Chapter Five
Miss Sherwood had cried. He’d looked back for a brief moment after leaving the Sherwoods’ drawing room.
A week had passed, but he could still clearly recall how her expression had crumbled, her hands flying to cover her tear-filled eyes.
He had not, no matter the effort he employed, been able to rid his mind of that sight.
He’d been impressed by her willingness to not plead with him to rescue her from her difficult circumstances.
He had been taught all of his life that a gentleman did not abandon a lady in distress; that he should dedicate himself to relieving the suffering of those whom Society’s dictates rendered so comparatively defenseless.
But what else could he have done in such an impossible situation?
One evening’s acquaintance was no basis for a marriage, not a happy one at least. Had she implored him, he would have been hard-pressed to find a satisfactory resolution for them both.
She had proven herself honorable and brave and far too good for the likes of Broadstead.
The gentleman was nearly old enough to be her father.
Setting aside that mismatch, the man was arrogant and mean-spirited.
She had shown herself to be witty and thoughtful, two qualities Broadstead would likely never appreciate.
Even on such a short acquaintance as Peter’s and Eleanor’s, he felt certain the marriage she now faced would become one of utter misery.
How was it that her situation haunted him still, when he’d known her for so short a time?
He truly liked what he knew of her. He’d even imagined that maybe, depending on what more he learned of her and whether or not he found they got on well over the course of more meetings in a variety of circumstances, there might be reason to consider a future together.
His past three years had been filled with deep mourning and overwhelming responsibilities, leaving no time for romantic entanglements.
Prior to that, he’d been too young for thoughts of matrimony to enter his mind.
And being a younger son, he’d always been a bit unsure of his prospects.
In one brief evening at the theater, Miss Sherwood had turned his thoughts to the possibility of no longer being entirely alone in the world— only to slam that door shut once more the very next day. Lud, he was tired of the games Society forced them all to play.
Still, stepping into the Strudwicks’ ballroom and seeing the crowd gathered there made being alone seem less of a terrible predicament.
The space was full to bursting. He’d not intended to make an appearance at this particular gathering, but Robert Carlton had indicated he would attend.
Peter hadn’t seen him since coming to Town.
Robert’s company would be ample reward for enduring such a crush.
At least it wasn’t a musicale.
Miss Sherwood, Peter mused to himself, would have laughed over their shared distaste. He once more tried valiantly to put her out of his thoughts. Of course, doing so would have been far easier, were she not currently standing a mere twenty feet away.
The Sherwoods had also been invited to the Strudwicks’ ball.
It would be incredibly rude of Peter not to at least greet them.
And yet, speaking with them would be horribly awkward.
Most especially for Miss Sherwood. Perhaps if he slipped away very quietly, giving no indication that he had taken note of them. . .
But Mr. Sherwood met his gaze in the very next instant, bowing in acknowledgement.
Peter could not avoid the meeting now, not without unwittingly dealing the family a cut.
He steeled his resolve. One week earlier, Miss Sherwood had found strength enough for what had clearly been a humiliating confession; he could certainly find fortitude enough for an uncomfortable conversation now.
He reached the family in only a few steps and offered the expected bow and greetings. He allowed his gaze to fall on Miss Sherwood for only a moment.
“I would like to apologize for my daughter turning down your offer of a drive,” Mr. Sherwood said. “She too often forgets her manners.”
That was near about as odd a comment as Peter might have imagined. She had turned down his offer? And out of a lack of manners? That was not at all the truth. She had allowed him to escape, out of deference to her family’s ill treatment of him. Why would her father insinuate otherwise?
But then he understood. Miss Sherwood had chosen not to tell her parents that they had been the reason for the abrupt change in plans, nor that she had confessed to Peter their half-truths and motivations in asking him to come to the theater.
They had placed her and Peter in a nearly impossible situation, and still Miss Sherwood had spared them the knowledge of their own culpability.
Had she done so as a kindness to them, though they had forced the situation on her in the first place?
“I was not the least offended,” he assured her parents. “Miss Sherwood has ever been a delight and an exemplary young lady.”
