Miss George's Second Chance (7 page)

Stubborn wench. “And you’re happy with that?”

“Of course I’m not happy. She’s my sister and it’s difficult to see her as she is. Barely leaves the house. Now that your sister is gone to London her only callers are Miss Radley and Miss Long, when she can slip away from the viper she calls a cousin.”

Peter started at the venom in Walter’s voice. “What has Miss Merton done?”

Walter’s face reddened. “It doesn’t matter. She’d just better stay away from my sister in the future.”

A discomforting sensation crept over Peter. “Walter. What has Miss Merton done to Imogen?”

“She didn’t have to say a word, but she’s done more harm than I care think about.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of their houses. “I blame her for my sister becoming a recluse and putting ridiculous notions in her head.”

Dread curled within him again and he forced himself to calm before he spoke. “Such as?”

“Imogen has asked me to write to Hawke. She wants him to purchase a house with her inheritance, one far away from Brighton, and then she wants me to interview female companions with the intention of hiring one to live with her. She said she didn’t want to be a burden for the rest of her life.”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. Imogen planned to disappear completely. First from him and then from everyone else she knew. If he hadn’t returned when he had then he might never have seen her again. This had to be stopped. “What progress has Hawke made?”

“None. I’ll not allow it. The letter will not be sent.”

Peter stared out at the sea as his panic subsided. “Good.” Home had always been Brighton, but part of the allure had always been his friends. Imogen was a friend too. If she wouldn’t marry him then he could at least try to help her in other ways. She’d pushed him away to spare him the burden of her needs, constant care and attention. To him, that sounded exactly what good friends should do for one another.

But how to convince her to let him help? She’d been rather cool by the end of their discussion. Any closeness he’d imagined by their brief touch had disappeared as quickly as it had come. He nodded to himself. He would help whether Imogen wanted him or not. He would not abandon a friend. He met Walter’s gaze steadily. “I’d like your permission to call on your sister and perhaps invite her to stroll along the esplanade or take a carriage ride with me, with a suitable chaperone of course.”

Walter’s eyebrows shot up. “That will take some doing. I remind you again she doesn’t like to leave the house. She’s not had a gentleman call on her, besides Radley and Merton and the physicians, in a year. She won’t even consider discussing marriage and believe me I’ve tried. She’s always wanted a home of her own. I suppose even without a husband she’s planning for that.”

Peter gritted his teeth, but he wasn’t surprised. Imogen had a definite plan in mind for her life. Escape into obscurity. Peter would not allow it. Becoming Lady Watson might not be part of the future she wanted, but perhaps he could keep her in Brighton, and among friends, with the allure of continuing her writing. He could help. He would be honored to help her in any way he could. “It cannot hurt to try.”

Walter started to laugh. “We had a rule once, Peter. To treat each other’s sisters as if they were our own. Then Hawke and your sister married and you became engaged to my mine. Do the rules concerning dallying with sisters no longer apply?”

“I’m merely talking about bringing her into the light, nothing more.”

“Are you sure?”

Peter dug in the sand with his fingertips. “It doesn’t feel right to have abandoned her when my situation improved so drastically. It never felt right.”

“Why? Wasn’t it Imogen who set you free? She explained the break was through no fault of yours. In all honesty, we expected to read a wedding announcement in the papers that you would marry a duke’s daughter or someone of high stature, or hear whispers of your exploits among the less than proper ladies.”

Peter’s stomach flipped and his mouth grew dry. Is that what Imogen imagined too? That he’d find a replacement for her so quickly. Peter shook his head. “Not really to my tastes. I prefer a little intelligence beneath the pretty face.”

“You never bothered with a woman’s head before.” Walter’s eyes widened. “Are you in love with my sister?”

He frowned and looked away, his pulse racing. “I never said that.”

“But you must be.” Walter touched his shoulder and turned him back from the view of the sea. “Why else offer assistance to a woman who cast you aside?”

Peter squirmed. For the past year he’d experienced the sensation that he was not whole. Even in the midst of a crowded ballroom the entertainments had fallen flat of his expectations. And despite some rather obvious interest from some of the ladies he’d met, he hadn’t once been tempted strongly enough to even kiss one. It surprised him now to discover he’d remained faithful to Imogen. Even if she didn’t want him. Even if she’d sent him away with hurtful cold words. No one would understand. “It is the right thing to do.”

“Have you spoken with her?”

Peter filled the hole he’d dug and patted the sand flat. “Yes, last night. She was sitting alone in the dark on the rear steps of your home when I left Valentine’s and took a stroll around the block.”

When Walter started to splutter about impropriety and the dangers of a blind woman stumbling about in the dark, Peter quickly set his mind at rest. “We talked for a short time and I left her sitting on the steps. However, I loitered by the garden gate to be sure she safely returned indoors. She never came to any harm.”

Walter cursed. “Damn woman won’t come out of the house safely on my arm but ventures into the dark without adequate protection.”

“I must admit I was worried too at first which is why I stopped to speak with her. She may have lost her sight but not her reason. She was on the very top step. She could have easily shouted for help if it was needed.”

“If she’s so headstrong how are you going to convince her to see you? Will you ruin her reputation by cozying up to her in the dark again should your paths cross?”

Although the idea held a certain appeal, he doubted Imogen would allow that sort of thing. “Ruining her isn’t my intention. With your permission I’d like to convince her to return to writing. Since I know of her work, and her need for secrecy, I am well suited to the task of assisting her. She must miss it dreadfully.” He offered a reassuring smile he hoped would set Walter’s mind at ease. He knew what he was doing. Imogen had a talent that was going to waste and if he could help her bring new stories to life, he would gladly give an hour or more every day. “If our interactions harm her reputation you can be assured I will do the right thing. Believe me, I had honorable intentions last year. I played the respectful suitor already so have no fear that I would do anything to harm her reputation and leave her to suffer the consequences alone.”

