Page 57 of A Convenient Fiction

Alex intended George to be up and ready to depart at half past seven, even if he had to dress him, drag him out of the house, and bodily throw him into the carriage.

“I trust his absence won’t upset all of Miss Talbot’s plans,” the vicar said. “Nor yours.”

“George will be fit enough to accompany us,” Alex assured him. “You may rely on it.”

Sure enough, George sauntered into the breakfast room in the morning, looking only a little worse for wear. He made no mention of his drunken episode the night before. And when Miss Talbot and her father arrived in their barouche, he bounded down the steps and greeted them with genuine enthusiasm.

“There’s a second carriage for Laura’s family,” Henrietta said. She was seated across from Alex, looking as stylish as a fashion plate in her white linen seaside ensemble. “We’ve only room for one more in the barouche.”

“A great deal of fuss,” Squire Talbot muttered.

“There’s nothing wrong with fuss, Papa,” she replied. “Not if the end result is pleasure.”

George grinned. “Hear, hear!”

The barouche rolled along the now familiar country road that led past Talbot’s Wood to Bramble Cottage. Alex’s stomach tensed with anticipation as they approached.

Since parting from Laura at the pond, he’d tried very hard not to think of her proposal. And even harder not to think of the words that had preceded it.

You don’t want land. What you’re looking for is a family.

A family.

She’d never know the seismic jolt those words had delivered. Would never know how much he’d been tempted.

He couldn’t marry her. Couldn’t love her. But he could be a friend to her. A friend to her brother, and her aunt. There was nothing dangerous in that, surely.

Unless one could call a rapid pulse and a swiftly beating heart a danger.

He experienced both the moment he set eyes on her.

She came down the garden path to meet them as the carriage pulled up to the cottage gate. Like Henrietta, she was garbed in linen—a cream-colored skirt and loose-fitting jacket trimmed in black braiding. There was a wide-brimmed straw hat in her hand. “Good morning,” she said, smiling.

As they all exchanged greetings, a footman opened the door of the barouche to hand down Henrietta. “You’ll be wanting Alex to help with your brother,” she said, “but I may as well come, too, in case your aunt requires any assistance.”

Alex jumped down from the barouche to follow the two ladies into the cottage. He wondered who Henrietta thought she was fooling. Her penchant for petty jealousies was plain for all to see.

She linked her arm through Laura’s as they entered the hall. “I’ve brought you one of my bathing dresses. Pray it fits.”

Laura laughed. “I shall swim, even if I must leap into the sea with all of my clothes on.”

“Ladies don’t swim, Laura,” Henrietta retorted. “They bathe.”

Mrs. Bainbridge came down the stairs to meet them, her plump face aglow with pleasure. “Oh, Miss Talbot! How good of you to come and fetch us. So generous. And Mr. Archer! So very obliging of you to help with my nephew.”

Laura met Alex’s eyes. The conversation between Henrietta and Mrs. Bainbridge seemed to fade into the background. He was certain he could hear his heart pounding.

At that moment, he’d have given anything for a private word with her. Just a brief second or two alone so he could put her at her ease.

Not that Laura appeared particularly uncomfortable in his presence.

Indeed, one would never know by looking at her that she’d proposed marriage to him only a few days before.

As for Alex, he could think of little else.

Good God, he’d told her about the orphanage. He’d laid himself bare. And in response she’d offered him her family. She’d offered him herself.

It would be the ruination of him. To reach out and take what he wanted, absent the cold calculation that had guided his life since leaving North Devon. He couldn’t do it. A lifetime of gambling, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to take the risk.