“When we were children, perhaps, but for many years I think you’ve preferred to look on yourself as my patroness. You seem to congratulate yourself on your charity in visiting me, or including me in one of your outings.”
“I never—”
“And then, at the first sign of scandal, you abandon me. As if our friendship were no more important to you than—”
“Because I didn’t call on you yesterday?” Henrietta’s eyes flashed. “If you must know, I was rather busy, first comforting George, and then placating my father about having welcomed an international villain into our home.”
“If I recall, you were equally busy when my father died. And busier still when my family’s fortunes took a turn.”
Henrietta’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “That’s unfair! I condoled with your family on more than one occasion. If I haven’t seen you as often since, it isn’t for the reasons you’re intimating. The world doesn’t revolve around you—”
“Why did you want me to be your companion?” Laura asked abruptly. “We hadn’t seen each other in months. You might have asked anyone.”
Henrietta didn’t answer.
“What was it about George’s return that prompted you to summon me?”
“Whatever you’re implying—”
“All I know,” Laura said, “is that George was never so attractive to you as when I fancied him. Just like the dolls we used to play with as children. You only ever wanted the toys that other girls did. That was part of your fun, wasn’t it? Having something that everyone else wanted? That I wanted?”
Henrietta’s face was ashen.
Laura felt a little ashen herself. She didn’t know if she was destroying their friendship, or salvaging it. “But I don’t want George anymore. I haven’t for a very long time. It was Alex I preferred. Which meant that you must prefer him, too.”
“You’re painting me out to be a horrible person.”
“That’s the difficulty of it. You aren’t horrible. You’re a good person. Generous. Kind. But when it comes to suitors—to possessions—you’re not very nice, Hen. Not to me.”
“And what of you?” Henrietta returned. “Did it never occur to you how I feel? George may claim to admire me, but he was forever looking at you. Mr. Archer was, too. You always contrive to make yourself more interesting—more appealing in spite of your lack of fortune. Is it any wonder I sometimes like to put you in your place?”
“We’re not in competition.”
Henrietta folded her arms. “It often feels as though we are.” She came to the window, and plumped down beside Laura.
Her arrival displaced Magpie. He leapt from the window embrasure, his tail twitching with irritation as he trotted from the room.
“It could never have worked between Mr. Archer and me anyway,” Henrietta said at last. “He would have been far too difficult for me to manage.”
It was the closest thing to an olive branch Laura was likely to get. She didn’t have the heart to reject it. “No more difficult than George.”
“Oh, George is easy. If you can limit his drinking, and give him a purpose to which he can turn his attention.” Henrietta frowned. “Though I will have to address his gambling habits.”
“Does this mean—?”
“That I’ll marry him? I expect I will. Someone must take George in hand. I suppose it was always going to be me.”
“I wish you luck.”
“I’d wish you the same if Mr. Archer hadn’t disappeared without a trace.” She cast Laura a curious glance. “Did you really like him, Laura?”
“I still do,” Laura said. “Very much.”
“Enough to have him as a husband?” Henrietta laughed. “Well, if you can manage it, I’ll see that the church is decked out in ribbons and roses myself—and I’ll loan you Papa’s carriage.”
Laura smiled. “Generous to a fault, just as I said.”
Henrietta’s cheeks dimpled. “Naturally. You’re my oldest friend. And we are still friends, aren’t we? Despite our quarrels?”
“I hope we are,” Laura said.
“I meant it about your wedding, you know. Though I don’t expect Mr. Archer will be your groom. George said he’s likely gone back to France. I daresay we’ll never see him again.”
Laura didn’t believe it. She couldn’t. Alex was coming back to Lower Hawley. He had to be. She needed him to redeem her reputation. To put things right with her family, and with the villagers. Without him, she was ruined. Everything was ruined. All of her hopes for the future. Her plans for the perfumery. Her very standing and credibility as a lady.
It was she who’d put it all at risk. And now it was up to him to make it right. To play the hero once more.
She prayed he wouldn’t let her down.
Wednesday morning, Laura ventured outside of the cottage for the first time since their return home. It was still hot as the dickens. Even the heads of the roses were drooping. She nevertheless twined her fringed silk shawl through her arms before stepping out the back door. The chill she’d received from her ill-fated swim hadn’t yet left her. She could still feel it all the way to her bones.
The back of the cottage was even more overgrown than the front. It sloped down in a wild tangle of fragrant blooms to a crumbling stone boundary wall at the bottom of the garden. Within its limits were dirt paths that wound their way beneath arbors sagging with the weight of climbing roses, and alongside iron benches that were nearly swallowed whole by untamed bushes of flowers and clusters of colorful weeds.
She looped a basket over her arm. It held a pair of gardening shears and the tattered old gloves she sometimes wore when cutting back the thorny branches of the rosebushes. But she didn’t feel much like gardening this morning. Her spirits were mired in the same despondency that had plagued her ever since they’d returned home from Margate.
