A Convenient Fiction

by Mimi Matthews

  There was no one now who truly knew him. No one he could confide in. No one he could trust. His life on the continent had been that of a well-heeled vagabond. Alone in both good times and bad. A man with no purpose, except to survive.

  Which is why he’d come home to England. If there was purpose to be found, it was here, in the land. Money couldn’t buy true belonging. For that, one needed property. A tie to the soil. Plenty of men had married country-bred heiresses to obtain it. Why shouldn’t he?

  When Squire Talbot had taken him out to inspect the home farm, he’d regaled him with information about crop rotation, fertilization, and the various benefits of livestock feed. Edgington Park was a well-run enterprise. The workers seemed capable, and the tenants happy. Alex was certain that he could find happiness there, too.

  He didn’t feel it now. He didn’t feel anything for the estate, truth be told. Nothing save the overwhelming determination to have it. As for happiness and contentment—that sense of connection, of being made whole—he trusted that would follow when at last the Park was his.

  It had to.

  They finished their luncheon, Miss Talbot presiding over their conversation like a queen amongst her loyal subjects. Nothing of importance was discussed. They spoke of trifling things: Squire Talbot’s new barouche, the sweetness of this year’s summer fruit, and the shipment of sprigged muslin that had just arrived at the village draper.

  “I’ve ordered a new dress to be made from it. The same style Empress Eugénie is known to favor.” Miss Talbot smoothed her skirts. “Not too dissimilar from this one.”

  Alex was no expert on women’s clothing, but he knew the power the Empress of France wielded when it came to the shape of a lady’s hat or the size of her crinoline. “You’re an admirer of hers, I take it.”

  “Every lady is. The empress sets the fashion for the civilized world. Isn’t that right, Laura?”

  Miss Hayes didn’t disagree. “She inspired a perfume some years ago. Empress Eugénie’s Nosegay. I watched my father make it once. It had extract of musk in it, and geraniums, roses, and vanilla. It was quite a distinctive scent.”

  Alex looked at her, wishing to God he didn’t find her so fascinating. “Do you know how to make perfume, Miss Hayes?”

  “Not very well. But my father sometimes permitted me to accompany him to the distillery. I made it my habit to watch everything he did there. To teach myself a little of the business.” A faint smile edged her mouth. “The power of observation.”

  His gaze held hers. “I know it well.”

  And so he did. Nearly everything he’d learned about being a gentleman had been learned through observing others. He’d had no teacher. No mentor. Only his own wits to guide him.

  It had helped that the gaming clubs where he plied his trade attracted men of every class. There were ample opportunities to practice his skill at aping the manners, speech, and bearing of titled lords and well-to-do businessmen. Plenty of chances to learn how to comport himself.

  And how not to comport himself.

  George tipped his hat down over his face. “By God, it’s hot.”

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Miss Talbot warned. “We’re going to walk to the Roman ruin after lunch.”

  “The devil we are.”

  “Mr. Archer hasn’t seen it yet.”

  “Then take him there,” George said, “by all means.”

  Alex said not a word. For once, George was doing what he was supposed to do. He was arranging for Alex to be alone with Miss Talbot. Alex should have been glad of it. It was all part of the plan. And yet…

  The end result left him uneasy. Not only would he be alone with Miss Talbot, George would be alone with Miss Hayes.

  She’d slapped his face once, George had said.

  He’d also said that he couldn’t marry her. Which meant that he’d considered marrying her. Which meant that he was attracted to her, damn him. And that he couldn’t be trusted.

  “We should all go,” Alex said abruptly. “Or none of us.”

  Miss Talbot dropped her plate down on the blanket. “On second thought, you can show Mr. Archer the ruins, Laura. It will give me the opportunity to speak with George alone.”

  George peered at her from beneath his hat. “Don’t be daft, Hen. It’s you who’s hostess, not Laura.”

  “I don’t mind it.” Alex rose from his place under the tree. He dusted off his trousers. “I could do with a bit of exercise.”

  It was a strategic mistake. He needed to remain with Miss Talbot. It was she who held the key to his future, not Laura Hayes. Indeed, the more time he spent in Miss Hayes’s company, the more risk he ran of doing something foolish. Something that would endanger his entire scheme.

  Miss Hayes’s eyes found his. “It’s more than a bit of exercise. It’s three hills away. Three steep hills. We’d be well advised to skip it in this weather.”

  “A Roman ruin? Nonsense. I’d be glad to have a look at it.” He held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”

  Laura walked along at Mr. Archer’s side over the grassy, tree-scattered grounds of Edgington Park. She didn’t know how she’d ended up escorting him to the Roman ruin. She should have made some greater objection. It wouldn’t have taken much. The whole point of her being here was to act as chaperone. In setting off with Mr. Archer, she wasn’t only abdicating her duties to Henrietta and Squire Talbot, she was failing in her duties to her family.

  She had to get Henrietta alone so that she could ask her for the money to hire a new solicitor. She’d meant to call on her this morning, but moments before she’d set out, an invitation had arrived from Edgington Park.

  “A picnic,” Aunt Charlotte had said in disbelief. “In this heat?”

