Chapter 23
Peter sat in his study, surrounded by the ledgers and documents that had been left unattended during his absence.
Estate business should have kept him busy, but his mind was elsewhere. No matter how much he tried to focus on the figures before him, his thoughts continuously drifted back to Lavinia.
He had been burying himself in work for days, hoping to drown out the memory of her face, her confession. The way she had looked at him before he had broken her heart.
Almost two weeks had passed since he’d left Crawford Hall, but he was haunted by Lavinia’s face constantly.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Watson, his butler, entered the room. He looked a bit distraught.
“What’s wrong, Watson?” Peter was out of his chair in an instant.
“You have visitors, Your Grace.”
“I do?”
Peter could not remember telling anyone he was coming to Linfield. When people had asked, he’d said he meant to head back to London.
He shook off the questions swirling through his head and asked the only sensible one. “Who is here, Watson?”
“Your mother, Your Grace. And your sister, Lady Madeline.”
“They are here? Now?” Peter cast a quick look around his study. His mother never ventured to Linfield Manor.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Watson cleared his throat. “Cook also asked me to mention that lunch is ready.”
“Very well.” Peter tugged on his cravat, straightening it.
“Please escort the ladies to the dining room and set two places for my mother and sister.” His brow furrowed when he thought of what an inconvenience that might be for his staff.
“And send Mrs. Hubbard my apologies. I do not mean to overburden her.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Watson gave a quick nod, then shuffled hurriedly out of the room.
Not knowing what else to do, Peter followed a step or two behind the butler and turned toward the dining room.
Lunch was served, and his mother and Madeline made sure to compliment Mrs. Hubbard’s cooking liberally.
Peter ought to be comforted by seeing his family again so soon, but he was not. He barely touched his food, too lost in thoughts of Lavinia to be an excellent conversationalist or hearty eater.
Madeline, however, seemed unusually quiet. Midway through the meal, she cleared her throat.
“I received a letter from Lavinia this morning,” she announced, setting down her fork and glancing between her mother and Peter.
Peter’s chest tightened, though he kept his face impassive. He sipped his wine to mask the growing tension within him.
“Oh?” their mother asked, looking mildly interested. “What did she say, dear?”
Madeline smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “She wrote to announce her engagement.”
Peter’s hand froze, his grip on his glass tightening. The world seemed to tilt, as if the air had been sucked out of the room. He could not breathe.
Engagement?
“She’s marrying Lord Windham,” Madeline continued, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “I could not believe it when I read the letter.”
Peter set his glass down too forcefully. His hands trembled beneath the table, and his stomach churned with an overwhelming sense of loss.
Lord Windham? How? Why?
A wave of nausea assailed him.
No. This cannot be real.
“Lord Emanuel Windham?” his mother asked, frowning. “When we were at Crawford Hall, Tabitha and I discussed how Lord Windham expressed an interest in courting Lavinia, but I got the impression that she was resistant to the notion.”
Madeline shrugged, looking confused. “That’s what I thought, too. Lavinia did not seem particularly fond of him during our stay at Crawford Hall. But… well, maybe her parents pressured her into it?”
Peter’s mind swirled in chaos.
Is that possible? Would Lord and Lady Crawford pressure their daughter to do anything?
He did not know her age, but Lavinia was not a debutante. She did not even rush to London during the Season to attend balls and parties.
If Lavinia waited this long to find true love, why would she allow herself to be pressured into marrying now?
“You think her parents forced her hand?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears, as if he weren’t the one speaking.
Madeline glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Lavinia didn’t go into much detail in her letter, but I am inclined to think this is not the sort of match she would have chosen for herself.”
Peter wanted to stand up, wanted to shout that it was all wrong. That Lavinia could not marry Lord Windham because… because she was meant for him.
God, he was a fool. Why had he waited so long? Why had he let her slip through his fingers?
Marriage sounded so final. So permanent. And with that came the terrifying realization that Lavinia—his Lavinia—would no longer be his. The woman he loved, but had been too afraid to claim, would belong to someone else.
Panic rose in his chest like a tidal wave, crashing over him mercilessly. He stared at his untouched food, barely hearing the conversation around him. It felt as though the walls of the dining room were closing in on him, suffocating him with the weight of his regret.
Madeline’s voice faded, and all Peter could think was that it was too late. Too late to change anything. Too late to tell Lavinia how he really felt.
But even as despair wrapped itself around his heart, another emotion bubbled to the surface—determination.
No, it cannot end like this.
Peter realized, in that moment of anguish, just how much he loved Lavinia.
Perhaps he had always known deep down, but his fear of falling in love and giving his heart wholly to one woman had kept him from telling the truth.
And now, with her engagement hanging over him like a death sentence, he knew he could not keep silent any longer.
He could not lose her.
“I need some air,” he muttered abruptly, pushing back his chair and standing.
He did not wait for a response before walking out of the dining room, his mind racing.
Once outside, the cool breeze hit him like a splash of water, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. He strode across the courtyard, his thoughts moving faster than his feet.
Lavinia cannot marry Lord Windham. She cannot. I will not let her.
He paced, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He could no longer ignore what he had tried to suppress. He was in love with her. He needed her in his life, and he didn’t care about his own limits anymore. Duke or not, rake or not, none of it mattered if she was not with him.
He had made the biggest mistake of his life when he walked away, and now there was only one thing left to do. He had to go to her. He had to tell her everything. How he felt, how much she meant to him, and how he was willing to face any trial, any consequence, to have her by his side.
Peter turned and headed toward the stables, his heart pounding with a new sense of purpose. He would ride to Crawford Hall that very day, and he would not leave until he had spoken to Lavinia. Until he had told her the truth.
Because no matter what, she deserved to know that he loved her. And he would not let her marry someone else—anyone else—without fighting for her.
With renewed determination, he saddled his horse, the path ahead of him clear. He was done waiting. Done with the silence. It was time to claim the love he had tried so hard to deny.
Hours passed as he rode hard toward Crawford Hall, the urgency in his heart driving him faster than he had ever ridden before. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the fields, but he pressed onward.
Finally, as the estate came into view, his pulse quickened.
There it was, the place where everything had begun. The place where he had kissed Lavinia for the first time, where he had fallen hopelessly in love with her without even realizing it.
And now, it was the place where he would tell her the truth.
Peter slowed his horse as he approached the gates, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know if Lavinia would forgive him or if it was too late, but he had to try.
As he dismounted, he looked up at the grand entrance, the windows glowing with the last light of day. Somewhere inside, Lavinia was waiting—perhaps for him or for someone else.
But Peter didn’t care. He would open his heart to her. He would break his own rules, test his own limits. He would admit that he loved her and then wait to see how she reacted.
With a deep breath, he walked toward the door, ready to face whatever came next.