Page 64 of A Convenient Fiction

“I should think not. It sounds appalling.”

“And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Once she dipped us, we were stuck under a canvas awning. Six of us ladies, with no view of the sky, and scarcely any room between us, paddling in place in our woolen bathing costumes like a pack of wet dogs.”

“I can’t imagine you ever looking like a wet dog.”

She laughed again. “Is that meant to be a compliment? If so, I shudder to think what sorts of praises you’ve been heaping on Henrietta’s head.”

His chest constricted. “Laura…”

She looked up at him, smiling.

And he wanted to tell her that she was extraordinary. That she was beautiful and brave. That it made his heart ache to look at her.

But he couldn’t say any of those things. He didn’t dare. Not when it couldn’t lead anywhere.

His voice went gruff. “I’m not known for my fulsome compliments.”

“Pity. Henrietta likes a pretty compliment now and then.”

“And you don’t?”

She lifted one bare shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve no experience with them. Not from anyone I care about. Those are the only compliments that matter.”

The music swelled, the chords gathering to a close.

His hand tightened at her waist. “Then what I say wouldn’t mean anything anyway. Not to you.”

Her smile dimmed. “I expect not.”

“Because you don’t care for me.”

“How can I care for you? You are not mine.”

It was the last thing she said to him. Seconds later, when the music ended, he let her go. She went back to her aunt and her brother—and to George and Henrietta, who had just finished dancing themselves. But Alex didn’t follow. As the orchestra struck up a polka, he shouldered his way through the crowd and out the front doors through the colonnade.

Once on the street, he inhaled a ragged breath of cold night air. It was sea air, salty and damp. It burned in his lungs, and in his memory.

He’d walked away from the people he cared about before. Left them without a backward glance. This time was no different, surely.

But perhaps he was.

Laura settled the strap of her waterproof mackintosh bag more firmly over her shoulder as she crossed the beach with Henrietta. It was—along with the woolen bathing costume within—yet another item she’d borrowed from her friend. Though Henrietta could be pettish, she was really quite generous most of the time. Generous, kindhearted, and worthy of every happiness.

Or so Laura had been telling herself since last evening.

She was determined to be happy for her friend. There would be no more pining after Alex Archer. Instead, Laura was going to refocus her attention back where it belonged.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Henrietta said. “The sea is too dangerous for ladies to be mucking about in it.”

“It isn’t dangerous. Only look.” Laura nodded at the water. The morning sun was shining brightly, reflecting down upon a sea that was as smooth as a sheet of glass. “There’s not a wave in sight.”

“It is rather calm this morning,” Henrietta conceded. “Though why you should want to swim in it, I don’t know. I’d never expose myself to those old biddies with their telescopes. And they weren’t the only ones ogling bathers yesterday. I saw a fellow or two with a telescope as well. Horrible creatures. I’ll not call them gentlemen.”

“I don’t know what they imagine they can see,” Laura said. In truth, she didn’t really care. Her borrowed bathing costume covered her from shoulders to knees in acres of dark blue wool. It was modest enough by anyone’s standards. Besides, she hadn’t come this close to fulfilling her dream only to forgo it because of a few beach-faring busybodies with spyglasses.

“It’s a shame we can’t stay another day,” Henrietta said. “How divine it would be to go dancing again this evening! But Papa is anxious to get home. He can’t be away more than three days without fretting about the estate. If it were up to him, we’d have already left this morning.”

Laura was glad they were taking a later train. It gave her one last chance to go into the water. And this time, she was determined not to abide by the silly rules.