Page 33 of A Convenient Fiction

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.