“She contracted an infection of the lungs that lingered. She never fully recovered—she languished for years—and then one day she took a turn for the worse and she died about a fortnight later.” Clementine left out that Lady Harcourt had been to visit her mother’s bedside in those final days.
“Sometimes I am befogged about time,” Lady Harcourt said quietly, picking up what looked like a tattered blanket that had been resting on the chair beside her.
“It is all right, my lady. What does Shakespeare say? ‘We are all time’s subjects’?”
Clementine thought for a moment that she had lost Lady Harcourt, for the older woman’s eyes grew distant, as if she were turning inward, to a world Clementine couldn’t see. But then she surprised them again with another question. “Do you remember the time we all went to Lydd-on-Sea?”
“I do!” She hadn’t, until that moment, but sure enough the memory was there, waiting to be uncovered. Both families had made a trip to the seaside town. Traveling together wasn’t something they’d been in the habit of doing, and to Clementine’s memory, they’d never done it again. She had no sooner wondered why when Lady Harcourt supplied the answer. “We only went the one time because my husband doesn’t care for traveling with your family.”
“Oh!” Clementine pressed her lips together to suppress the laughter that was threatening and sought out Archie’s gaze. He was already looking at her, and though he clearly shared her amusement, he made that same urgent gesture that seemed to mean he wanted her to keep the conversation going.
She turned back to the mother, feeling the son’s gaze upon her. “I remember Archie and Olive and I nearly had our ears boxed on that trip because we wandered off and you and my mother feared we had drowned.”
“Yes.” Lady Harcourt tilted her head back and gazed at the leafy canopy above them. “How long ago was that?”
“Hmm. I was perhaps six or seven years of age, so that would have made it seventeen or eighteen years ago.”
“My goodness, you’re older than I thought! Time’s subjects indeed! Did you marry Archibald?”
“Did ImarryArchie?” Clementine was tempted, so tempted, to look at Archie then, but she was afraid the web they seemed to be spinning might break if she withdrew her attention from the countess, even for a moment. “No.”
“Did you marry anyone else?”
She was struck again with twin urges: to laugh, and to look at Archie. She resisted both. “No, I remain unmarried.”
“Oh, good. Then you can still marry Archibald.”
Her face heated, despite the cool shade. Lady Harcourt had been insensible for who knew how long, but she had apparently chosen this moment to see with uncanny clarity. To see into Clementine’s very soul, even. “I beg your pardon?”
“Give me one good reason why you should not.” Lady Harcourt rotated her shoulders as she spoke, her tone peevish. She was growing agitated.
“I wonder if perhaps you ought to have this conversation with Archibald himself.”
“I would if he was here.”
“It happens he is.”
“He is? Where?” She looked around.
Clementine made eye contact with Archie and gave him a little nod. It seemed worth a try.
After a moment of indecision that probably no one but Clementine recognized as such, he stepped forward. He had no chair, having given up his to Clementine, but he squatted near his mother’s side.
“I’m here, Mother,” he said, his voice raspy.
Clementine waited on bated breath, feeling like a mother bird must when she pushes her baby out of the nest.
“Archibald, I’ve been waiting for years for you to marry Clementine Morgan.”
“Have you?” There were so many unshed tears in those two words.
“What on earth is taking you so long?”
Archie cleared his throat. “Well, I haven’t asked her, for one thing.”
“Oh, honestly. Well, that’s easily remedied.”
Archie’s hand floated, shaking like a leaf caught in an eddy, an inch or so above his mother’s arm. He was afraid to touch her. Clementine understood. It was the visual manifestation of that feeling she’d had earlier, of not wanting to break the delicate web connecting them—to each other and to this time and this place.