  And it was hot. Dreadfully so. Perspiration dotted Laura’s forehead and pooled in the hollow of her bosom. She was thankful for the broad brim of her straw hat shielding her face. As for the rest of her—a linen day dress wasn’t very cool when combined with stockings, petticoats, corset, and horsehair crinoline.

  Mr. Archer couldn’t be feeling much more comfortable. His sack coat was unbuttoned, his cravat loose at his neck.

  “You’ll never win Miss Talbot this way,” she said as they crested the final hill.

  He shot her a sharp look. “What way?”

  “By going off alone with me. You’d have done better to have stayed with her.”

  “I did try.”

  “Not very hard.”

  He shrugged. “She obviously wished to speak with Mr. Wright about something.”

  “Scold him, more like.”

  A grim smile edged Mr. Archer’s mouth. “I’m certain he deserves it.”

  “Probably, but it’s not likely to have much effect. Lectures and scolds have never achieved anything with George, except to hasten his departure from Lower Hawley.”

  “The vicar doesn’t strike me as a particularly stern parent.”

  “He wields his authority gently, but he does wield it. I suppose that over time it must have begun to pall.”

  “Death by a million cuts?”

  “Something like that.”

  He fell silent a moment. And then: “You and Mr. Wright have a history.” It wasn’t a question.

  Laura glanced at him. “Has he said so?”

  Mr. Archer met her eyes. “He says that two years ago you slapped his face.”

  She inwardly flinched. What had the pair of them been discussing for that to have come up? She shuddered to think. “I’m surprised he admitted it.”

  “He was half-seas.”

  She huffed a short laugh. “Naturally.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Slap him across the face?”

  She held Mr. Archer’s gaze. “With all of my strength.”

  He looked steadily back at
her, his expression completely unreadable. “He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened yesterday, does he?”

  “George?” She stopped short at the top of the hill, under the wide branches of a magnificent yew tree with a split trunk. A stretch of grass spread out before them, the stones of the Roman ruin in the distance. “No. Why would he?”

  Mr. Archer stopped as well. The tree cast his face in shadow. “I haven’t any idea. I don’t know what upset you.” He paused. “I’d like to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps…” He looked away from her, the lines of his firm jaw set as immoveable as granite. “Perhaps I could help you.”

  Her stomach trembled. It was nerves. Either that or the threat of butterflies. One was as bad as the other. “You can’t.”

  “Try me.”

  His deep voice sent another tremor through her core. “The ruin,” she said. “We should—”

  “It’s thousands of years old. It can wait another hour.”

  An hour? Did he mean for them to linger here together—to talk—for as long as that?

  Under other circumstances, Laura might have resisted. But she was hot and tired, and overwhelmed by her responsibilities. A good night’s sleep had done little to remedy her poor spirits. “Very well. But I shouldn’t like anything I tell you to go further.”

  Mr. Archer turned back to her, a glint of wry humor in his eyes. “I can keep a secret, Miss Hayes.”

  “I expect you can. But these aren’t just my secrets. They’re my family’s secrets.”

  “I’ll guard them as if they were my own.”

  Laura didn’t know why, but she believed him. And she wanted to unburden herself. Needed to most desperately. “I’ve told you about my father’s perfume business.”

  His mouth hitched at the corner in that wolfish way of his. “Hayes’s Lavender Water, suitable for mothers and sweethearts alike.”

  “Yes, well…since my father’s death, the business—what remains of it—has been under the control of his solicitor.”

  “The fellow you visited in London?”

  “An odious gentleman who won’t permit us to do as we like with the property that was left to us.” She walked deeper beneath the branches, arms folded at her waist. “It’s meant to come to my brother at his majority, but yesterday…I learned that Mr. Weatherwax is refusing to cede control.”

  Mr. Archer followed after her into the deep shadow of the yew tree. He removed his hat. “Can he?”

  “He says that my brother is unfit, purely because he’s an invalid. He says that he’ll happily take us to court to prove it. Unless I can find a way to challenge him, my family must resign themselves to living on the quarterly allowance he provides us. It isn’t enough. Not nearly.”

  “I suppose it’s out of the question to simply ask the man for more money?”

  “There isn’t any more. But there could be. There could be. If only the business were in the hands of someone who wasn’t afraid to take a few risks.”

  “Your brother?”

  She nearly laughed. “Not my brother. Me.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “You don’t.” She could read as much in his face. “You think I’m just a silly impetuous female. But sometimes, Mr. Archer, in life as well as business, we must be bold. We must risk everything to gain even more. And so I would have done if my brother gained control.”

  His brows lowered. “I don’t think you’re silly, Miss Hayes.”

  “No?”

  “I think you’re…”

  “What?” she asked.

  But he didn’t answer.

  She bit her lip. Despite the intimacy of their previous meetings, he was still practically a stranger. His approval shouldn’t mean anything to her one way or the other. But it did. For whatever reason, it meant a great deal.

  “What recourse do you have against your solicitor?” he asked.

  Laura exhaled. “Very little, as far as I can tell.”

