Page 28 of A Convenient Fiction

“I have no fortune,” she’d said before attempting to leap from the carriage. “So you can have no interest in me, sir.”

And she was right.

He knew that. It was a fact. One that couldn’t be altered. Laura Hayes wasn’t for him. What he needed was a quiet, uncomplicated heiress. A young lady who would permit him to go on as he had before—cold, unmoved, untouchable. A female who wouldn’t rattle the very framework of his carefully crafted existence.

“You may leave now,” Miss Hayes said. “I’m quite all right. Very much myself again. There’s no need—”

“When you’ve composed yourself, I shall drive you home. And I’ll hear no argument on the subject.”

Her mouth tightened. He expected her to challenge him. But though she plainly bristled at his high-handed tone, she said nothing at all. Seconds later, she moved to rise on unsteady legs.

Alex went to her at once, catching both of her hands in his and helping her to her feet.

She stood in front of him for a long moment, head bent, hands clasped intimately in his. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But something passed between them as surely as speech. He felt it resonating within him. An unseen chord—unplayed, unheard, these many years. It brought a lump to his throat, and a burning prickle to the backs of his eyes.

Her hands squeezed his once. In gratitude, he thought. And then she let him go.

“I’m ready,” she said.

He inclined his head before retrieving her valise and turning back in the direction he’d left the gig. The vicar’s horse was still there, loosely tethered to a tree, munching contentedly on the overgrown grass and weeds at the edge of the woods.

Miss Hayes was quiet as Alex helped her up onto the seat and then vaulted up himself. When he took up the reins, the horse reluctantly moved into action, a clump of weeds still dangling from its mouth.

“It’s not far,” she said, her gaze fixed on the slow-passing countryside. “Less than two miles.”

It was the last she spoke to him until they reached the gates of Bramble Cottage.

Alex had never seen such a profusion of blooms. The afternoon heat was heavy with the scent of them.

He’d expected a smallish manor house, rather like the brightly polished vicarage with its cheerful red door. But there was nothing particularly cheerful about the Hayeses’ home, or the delirious perfume that surrounded it. With its chipped plaster, sagging shutters, and overgrown gardens, it looked for all the world like something out of a children’s fairy story. A wild, lonely place that might have been cursed or enchanted in equal measure.

“We haven’t a proper gardener anymore,” Miss Hayes said.

“Don’t apologize.” His gaze drifted from the climbing roses to the clusters of sweet peas, stock, and lavender that surrounded the gate. “It actually rather reminds me of you.”

She made a sound low in her throat. “Thoroughly abandoned.”

His mouth curved in a reluctant smile. “Bewitching, I was going to say.”

“That’s only the fragrance of the flowers. It plays havoc with everyone’s senses.”

Alex wasn’t so sure. He would have said so, but at that instant the front door of the cottage creaked open. A portly blond lady emerged onto the path. She was garbed in acres of black silk, her chin trembling as she looked out to the drive.

“Laura?” she called. “My dearest, where have you been? We expected you an hour ago.”

“My aunt Charlotte,” Miss Hayes said under her breath. “I shall have to introduce you.”

“By all means.” He tied off the reins and set the brake before jumping from the gig to assist her down. He’d scarcely set her on the ground before she was opening the gate and dispensing with the introductions.

“Aunt Charlotte, this is Mr. Archer, a friend of Mr. Wright’s from London. Mr. Archer, my aunt, Mrs. Bainbridge.”

Mrs. Bainbridge looked at him, frowning. “Mr. Archer. I thank you for bringing my niece home.”

“It was my pleasure, ma’am.”

“She’ll no doubt have told you that it was unnecessary. We make shift for ourselves in Lower Hawley.” Her gaze fell on Miss Hayes’s face. “Laura, what in heaven—”

“It’s fine, Aunt,” Miss Hayes said. “I’m fine.” She shifted her valise to one hand, setting her other hand on her aunt’s back. “Shall we go inside? We mustn’t keep Mr. Archer. Not in this heat.”