letter, there must be some sort of evidence in it.
With any luck, Morley would have gone straight upstairs and not back to the small drawing room. If she had gone there to relieve her feelings through art, or if she had retrieved the letter first… well, he would think of something else then.
He loped down the hill, suddenly eager to discover the truth as he had not been before. For a young woman to carry out such a determined masquerade spoke to her desperation to escape whatever situation she had found herself in after her father’s death.
To his relief, the small drawing room was empty when he opened the door, and the letter still lay half-concealed beneath the painting. Still, he hesitated for a moment. Reading Morley’s correspondence was an unambiguous breach of trust, even if Peter felt it was for the best.
He would apologize later, if he must. He picked up the half-crumpled letter and smoothed it out.
Her name was Georgiana, not George. She had a position as a companion awaiting her in Bath. She would not be allowed to take her otters.
They wanted her there as soon as possible.
Mrs. Barwick cleared her throat from the doorway, and Peter turned to look at her, unsure how long he had been standing there holding the letter.
“Is aught amiss, milord?”
Had Mrs. Barwick guessed the truth, or had she been as much in the dark as he?
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Barwick.”
“Mr. Morley seemed quite distraught when he came in.”
“He, er, received an upsetting letter. In fact, I must speak to him about it. Can you please ask him to come to the drawing room?”
“Very well, milord,” she said, and turned from the door. He went the opposite direction, absent-mindedly tucking the letter into his pocket as he closed himself into the drawing room. His head still spun, but he was beginning to feel on firmer ground as he seated himself not in his usual armchair, but on the nearby settee.
Lost in thought for an unmeasured amount of time as he pondered what to say, Peter turned at a diffident tap on the door. The knob twisted after another moment, and Morley peered around the edge of the door, eyes wide. Her features, limned by the fading sunlight through the window, were so clearly feminine that any qualms he had about confronting her with his suspicions eased away.
“You wished to speak to me, Lord Peter?”