It was only two days until her Friday appointment with Mr. Finchley. She had to find her way out of the doldrums before then. There was no question of forgoing the journey to London, and no one she could send in her place. She must go herself and see what Mr. Finchley advised them to do. It was their only hope for besting Mr. Weatherwax.
As for the possibility of her marriage…
It no longer merited thought. Her birthday was on Saturday. Even if she had a groom at the ready, there was no time left to journey to Gretna Green.
She wandered down the garden path, stopping next to a bush of red roses. They were as fragrant as the bottle of rose perfume on her dressing table. Full bodied and sweet, without being cloying. She broke one off at the stem and lifted it to her nose.
“Your aunt said I might find you here.”
Laura turned sharply.
Alex Archer stood inside the back gate. He was clad in riding clothes—dusty cord breeches, leather top boots, and a rumpled coat. His hair was windswept, his jaw darkened with several days’ worth of heavy stubble. He looked travel-worn and exhausted—and far more wolfish than usual.
Her basket slid from her nerveless arm.
He strode forward to catch it before it could hit the ground. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
She pressed a hand to her corseted midriff. “I feel as if I have.”
His mouth tugged into a rueful smile. “That shocking a sight, am I?”
Her heart thumped wildly. “You are, rather.” She sounded breathless, as if she’d just walked a brisk half mile. “When did you—?”
“I arrived at the front door not five minutes ago. Your aunt gave me a chilly reception. No doubt I deserve it. I hadn’t intended to be away so long. One night, at the most. But that’s London for you, especially when dealing with the clerks at Doctors’ Commons.”
Laura had no idea what he was talking about. Her head was spinning.
“Come.” He took hold of her elbow and directed her to a ben
ch beneath the nearest rose arbor. “Sit down before you swoon.”
“I’ve never swooned in my life.”
“Humor me.”
She sank down on the bench, folding her trembling hands in her lap. “I didn’t know when you’d come back. Or if you’d come back. I was beginning to think—”
“What? That I’d fled? Never to be seen again?”
She bit her lip.
Alex sat down beside her. He wasn’t smiling any longer. “Didn’t you hear what I said to you on the beach?”
“Y-yes.” Her mouth went dry at the memory of it. “You said that I was yours now. And that you were mine.”
“I meant it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I meant it.” His voice was as sure and strong as forged steel. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
On the beach, Laura had heard his whispered words as if in a dream. She’d wanted so desperately to believe them. Three long days later, however, foolish romantic notions had been eclipsed by hard common sense. “You only said it because you were concerned about my reputation. You must have known you’d ruined it.”
“I suspected I might have done,” he said frankly. “But in the moment, I confess, your reputation wasn’t at the forefront of my mind.”
She felt the same deep urge to believe him. To believe that she was his. That he wanted her. Cared for her. It was a primitive, feminine impulse, void of all logic. Laura endeavored to ignore it. “It doesn’t matter now. The damage is done. There’s no undoing it.”
“It matters to me. A great deal.” He studied her face, frowning. “You look ill.”
A surge of self-consciousness caught her unaware. She was in an old day dress with a faded stain on the bodice, her hair twisted back in a haphazard roll at her nape. He seemed to have a knack for catching her at her worst. It was irritating, really. “What an unflattering observation.”
“There are marks under your eyes. As though you haven’t been sleeping.”
“I haven’t been. Not very well. After what happened at Margate—”
“Which is exactly why I was in such a rush to get everything in order. It’s the only way to counter the harm to your reputation.”
“I don’t care about my reputation!”
He went still.
Laura briefly looked away from him. “That is…I do care, but only in so much as the damage to it harms my family.” She forced her gaze back to his. “If I’m upset, it’s not because you’ve ruined me. It’s because I’ve realized that I’m not as strong as I thought I was. That I’ll never be strong enough, no matter how hard I try.”
“Because you couldn’t make it back to shore on your own?”
“Because of everything! Being weak. Unable to manage things. The family’s finances, and Teddy’s inheritance. My plans for the future of the perfumery, which will likely come to nothing. And now I’ve put the entire family in the most dreadful predicament.”
“You don’t always have to be strong, Laura. Your family doesn’t expect you to be.”
“They do. They’re depending on me.” She was mortified to feel the hot sting of tears in her eyes. “And I’ve let them down in every way.” Her voice quavered. “I can’t save them from anything. When it came to the point, I couldn’t even save myself.”
“Lucky I was there.”
She gave a huff of laughter. It sounded more like a sob. “Yes. Very lucky. Now I’ve ruined your life as well.”
“My dear girl, you couldn’t ruin me if you tried. My reputation is already as black as the devil.”
My dear girl.
The casual endearment was a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. Whether he meant it in earnest, Laura didn’t like to guess. It was enough that he was here. It had to be enough.
She dashed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Don’t I know it. George has been telling Henrietta all of your secrets.”
Alex’s expression betrayed only a mild interest in the subject. “I wasn’t aware he knew any.”
