He hadn’t been in the water—physically in the water—in ages. He’d been on boats, of course. The steamers to France, and the rowboats that paddled him to and from the shore. But he hadn’t held his breath and dived beneath the waves. Not since that unfortunate day in North Devon so many years ago.
Granted, Talbot’s Pond wasn’t the raging sea. It wasn’t even very impressive in terms of woodland ponds. But as he’d crashed below the surface, a host of images had flooded his brain. He hadn’t been prepared for them. Hadn’t wanted them.
It was the past.
A past he preferred to forget.
“Partly,” Miss Hayes said. “My lungs were a little weak after the fever.”
“And now?”
“I’m much stronger. Strong enough that I hope, one day soon—” She broke off, her ebony brows knitting.
He gave a short laugh. “Oh no, you can’t stop there.”
“Can’t I?”
“And leave me in suspense?”
“It’s foolish, really.” Her expression turned rueful. “What I hope—what I dream of—is that one day I shall be able to swim in the sea.”
The good humor Alex had felt only seconds before evaporated into the ether. “That’s your dream? To go swimming?”
“In the sea, yes.” She folded her arms, seeming to rest them on the swell of her skirts. “You don’t care for the water, I take it.”
He focused his attention on the narrow path as it meandered through the wood. “How do you come by that conclusion?”
“After you pulled me out of the pond, you were distraught.”
“Hardly.”
“You were,” she insisted. “Don’t deny it.”
He inhaled an unsteady breath. It was dark and cool in the wilderness garden, the sun through the branches creating a mosaic of shifting shadows that played on the boulders that lined the path—and on the face of the lady at his side. It was the closest thing to intimacy, this brief moment of darkness in the middle of the blazing afternoon.
“When I was a boy,” he said in a gruff voice, “I rescued a friend from drowning. It was a very near thing—for the both of us. It’s not the sort of experience one easily forgets.”
Miss Hayes’s expression softened. “Was your friend in a pond, as I was?”
“He was in the sea. Deep beneath the waves.”
She searched his face. “And ever since you’ve gone about rescuing people, have you?”
He removed his tall beaver hat to run a hand over his hair. “Not in a long while.”
Rather the opposite, in fact.
During his years on the continent, it had been his business to lure unsuspecting gamblers like George out into deep water. It was how Alex made his living. Thousands of pounds wagered on the turn of a card. He had an innate skill for gaming. A cool-headedness that served him well under the most strenuous circumstances. It enabled him to win far more than he lost. And win he did—often substantially.
But no more. Not if his plans for Miss Talbot came to fruition.
He was done with cards. Done with a life of rootless wandering. At long last, it was time to settle down. He couldn’t permit himself to be distracted.
And Miss Hayes was distracting.
So much so that, in the seconds before he’d taken his leave of her at the pond, he’d felt the unholy urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. An emotional aftereffect of diving into the pond, no doubt. A brief desire for warmth. For human connection.
Fortunately, good sense had prevailed.
If there was any warmth to be enjoyed, he must find it with Henrietta Talbot. And he would. On that he was determined.
“Not until today,” Miss Hayes said. “When you attempted to rescue me.”
He cast her a humorless glance. “Attempted being the operative word.”
“I told you I was in no danger. And even if I had been—” She gave a dismissive shrug. “I can take care of myself.”
“So I observed.” From the little he’d seen of her thus far, Miss Hayes seemed a capable sort of female. One who might well disrupt his plans if given half the chance. “Does Miss Talbot often employ you as her chaperone?”
She looked up at him, frowning. “Why do you ask?”
Before Alex could form an answer, Miss Talbot called to them over her shoulder. “Don’t dawdle! My wishing bridge is just up ahead.”
George flashed him an apologetic glance. He and Miss Talbot had outpaced Alex and Miss Hayes by several yards. A few yards more and they would leave the canopy of branches behind and step out into the sunlight.
“We’re right behind you!” Miss Hayes called back. As the others continued ahead, she lowered her voice. “Squire Talbot is complacent about many things, but his daughter’s reputation isn’t one of them.”
Alex settled his hat back on his head. “Why is it that I get the distinct impression that you’re warning me off?”
“Perhaps I am.”
The sun filtered through the leaves, hotter and brighter, as the branches opened once more to the blue summer sky. Ahead of them, a small wooden bridge crossed a man-made waterway, its shallow bed littered with smooth river stones and the odd glint of coins.
The wishing bridge, as Miss Talbot had described it during tea. Her wishing bridge.
Alex had thought it childish then, and even more so now. He preferred the darkness of the woods to the unforgiving light of day. And as for wishes—
Well.
They’d never done him much good, had they?
Miss Hayes looked up at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat. “You’re a stranger here, Mr. Archer. Surely you didn’t expect to be left alone with Miss Talbot unsupervised?”
He had, actually. George had promised him unfettered access. It was one of the benefits of Miss Talbot being his childhood friend. There would be no chaperones. No strictly surveilled visits. “I understood the rules to be more lenient in the country.”
“As compared to where?”