  She refused to mention the possibility of her marriage. It was less than two weeks until her twenty-fifth birthday. So…not even a possibility anymore. Not unless some noble, heroic figure were to gallop up on a white horse and carry her away to Gretna Green.

  “The only thing I can think of is for us to hire another solicitor to challenge Mr. Weatherwax’s authority. But—” She blushed. “We can’t afford it.”

  Mr. Archer’s gaze seemed to soften. “You needn’t be embarrassed.”

  She turned her face from his. She couldn’t bear to see him looking at her with compassion—or, even worse, pity. “I’m not embarrassed. There are others far worse off than we are. But when I think of Teddy, and all the things we could be doing to help him get well, if only…” A bitter laugh emerged from her throat. “If only. The two most useless words in existence.”

  “And two of the most oft uttered.”

  She leaned her back against the tree trunk, forcing herself to once again meet his eyes. “I’ve written to a solicitor in London. I hope to hear from him by the end of the week.”

  Mr. Archer rested his hand on the trunk. It was inches from her shoulder. “How much do you require to hire him?”

  “I don’t know yet. Whatever it is, I intend to ask Miss Talbot to lend it to me.” She gave him a humorless smile. “Perhaps you and I aren’t so very different after all. Each of us hoping to gain a little of her fortune.”

  He arched a brow. “Only a little?”

  “All of it, in your case. Unless you’ve changed your mind about pursuing her?”

  “Is there any reason I should?”

  Laura didn’t answer. She could think of several reasons. But she didn’t want to talk to him about Henrietta.

  “Miss Hayes,” he said. “If you need money for a solicitor, it would be my privilege to give it to you.”

  His offer was as surprising as it was unseemly. Any lady would be properly offended. And Laura was, to a certain degree. At the same time, an unsettling surge of gratitude clogged her throat, just as when he’d offered her coins at the wishing bridge. “I’m obliged to you, but…I could never accept it. You must know that.”

  “Why not?”

  “For the obvious reasons. Because you’re a single gentleman, and I’m an unmarried lady. It would be scandalous to accept money from you.”

  “I don’t see why. No one would ever have to know about it. It could be our secret.”

  She frowned at the thought. “And then I’d be indebted to you.”

  “A gift, I said. Not a loan.”

  “It would still put me under an obligation.”

  “Would that be so bad? To be obligated to me in some way?”

  “I believe it would. Besides, if the solicitor fails to wrest control from Mr. Weatherwax, I’d have no way to repay you.”

  “I think you might,” he said. And then, before she had a moment’s inkling of his intention, he bent his head to hers and kissed her, very gently, on the lips.

  A flush of unexpected warmth infused Laura’s veins. For the barest instant, her mouth softened under his. And then—

  Common sense returned with all of the force of a steam-powered locomotive.

  She jerked back from him with a start, nearly conking her head against the tree trunk. “I beg your pardon!”

  Mr. Archer stared down at her. He appeared as stunned as she felt. Indeed, to judge from his slack-jawed look of astonishment, one might think she’d transformed into some variety of mythical creature at the merest touch of his lips. A mermaid, perhaps.

  Or a two-headed monster.

  It was a lowering thought.

  His hand fell from the tree. “Miss Hayes—” He broke off. “Laura—”

  “Don’t,” she warned him. “Don’t dare presume some greater intimacy—”

  “Forgive me.�
� He took a step back from her. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” An incredulous laugh. “Nothing, apparently. I think I must have run mad.”

  More lowering still.

  Laura was glad of the set down, however unintentional. She’d rather be angry and insulted than hurt—or tempted. “Do you often go about kissing ladies in such a hurly-burly fashion?”

  “Never.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Truly, Miss Hayes. I’m sorry for having offended you. I daresay it was all of this talk of boldness and taking risks. I lost my head for a moment. It won’t happen again.”

  His apology should have mollified her. He meant it—anyone could see that. And she did believe him. He wouldn’t kiss her again.

  She should have been relieved. Instead, she felt vaguely disappointed.

  Brief though it was, Mr. Archer’s kiss had been nothing like George’s. Her heart was still thumping rapidly from the wonder of it. So soft and tender—and so very surprising to them both.

  “Why did you do it?” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Is it because I’m in reduced circumstances? Because I haven’t a father or a brother to defend me from—”

  “No.” His denial was quick and fierce. “It has nothing to do with your station in life. My God. If you only knew—”

  “Then why?”

  “Because…there’s something between us. Some thread of connection. I feel it every time I look at you.”

  “I feel it, too,” she admitted.

  He gave her a tormented look. “Do you?”

  She nodded. There was no point in denying it. “I wish I didn’t feel it.”

  “I wish the same. But now we’ve acknowledged it…perhaps we’ve robbed it of its power. We can move on. Forget any of this ever happened.”

  “Can you forget?” she asked.

  Mr. Archer settled his hat back on his head. “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  Over the next three days, Laura saw Mr. Archer often, but never again did she confide in him as she had on the way to the Roman ruin. And never again did he attempt to kiss her. He scarcely looked at her, truth be told. All of his energies were directed toward Henrietta—walking with her, talking with her, and generally making himself agreeable.