“He says you’re the most dangerous gambler on the continent.”
“Is that all?”
“Do you deny it?”
“Being dangerous?” He shrugged a shoulder. “Gamblers are only dangerous to the people who owe them money.”
“George claims that he owes you ten thousand pounds.”
“Ah.”
“Is it really so much as that?”
“It makes little difference now. Given the circumstances, I expect I’ll have to forgive George his debts. There’s no hope of him repaying them. I knew that well enough when I played against him.”
“What about Henrietta?”
“What about her?”
“You were going to marry her. To live at Edgington Park with her and her father. To learn about farming. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Why you forced an introduction out of George? You wanted an estate of your own.”
“That’s all over.”
Laura gave him a searching look. “How do you know? Have you spoken to Henrietta?”
One corner of his mouth hitched up. “Are you asking me if I went to Edgington Park? If I called on Henrietta before coming here?”
“Did you?”
“Of course I didn’t. I came straight from the railway depot. Just look at the state of me.” He paused before adding, “I didn’t have to talk to Henrietta. I knew I was finished with her the night you and I waltzed together. I realized then…”
“What?”
He gave a short, husky laugh. “I won’t bore you with sentiment.”
Butterflies unfurled their wings in her stomach. “It wouldn’t bore me. Indeed, I’d very much like to hear it.”
“There’s little point. I’ve thought about our situation a good deal, and it seems to me that, going forward, we’d do better to leave sentiment well out of it.”
The butterflies vanished. In their place, she felt a vague tremor of foreboding. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve compromised you, quite publicly. There’s nothing we can do to mitigate the damage—except to marry.”
“Each other?”
He scowled. “Well I’m certainly not suggesting that you marry George.”
Under other circumstances, Laura might have smiled at his reaction, or even laughed. But there was nothing humorous in his proposition. He was talking of a marriage void of sentiment. A cold and formal union, entered into for no other reason but to save her reputation.
He didn’t love her. Didn’t care for her.
“It needn’t be anything more than what it is,” he said. “A means of redeeming your honor. I won’t make demands of you. I won’t expect you to—”
Her eyes searched his. She saw something there. A flicker of sadness. Of grim resignation. “Expect me to what?”
“To pretend to feelings that you don’t have. I know what I am. And I know what I deserve.” His jaw hardened with resolve. “You’ll have my name, that’s all. In every other respect, you may go on as you always have. If that’s…If that’s what you wish.”
“What you’re describing—”
“Call it a marriage of convenience.”
Laura’s brows knit. “It doesn’t sound like a marriage of any kind. It sounds like a lie. A fiction.”
“A convenient fiction, then. But one based in law. The marriage itself will be real enough. I have the license to prove it.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You’ve obtained a marriage license?”
“Why do you think I went to London?” He reached into an interior pocket of his coat and withdrew a folded paper. “It’s a special license.”
Her eyes widened. She’d only ever heard of such a thing in novels. It permitted a couple to marry wherever and whenever they pleased—without the burden of ca
lling the banns. She took it from Alex, her pulse accelerating as she read it over. “We could marry tomorrow if we wished.”
“We could.” He regarded her steadily. “Does this mean you agree? That the arrangement meets your approval?”
Arrangement.
She swallowed. “If this is a proposal, it’s a very poor one.”
“I hadn’t thought one necessary. Doesn’t the proposal you made me at Talbot’s Pond still stand?”
“You refused me at Talbot’s Pond.”
“Stupid of me.” He reached out and took her hand, engulfing it in the strong clasp of his fingers. “Laura…”
Her heart was somewhere in her throat. “Yes?”
“That day at the pond…I meant what I said about there being no place in my life for unfettered emotion. I can’t care about anything too deeply. Every time I have—” He broke off. “Let’s just say that things haven’t ended particularly well.”
“Was there another lady you cared for?” she asked. “A relationship that went wrong?”
“What? No. There’s never been another woman. Not one who’s tempted me the way you have.” A fleeting smile touched his lips. “You’re a siren.”
Heat crept up her throat and into her cheeks. “I’m certainly not.”
“You are. I don’t think I’ve had a rational thought since the day I first encountered you. You’ve disrupted all of my plans. Thrown my entire life out of balance. Good God, you lured me back into the sea. No one else in the world could have done that.”
“You make it sound as though whatever you feel for me is against your will. As if I’ve cast a malevolent spell on you.”
“A spell, yes, but not a malevolent one. I daresay the effects of it will pass once we part.”
His words chilled her. “You intend to marry me, and then…leave Lower Hawley?”
“Not immediately, no. We’re trying to quell an existing scandal, not ignite a new one. We must live together for a time. A month or two, at least. And then—at some point in the future—if you wish it, we can quietly go our separate ways.”
If she wished it, he kept saying. If she wished to have a marriage of convenience. If she wished to part from him. As if he was reluctant to inflict himself on her. As if living with him—being his wife—were some awful punishment he hoped to spare her from.
A Convenient Fiction Page 18