“London, during the season.”
“I can’t speak to that,” she said. “I’ve never had a season. But I can assure you, sir, in Lower Hawley, a lady of Miss Talbot’s standing is never left unprotected. She may not have a mother, or a female relation in residence at the Park, but there are plenty of others who keep a watchful eye.”
“Such as yourself.”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Such as myself.”
Alex was torn between warring feelings of admiration and annoyance. Miss Hayes was throwing down the gauntlet. And not to protect her own honor, but to protect that of her friend. A friend who had treated her with grating condescension since the moment of her arrival. A friend who hadn’t even bothered to send a proper carriage to collect her.
“Ah. I see,” he said. “You’ve appointed yourself her guardian as well as her chaperone.”
“Nothing of the sort. I don’t like to see any lady taken advantage of by a—”
“By a what?” He looked down at her, a flare of anger taking him unaware.
She gazed steadily back at him. “You know what you are better than I do, Mr. Archer.”
His chest tightened. He had the sudden sense that she could see straight through his fine clothes—straight through his gentlemanly accents and bearing—to the yawning hole of emptiness that lay beneath. For an instant, he felt stripped bare. Utterly defenseless. Just as he had as a boy.
It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
“Indeed, Miss Hayes. And knowing that, may I tender you a piece of advice?”
Her brows lifted in question.
“Stay out of my way, ma’am,” he said.
Her smoke-blue eyes kindled at his words. “Or what, sir?”
He bent his head close to hers, sinking his voice to a mocking undertone. “Or the next time I encounter y
ou, alone in a secluded wood, I won’t treat you with as much gentlemanly forbearance as I exercised this morning.”
Laura stood beside Henrietta on the wishing bridge, her arms folded on the wooden rail. She was glad to rejoin the others. She hadn’t the patience for any more of Mr. Archer’s warnings. Gentlemanly forbearance, indeed. She supposed he was threatening to kiss her, or some such nonsense.
Then again, who could say?
There was a perpetual edge of sardonic humor to his voice. As if he were teasing her. Laughing at her.
Or at himself.
It made his sincerity difficult to gauge.
And as for kissing her…
Well. She was no green girl to be provoked thus by a man. Especially one who couldn’t take the matter seriously. As if the very idea of kissing her was nothing more than a joke. An inconsequential event he could reference as casually as he might comment on the weather.
There was nothing casual about kissing. Not to her.
She knew that because she’d been kissed before. Only once, it was true, but that had been quite enough. The experience had been a thoroughly unpleasant one. Devastating, really. For a time, she’d believed it was her fault. That she’d done something—said something—to engender such clumsy handling. Such casual mistreatment.
“But I thought—” George had stammered, seconds after she’d slapped his face. “Haven’t you always wanted me?”
In the intervening years, Laura had come to view the incident as a valuable lesson. To some gentlemen, it wasn’t the content of a lady’s character that mattered, but only the content of her bank account. If her fortune exceeded a certain amount, she was worthy of respect—and of an offer of marriage. If not…
She could expect to receive another sort of offer.
Henrietta leaned over the rail, her voluminous sleeves pillowing against Laura’s. “We have a tradition at Edgington Park,” she was explaining to Mr. Archer. “Every year, when we celebrate my birthday, all the guests at my party come to this exact spot and make a wish. I insist upon it.”
Mr. Archer stood on Henrietta’s opposite side. On arriving at the bridge, he’d smoothly taken George’s place, leaving George to stand next to Laura. “Do these wishes come true?”
Henrietta tittered. “What a question! No one knows except the person making them. Your wish is meant to be a secret.”
George stared down into the rippling water. “There must be fifty pounds or more down there.”
“Probably,” Henrietta said with the same careless laugh.
Laura followed George’s gaze to the glinting coins below. Fifty pounds would be a blessing to the Hayes family at the moment. A blessing to any poor family, really.
“Are these wishes confined to your birthday, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Archer asked.
“Lord, no. You may make a wish today, if you like. Providing you have brought a coin.” Henrietta looked to Laura, a shadow of compassion moving over her face. “Will you make a wish, Laura?”
Laura hadn’t brought any money with her to Edgington Park. The only coin she possessed was safely in her reticule at home, waiting to purchase the railway ticket that would take her to London in the morning. She forced a smile. “Not today, Hen. I shall wait for your next birthday.”
“I’ll make a wish.” George thrust his hand into the pocket of his garish plaid trousers and withdrew a halfpenny. “I could do with some luck.”
Henrietta produced a coin of her own from a hidden pocket in the froth of her India muslin skirts. “I’ll make a wish, too.” She looked to Mr. Archer. “Will you, sir?”
“I will.” From his place beside Henrietta, Mr. Archer briefly caught Laura’s eye. “I have an extra shilling, Miss Hayes, if you’d—”
“She can’t make a wish on a borrowed coin,” Henrietta interrupted sharply. “It’s the rule.”
Laura returned Mr. Archer’s glance. “I’m obliged to you for the offer, but Miss Talbot is right.”
