Page 39 of A Convenient Fiction

Laura’s fingers tightened on her prayer book. She felt a flicker of self-consciousness. Even more so when Mr. Archer’s gray gaze briefly fell to hers. He immediately looked away, but not before she’d seen that his smile of a moment before had disappeared.

“Miss Hayes,” Squire Talbot said. “Good day to you.”

“Good day, sir.” She doubted whether anyone heard her. Henrietta was immediately occupied with addressing Mr. Archer, and the squire was busy climbing up into the seat of his barouche and issuing instructions to the coachman.

Laura turned and went back into the church to collect her aunt. She found her slumped in the front pew, the vicar standing over her with a look of concern. “What is it?” Laura hurried up the aisle. “What’s happened?”

Aunt Charlotte waved her away. “Only a dizzy spell.” Her face was flushed, twin spots of color standing out on her cheeks. “I’m quite recovered now.”

“It’s the heat,” the vicar said.

“Is that all?” Laura sat down beside her. “Are you certain it’s not your heart, Aunt?”

“No. I don’t believe so. Though it is racing a trifle.” Aunt Charlotte gave her an apologetic look. “Perhaps we should summon Dr. Taylor?”

Laura rubbed a reassuring hand up and down Aunt Charlotte’s silk-clad arm. “Yes, I daresay we should.” It would be another expense, but Laura didn’t begrudge it. Some things were too important. “Where is your fan?”

“In my reticule.”

Laura retrieved it. It was a painted paper confection, more decorative than useful. She nevertheless snapped it open and waved it briskly in the vicinity of Aunt Charlotte’s face.

“Best take her home, Miss Hayes,” the vicar said, “and see that she has something cool to drink.”

“Are you able to walk back to the cottage?” Laura asked.

The vicar’s brows shot up over the rims of his spectacles. “You walked here? Oh dear. I didn’t consider.” He looked about him. “I can’t think where my son has got to, but— Ah! Here is Mr. Archer.”

Laura looked up with a start. Mr. Archer was coming up the aisle toward them, his tall beaver hat in his hand.

“Mrs. Bainbridge has taken a turn, I fear,” the vicar told him. “Can I trouble you to drive them home in the gig?”

“Oh no,” Aunt Charlotte objected. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing—”

“I’ll hear no objections.” The vicar smiled. “Mr. Archer would be only too happy to oblige, wouldn’t you, sir?”

Mr. Archer inclined his head. “Of course. I’ll fetch the gig from the stable.”

Laura sat with Aunt Charlotte until he returned. He didn’t send someone to tell them he and the gig were ready. Instead, he came back into the church himself and offered Aunt Charlotte his arm.

“Mrs. Bainbridge? If you’d care to lean on me?”

Aunt Charlotte took hold of his arm gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Archer. I confess, I feel quite undone.”

Laura walked along with them, eyeing her aunt with worry. The gig was waiting at the gates, the padded seat only big enough for two. She took a step backward. “If you’ll drive my aunt back to the cottage, I’ll join her there presently.”

Mr. Archer’s gaze jerked to hers. “You mean to walk back?”

“Yes, I— Oh!” She emitted an unladylike squeak as he caught her round the waist and tossed her up onto the seat. Her skirts billowed about her. “There isn’t room,” she protested. “I don’t mind walking—”

“We’ll fit,” he said grimly.

And they did.

Though it meant that Laura was pressed shoulder to knees against Mr. Archer’s side the entire way home. She scarcely drew breath until he stopped the gig in front of the cottage and jumped down. When next she looked at him, he was vaguely red about the collar. Perhaps he’d felt the discomfort of it, too? The peculiar sensation of being so close to a person of the opposite sex. A person that one was strangely attracted to. That one had kissed.

Then again, perhaps it was only the heat?

He helped Aunt Charlotte down from the gig.