“Did you really play the gentleman?” Walter rubbed his jaw and then his eyes widened. “No wonder she broke it off. Imogen has always said that a careful, passionless relationship is a marriage doomed to fail.”

Peter cursed. If only he’d known her views. By being an utter gentleman he’d convinced Imogen he hadn’t wanted her. That couldn’t be further from the truth and it was time to show her just how badly she’d misjudged his intentions.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Sir Peter Watson to see you, miss.” The butler’s sudden announcement caught Imogen by surprise. She was not ready at all to greet Peter today or any day.

She rubbed her eyes, wishing she’d remained above stairs this morning. “Could you tell him I am otherwise engaged?”

“I’d like to, miss, but he’s standing right beside me.”

Imogen gulped nervously. It was the height of bad manners to pretend to be busy when a caller came. To be caught at it was far worse.

One set of footsteps came toward her. “Hello Imogen.”

Although she strained her senses, she couldn’t detect another presence with him. “Sir Peter.” She stood quickly, forgetting her lap was full of embroidery yarns she was attempting to straighten as a gift for Teresa Long. “Oh.”

Imogen dropped to her knees, running her hands over the thick, carpeted rug in search of them. She gathered them up, and then struggled to reposition herself on her settee. By the time she lifted her face it was hot with embarrassment.

Peter sat at her side. “You missed a couple.”

He placed them gently on the palm of her hand and covered them with his.

“Thank you.”

Thick tension swirled between them. She wished she could see. If he pitied her then she could forget how badly his nearness affected her. She could pretend the warmth of his hands hadn’t tormented her sleep the night before. When he released her, she could breathe again.

“These are for you.” Damp flower stems were pressed into her hands and the bunch guided to her nose so she could inhale them. “I remember you preferred lavender to lilacs and a modest bunch to excess. The flower seller thought my requirements quite amusing.”

“The lady on Ship Street corner?”

“The very one.”

Imogen buried her nose in the flowers as the simple thrill of receiving a gift made her smile. No one had brought her flowers in quite some time. “Thank you. She always has the freshest flowers.”

“I remember. You told me that last summer.”

The sound of paper crinkling caught her attention and she lifted her face.

Peter took the flowers from her hands gently. “Mr. Perkins, can you place these in water for your mistress? I promise to behave while you are gone.”

Imogen pictured Peter smiling at Mr. Perkins and grinned. Like everyone else she’d met, Perkins was not immune to Sir Peter’s charm. When they were engaged to be married they had often been alone in this room. They would trust Sir Peter more now that he was married. He would never disrespect his wife.

She held out the flowers for her butler to take. “Could you place them in the dining room?”

“Yes, miss.” Perkins hurried away.

Peter caught up her hand in his and squeezed. “Do you want to hear whatever news is in the paper today? There must be something to amuse.”

Imogen jerked her hand back and scrambled to straighten the threads lying in her lap to hide her confusion. Peter should be with his wife, shouldn’t he? She inhaled but detected no trace of lilacs about him this morning, just sandalwood and the faintest hint of the sea. The lure of the news proved too much temptation. “If you have the time.”

He opened her hand and placed a small weighty parcel on her palm. “These are for you as well. I’m sure you’ll recognize them without requiring an explanation.”

Imogen passed the small parcel between her hands, noticing a distinct familiarity in the texture and dimensions. She immediately lifted it to her nose and inhaled the scent of caramels. “Are you attempting to sweeten my mood?”

“Is that even a possibility?”

The teasing response took her by surprise. Imogen didn’t answer. Peter should be happy to have escaped marriage to a blind woman, but he acted as if the situation and her condition were of no importance. She should have questioned Walter about Peter’s life before he had gone out. Peter did not act like a married man yet she couldn’t ask him his situation. She wanted to know what was different about the man at her side.

When he shook out the paper and began to read, her heart fluttered. His voice filled the room and smothered her with sensations she fought hard to deny. No one else assumed to do so many little kindnesses when they visited. Peter hadn’t rushed to pick up her spilled yarns, treating her like a capable woman rather than an invalid as Walter often did. And he brought precious gifts from the outside world that she’d missed but had forgotten how much. Being blind meant one only discovered what she heard, smelled or touched in her small world. Peter brought the world with him.

Occasionally, Peter asked her opinion on the news he’d read out loud and she hesitantly ventured to voice her views. They discussed politics at length and then he fell silent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked at last.

Paper crackled. “The heroine in
The Lady Most Likely
. Did you base her on Miss Pease by chance?”

“I base them on no one in particular. To do so would draw unwanted attention and create difficulties for Walter and myself.”

“But,” he leaned close enough that his breath caressed her cheek. “I chanced to dine in Miss Pease’s company last night at Merton’s, and this morning I was struck by certain similarities to the innkeeper’s daughter you wrote of. The giggly laugh, the over-application of perfume, and the distinctive way she cut her food into the tiniest of pieces before she loaded her fork. Could two such creatures exist without there being a slight coincidence?”

Imogen blushed at the mistake. Usually she was more discreet in her descriptions. “Well, perhaps one or two character traits might have been drawn from previous meetings between myself and Miss Pease. I do write about the world around me.”

“And you will again,” he insisted.

Although she yearned for what she’d lost there was no turning back. “No, Sir Peter. The time for writing is long gone.”

“Maybe not today, but I fear our time is up for the moment.” His breath whispered across her cheek. “I shall bend all my efforts to convince you to write again or die trying. May I call on you tomorrow?”