And so she was. That didn’t prevent a disconcerting swell of gratitude from building in Laura’s breast. Mr. Archer owed her no such courtesy. They’d been at daggers drawn not five minutes before. He had no reason to be civil to her, let alone solicitous. And yet…
She stole another glance at him from beneath her lashes as he leaned over the rail with Henrietta and George. What a strange gentleman he was! Both hero and villain, by turns.
If the offer of a shilling could be termed heroic.
“Do you have your coins at the ready?” Henrietta asked the two men. “Splendid. Now, all you must do is close your eyes, make a wish, and throw it in.”
“Throw in the coin and then make a wish,” George said. “Isn’t that the way?”
Henrietta shot him a look. “The order doesn’t matter, only the intent.”
While the others made their wishes, Laura wandered down from the bridge to the grass-covered bank beyond. It had been months since she’d last visited Edgington Park. Months since Henrietta had issued an invitation to tea or to dine. Their lives had become too different. As children, it hadn’t mattered as much. Now, however, two weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, Laura felt keenly how little the pair of them had in common.
“You’ve changed,” Henrietta had accused during one of Laura’s last visits. “Sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.”
“Sometimes I don’t know myself,” Laura had replied.
Nowadays, she preferred Talbot’s Pond to the company of her former friend. Any free time she had was spent there. The water was her sanctuary. Her private domain.
Or it had been until Mr. Archer made his appearance.
He was still on the bridge, making himself agreeable to Henrietta. Laura would have to put her on her guard. Not that Henrietta couldn’t discover the man’s motives for herself. Despite her pettishness and well-developed sense of frivolity, Henrietta was quite canny when it came to detecting fortune hunters.
“Laura.” George stepped down onto the grass to join her, leaving Henrietta and Mr. Archer to talk alone on the bridge. “It’s been a long while.”
“Two years,” Laura said.
“Longer than that.” George rubbed his cheek, as if in recollection of how their last meeting had ended. “It was Christmas, don’t you remember? The year you came out of mourning for your father.”
“I remember everything.”
His gaze slid guiltily away from hers. “Looking back on it…I may have had too much of Squire Talbot’s punch.”
Laura sighed. “Let’s not pretend, George. Do me that courtesy, at least.”
His lips thinned. “You could have refused to come today.”
“I came for Henrietta, not you.”
“As her chaperone. What a lark.” He paced a few steps before coming to a halt in front of her. His golden hair curled along the edge of his collar and brow, a sharp contrast to the darkness of his hat and the bright fabric of his plaid suit. “I trust you won’t interfere.”
“Interfere with what?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about.”
Laura regarded George with a vague sense of contempt. She wondered how she could have ever thought him pleasing. How she could have ever believed him her friend. He was—she realized now—a fundamentally weak man. “Where did you meet him?”
“At a gaming club in Marseilles.” George smirked. “You look surprised.”
“I’m surprised that you answered me honestly.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You’re nothing if not a good little secret keeper. You might have tattled on me at any point these past years, but you—”
“Perhaps I’m merely biding my time.”
He scowled.
“What do you know of him, George?” she pressed. “Where is he from? Who are his people?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of cour
se it matters. You’ve brought him here—introduced him to your friends, and to your father, I presume.”
“Not yet. Father hasn’t been home all day.”
“You’ve provided an introduction to Henrietta.”
“Why shouldn’t I have? It’s only an introduction. She’s quite at liberty to snub him.”
Only an introduction? As if it were some minor thing.
An introduction from a lifelong friend—a gentleman who had lived his entire life in the village, and whose father was the vicar for heaven’s sake—was very different from the sort of introductions made by casual acquaintances. It was a voucher. A personal bond. A promise that the man being introduced was worthy of intimate friendship. Of sacred trust.
George introducing Mr. Archer was tantamount to his stamping the man with a golden seal of approval.
“And now you mean to remain here with him for an entire month?” She was incredulous. “Doing what, pray?”
“Doing nothing,” George said. “It’s to be a holiday for us. An August idyll.”
Laura didn’t like the sound of it. “If you’re fond of Henrietta at all—”
“You don’t understand these kinds of things, Laura. You’ve never seen anything of the world. Never lived anywhere outside of Lower Hawley.” Perspiration dotted George’s brow. “If you had, you’d realize that Henrietta could do a great deal worse than a fellow like Archer.”
Her gaze drifted over George’s face. What she found there startled her. “You’re afraid of him.”
George swiftly turned away. “Don’t be stupid.”
“It’s dreadfully hot.” Henrietta made her way over the bridge on Mr. Archer’s arm, joining them on the bank. “Shall we walk back to the house? I have a sheaf of new music since last you came to visit, Laura. Some marvelous duets. If you’ll play the piano for us, perhaps George and I might attempt them?”
“It sounds a grand idea to me,” George said.
“Do you sing, Mr. Archer?” Henrietta asked.
He smiled. “Not very well.”
Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “How unfortunate. But not to worry. There’s plenty to occupy us until the dinner hour. And then you may meet my father.”
A Convenient Fiction Page 4
