Chapter Fifteen
W hen Heloise woke, her neck was painfully stiff, and she was covered in a robe that smelled like Peter. She spent longer than she would have liked to admit curled up in the dawn-bright window nook, enjoying the scent and rubbing the soft collar against her lips. Outside, birds held cheerful conversations, and the sky blushed pink, then a chilly gray. Finally, when the fact that it was daytime could no longer be denied, Heloise pushed aside the cushions and swung her legs over the window bench. She stood, wincing as her knees popped, and went to bother Sarah for some hot water.
On the way to her bedchamber, Heloise hung the robe on Peter’s doorknob. He had not been to see her since their disagreement. Perhaps this was the way these things went. She had never had a falling out with someone important to her, likely because hardly anybody met that description. She depended on Peter, as in all things, to show her how ordinary people behaved. If that meant putting distance between them now, so be it. She did not regret sharing her convictions and was willing to accept the consequences.
Heloise bathed and put on a clean dress, catching a glimpse of her pale, glum face in the mirror. She stopped in the kitchen for an apple, then took her seat at the library table. She had a play to write, and a wealth of new experiences on which to draw. The trouble was her lessons with Peter didn’t confine themselves to tidy entries in her notebook. They crowded her mind, the memories vivid and unruly. The cadence of his sighs as she kissed his neck. The faint burr of whiskers on a spot he had missed with the razor. His clever hands forming idiosyncratic shapes as he spoke. She opened her manuscript and dipped her pen, then stared at the half-written page in front of her with a mounting sense of hopelessness.
When Heloise next looked up, Peter was passing by the open door of the library as if conjured there. He came to a halt when their eyes met. As he stood framed in the entryway, the lines of his body and tilt of his head were so familiar that she was struck by a bone-deep sense of recognition. This man knew her in a way no one else did. Whatever happened, that much would always be true. Peter lingered for what felt like an interminable moment. Then he broke the spell and walked into the library.
Heloise noted that he had dressed with care. His waistcoat was green silk, his cravat crisp, his coat freshly brushed. On his head was a top hat, and he must have found something to polish his boots with, because they shone. He looked so striking that her heart ached. When he reached the table, he stood shifting his weight, hands clasped behind his back.
“Good morning,” Heloise was glad to see him and didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. “You look very fine today.”
Peter ran a distracted hand over his lapels. “Thank you. I’ve an appointment at the college this afternoon.” He didn’t offer any more details, only pursed his lips, his eyes flicking nervously over the piles of paper on the table. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I fear I did not acquit myself well during our last conversation.”
“You needn’t be sorry for disagreeing with me.”
“It’s not that.” He looked up and she saw blueish shadows under his eyes. “My arguments were weak. I dismissed your concerns rather than addressing them. The discussion deserved more consideration. You deserve more consideration.”
Heloise had no idea what to do with the surge of gratitude and affection that flooded her. Peter was no help, standing there looking somehow dashing and hangdog at once. So, she simply said, “A poor defense suggests a lack of confidence in your position.”
That earned her the hint of a smile. “Believe me, I know.”
Heloise waited for him to say something more, but Peter only hovered. He searched her face, looking a bit at sea despite his polished appearance. He cleared his throat again.
“Well. Good morning.” He tugged on the ends of his waistcoat and gave her a somber nod.
“Good morning.” Heloise watched Peter turn and cross to the door. When she glanced back down, there was the waiting page of her manuscript, malevolent and accusatory in its blankness. She let out an involuntary groan of despair.
Peter halted in the doorway. “Trouble?”
Heloise put her face in her hands. “It’s my play. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, and I can’t seem to work out how to proceed.”
Peter’s eyes lit up for the first time that morning. “Might I be of assistance?” He hurried back to the table and took his usual seat, removing his hat to reveal neatly combed waves of chocolatey brown hair.
“What about your appointment?” Heloise was unable to control the silly, hopeful lilt in her voice.
Peter glanced at the gilded clock on the mantle. “I’ve plenty of time.” He crossed his arms and leaned over the table, his face so boyishly eager that she couldn’t help but smile.