“I am sure you will outlast him if you want to,” Archie said thoughtfully. Then, more animatedly, he added, “I say, join us for dinner tomorrow, won’t you? You and Olive both.”
“I thought you didn’t want us underfoot.” Besides, Clementine was thoroughly enjoying her meatless meals with Olive in the breakfast room. The cook they’d borrowed seemed not only to indulge but to genuinely embrace the challenge Clementine’s dietary preferences posed. The sisters had been presented with some ambitious—and often delicious—victuals.
“One meal a day does not constitute ‘underfoot,’” Archie said.
It was kind of him to offer, but when she compared the pause before he’d said, “One meal a day does not constitute ‘underfoot’” to the intensity with which he’d stared at her that first morning when he’d insisted she and Olive stay away from him and his friends, it was easy to see which of the two sentiments was the truer.
8
Beware the Common Stinkhorn
By the next evening after dinner, Clementine’s leaves had advanced quite a bit. Well, they had advanced in the sense that there was a great deal more stitching on the fabric, but they were also advancing into looking . . . significantly less leafy.
“What does this look like to you?” Clementine held her hoop at arm’s length. “It looks like a cottage with a wavy roof, does it not?”
Olive squinted at Clementine’s paltry efforts. “I think it looks more like green water with sticks beneath the surface.”
“Hmm. What should I do?”
“Well, I could tell you how to fix it, but that would be as good as me actually fixing it for you.”
“And that would be a bad thing?”
“Well, then it wouldn’t be yours, would it?”
“I suppose not, but that didn’t stop you with Theo, did it?”
She regretted it the moment it was out. She’d shocked herself, in fact, with the outburst—shocked Olive, too, judging by the little gasp that burst out of her.
Clementine couldn’t seem to let go of this whole business with Olive and Theo, even though her feelings didn’t make anysense. She had spurned TheobeforeOlive ran off with him. How could she be hurt about Olive’s stealing something she’d already cast aside? Something she actively didn’t want, had come to despise, even?
“I was trying tohelpyou,” Olive snapped, her shock rapidly papered over with irritation. “At some personal cost, I might add. Perhaps I ought not have bothered.”
“I know, I know,” Clementine said, chastened. She needed to keep things in perspective. Olive had been attempting to save Clementine from ruination. What she didn’t understand, was: “Why, though?Whydid you do it?”
“He said he was going to ruin you!”
“I know, but that doesn’t answer the question!”
Olive’s eyes bugged out as they always did when she was frustrated. “I alreadytoldyou: he said you’d given yourself to him.” She’d switched to speaking slowly and with an exaggerated air of patience, as if talking to a child, which made Clementine want to scream. “You had changed your mind about the betrothal, and he said he was going to tell everyone he had taken your maidenhood so you would beforcedto marry him.”
“Butyouwere forced to marry him!” That was what underlay Clementine’sWhy?She wasn’t disputing the facts as told by her sister; she was struggling to understand the motivation behind Olive’s actions. Olive was not known for her selflessness.
“Iwasn’tforced to.Isuggested the switch.As I already told you.” Olive sounded miffed, as if having her intelligence underestimated by her sister was a greater affront than being married to a blackmailer.
“Yes, but once again:Why?” Clementine was equally miffed. Would Olive just answer the dratted question? “Why would youdothat? You are being purposefully obtuse! Please just tell me! And don’t give me any of this vague nonsense about us not needing to know everything about each other. That may be true in general, but I need to knowthis!”
Olive stared at Clementine for several beats, her azure eyes unblinking. When she eventually spoke, she dropped her gaze and shrugged in a manner that struck Clementine as performative. “I want to see the world. Theo was planning on a grand tour. And I want to marry. So he seemed as good a prospect as any.”
That didn’t make any sense. Olive was the sort of girl who loved love. Or the idea of it. She was always developing brief but intense tendres for gentlemen, had done so since long before her debut. It hardly even seemed to matter to whom she attached her fancy; the object of her affection was always secondary to the fact of it. The son of visiting friends. A gentleman they’d met in passing at a party. Once, she had even taken a liking to the blacksmith in Chiddington, and she’d gone around and checked every foot of every horse they owned in the hopes of finding one in need of being reshod.
That trend had only intensified this past year, her first out in society. Olive had adored everything about the Season in London. Parties and dresses and outings with friends. Promenades and teas and trips to Gunter’s. And though her tendres had come faster and more furious than ever, given the wider availability of gentlemen to inspire them, none ever seemed to stick. “It’s a question of timing,” she would say. “I don’t want to make a match too soon. And I should so adore another Season. But I also don’t want to wait until it’s too late.” She would look at Clementine as she said this last part, as if Clementine were the corporeal manifestation of the concept oftoo late.
Clementine could only wishFatherwould look at her like that, would allow her to be well and truly on the shelf. “So Theo offered you marriage, and you want to travel.” Clementine could see that, on paper, Theo might be a sensible match according to those two criteria. “But what about love? You want love, do you not?”
Olive shrugged again, and this one seemed real, and it seemed resigned. “Two out of three isn’t bad.”
“Oh, Olive, you’re still young! Don’t—” Clementine cut herself off. She was hardly in a position to deliver an encouraging talk about holding out for a love match.
