Page 9 of A Convenient Fiction

“Isn’t it obvious? But you need have no apprehension. I shall separate them at the first opportunity. And then you may go about making yourself agreeable to Miss Talbot—or whatever it is you intend to do with her.”

“I believe you know what I intend to do with her.”

George looked away from him. “Yes,” he said tightly. “I know.”

Laura stole another glance at Mr. Archer as she walked beside him down the path that led to the Edgington Park wilderness garden. He looked different than he had before. Not only was he dry—with his suit freshly pressed and his dark hair combed into meticulous order—but he appeared to have shaved, as well.

And the scent of him…

Her stomach performed a queer little somersault.

He smelled of polished leather and lightly starched linen. Of bergamot and spices and clean male skin.

At Talbot’s Pond, she’d thought him handsome. Now, she thought him something rather more than that. He was dashing, was what he was. The kind of loose-limbed, devil-may-care hero who graced the pages of penny novels, fighting off evildoers and rescuing damsels in distress.

George Wright looked rather insipid in comparison.

He walked ahead of them with Henrietta on his arm, paying her every solicitude, just as he had in the Edgington Park drawing room during tea.

Laura wondered what Henrietta would think if she knew how improperly her golden-haired lad had behaved on his last visit home? It had certainly come as a shock to Laura. Until then, she’d thought George was her friend. She’d even cherished hopes that he felt something more toward her. That he might, in fact, be on the verge of proposing marriage.

More fool her.

She hadn’t told anyone about George’s shameful proposition. Not Henrietta, not the vicar, and certainly not Aunt Charlotte. It would only have upset them—and the delicate equilibrium of the village. No one who had known George in his youth would have believed him capable of such behavior. It would have been Laura who was blamed for his rashness. Laura who was ostracized from the small corner of society she’d managed to cultivate in Lower Hawley.

In the end, she’d dealt with the matter all on her own. Just as she dealt with every problem that came her way. She hadn’t the luxury of a champion. In the absence of one, she’d learned to champion herself.

“Have you known Miss Talbot and Mr. Wright very long?” Mr. Archer asked.

She resumed looking ahead. George and Henrietta were whispering together, sharing secrets as they often used to do. “Since we were children.”

“You grew up together?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Laura hesitated before asking, “What about you, sir?” Tea had been a brief affair, dominated by George’s tales of his travels. And by Henrietta, who had clucked over Laura more intensely than was usual. There had been little chance to learn anything about Mr. Archer. “How long have you known Mr. Wright?”

“A year, or thereabouts.”

“He’s never brought a friend home with him before.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “I’ve often suspected that the friends he was making during his travels weren’t the sort to merit an introduction to the residents of Lower Hawley. Certainly not to his father.”

“You wonder that he’s found me worthy of the privilege.”

“No, but it is rather curious. It makes me question just what sort of friend you are to him.”

He flashed her a wry look. “I might ask you the same, Miss Hayes.”

A surge of embarrassment caught her unaware. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

The glint of humor in Mr. Archer’s gray eyes disappeared. Perhaps it had never been there. “Told him what?”

“About our encounter in Talbot’s Wood this morning.”

“Ah. That.” He paused. “Should I have?”

“Not if you value your freedom.” She explained, “It’s just the sort of thing that would give rise to gossip. The locals hereabouts love nothing more than spinning harmless interactions into scandals. One word, and they’ll have us standing up in front of the vicar.”