“So very exemplary that not a one of her dances has been claimed tonight,” Mrs. Sherwood muttered.
Peter generally liked people, but he did not particularly care for Mrs. Sherwood. Still, a gentleman did not say as much out loud, nor did he allow his disapproval to show overly much.
He turned his attention, instead, to Miss Sherwood.
He had not heard whether or not all was settled between her and Broadstead.
Still, asking her to dance would be acceptable in the eyes of Society, even if she was betrothed.
Besides, it was the polite thing for a gentleman to do when informed that a lady was in want of a partner.
“I do hope your next dance is available,” he said. “I haven’t a partner and cannot think of anyone I would rather stand up with.”
Miss Sherwood simply stared, her expression filled with little beyond surprise.
“I promise not to step on your toes,” he ventured.
The earliest evidence of a newly forming smile pulled at the corners of her lips. He’d rather enjoyed that smile during their evening at the theater.
“Do stand up with Mr. Havensham,” her father said. “Your reputation, not to mention Mr. Broadstead’s opinion of you, will benefit from being seen to be at least that much of a social success.”
Mr. Sherwood was showing himself to be little better than his wife in his handling of their daughter’s feelings. Miss Sherwood deserved some time away from her parents.
Peter turned to her. “The next set does not begin for a few minutes. While we wait, would you care to take a turn about the room?”
She nodded her agreement but remained silent. She’d not spoken since his arrival, which felt out of character for her. He’d not been able to prevent this awkward meeting, but perhaps he should have chosen to keep it brief rather than require her to spend prolonged time in his company.
“I will certainly understand if you would rather not,” he offered.
“I would consider it a pleasure to take a turn with you, sir.” Miss Sherwood slipped her hand into the crook of his extended arm. “I would particularly appreciate taking a route past the open windows. The air in here as grown quite warm.”
“Of course, Miss Sherwood.”
He walked with her several paces before speaking. “I hope my presence tonight has not caused you too much discomfort.”
She looked up at him, brows pulled. “I assumed my presence was uncomfortable for you.”
He set his hand atop hers, resting on his other arm. “Why did you tell your parents that you chose to go back on your acceptance of my invitation to drive in the park?”
She shrugged a little. “They would have been angry if they knew I had been as frank with you as I was. Letting them judge me as rude was the pleasanter option.”
“But they are upbraiding you for it. And in public.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look. “Imagine what they would be doing if I hadn’t chosen the less contentious explanation.”
“This is not new behavior for them, then?”
Her smile was sad, not unlike the one she’d worn at the end of their conversation in her drawing room. “I have learned to endure their displeasure and to prevent it whenever possible.”
“Based on what I know of Mr. Broadstead, I believe he is of a very similar temperament.” How Peter hoped all was not settled in that direction.
While he was not of a mind to enter into an arranged and unlooked for marriage, he did not like the idea of Miss Sherwood forever tied to a cad like Broadstead.
“Fortunately for me,” she replied, “I have the benefit of experience on my side. I will know how best to withstand the—” For a moment, her gaze wandered, her lips pressing as she pondered. “There is no other word for it. The misery. I will know how best to withstand the misery of his company.”
“Oh, Eleanor.”
He did not know why her Christian name had flown from his lips with such ease, but he didn’t regret using it. And she didn’t object.
“No announcements have been made and no settlements have been signed,” she informed him instead. “I have not yet given up all hope of convincing my parents to change their minds.”
“Do you believe they will?”
“I have to believe it. What hope have I otherwise?”
They reached the windows at the far side of the ballroom. Peter slowed their progress to a near crawl. The cool breeze ruffled the loose strands of hair framing her face. She brushed them away with a gloved hand.
“Have you attended any musicales since last we met?” she queried.
“Yes, and I am certain Handel is still spinning in his grave.”
She laughed lightly. “The performances were that terrible?”
“I don’t care to think about it. The pain is still too fresh.”
“I took a drive in Hyde Park a few days after we last spoke.” The mirth in her tone matched his. “I don’t care to think about that.”
“With whom did you drive?” He couldn’t entirely keep the laugh out of his words.