Archie did not know how to extricate himself from this—from this conversation, from the roof, from any of it. The last two nights, he could’ve sat on the cold slate for hours, talking with Clem until the sun came up. Tonight, abruptly, he was talked out. He had the sense that saying any more,stayingany more, would be akin to trying to drink from a stream rushing so violently that one couldn’t actually manage to swallow any water. He’d had to take in too much information, much of it distressing, and was inwardly reeling. He had been trying to see things from Clem’s point of view, to stretch the bounds of his beliefs and swallow his initial, outraged responses in favor of speaking gently. Calmly. So as to be worthy of these secrets she was bestowing upon him, these unearned confidences.
But in truth he was seething with umbrage toward Mr. Bull. That went without saying. But also toward . . . the world. Well, no, the human world. Clem’s grasshoppers had done no wrong. Her amoral birds and weasels were blameless. It was the world ofmenthat had mucked everything up, and he wasn’t even—or only—thinking about the blackmail or the direct assault upon Clem’s person at the hands of Mr. Bull. It was patently unfair that the best Clementine Morgan, an intelligent, vibrant, lovely woman, could hope for was a disappointing-but-not-violent match,andthat such a match was likely to be devoid of carnal pleasures.
Archie had never given any thought to the concept of ruination, but he believed everything he’d said to Clem on the matter. He was aware that this outlook was out of step with that of society at large, but whyshouldwhat happened ruin her and not Theodore Bull?
The more he considered it, the more it sent him into a silent rage.
But not at her, he reminded himself as she sat up. He watched her relight her lantern and lift the telescope.
“You look like a lady pirate,” he observed, attempting to shift the conversation for his sake as much as for hers.
She laughed, and it soothed something inside him. “Do I?”
“Yes, with your long, loose hair”—it was truly glorious—“and your spyglass raised, you look as though you might be trying to evade a band of privateers.”
“Why amInot a privateer in this scenario?” she queried.
“You’re too wild to be a privateer. You’re clearly a pirate.”
He could sense her amusement, though she did not display it overtly. This was a good note on which to take his leave. A moment of lightness. He sat up. “Will you and Olive join us for dinner tomorrow?” His pride should have prevented him from asking yet again, but somehow it did not.
“I don’t think so.”
Oh, for Heaven’s sake. “Why not?” He was aware that he was being a pest, but once again, awareness was not enough to induce him to stop.
“I’m enjoying dining informally with Olive. And honestly, I’m enjoying the respite from eating meat, and from watching others do so.”
“What if we agree to forgo meat for an evening?” Yes, he did hear what he was saying. No, he did not understand why he was saying it.
“There is no reason for you to do so!”
“But—” But what? He just . . . wanted her. Up here on the roof but also inside. As much as the two of them had always felt caged in when they were forced into drawing rooms and such, Archie’s own drawing room was different. And he wanted her in it.
What he really wanted, he realized with a start, was for Effie and Simon to know Clementine, and for her to know them. More than just in passing. He wanted to know what she thought about the boys’ whimsical theory of family, for example.
“We are halfway done with the holiday,” he said, as if this had anything to do with anything. But the days were ticking away in his head like the beating of a drum.Seven days. Seven days.And since they’d all had their initial meeting, Archie still had not seen Clementine anywhere except this roof.
“How about Olive and I join youafterdinner tomorrow?” she asked. “I can sit and work on my embroidery like a proper lady.”
He snorted. He would rather have the lady pirate than the proper lady. But that would do. “All right, then. Until tomorrow evening.”
It occurred to him that seeing Clementine in the daylight, with other people around, as much as he had lobbied for exactly that, was going to be very strange indeed. Up here on the roof, he and Clem had not only resumed their former friendship, they had exceeded it. Not that they had ever bothered with social niceties, but they also had never spoken this intimately. In three nights, they had discussed his mother and Clementine’s experiences with Mr. Bull. Concerns and fears and dashed hopes. The coming together of men and women. He supposed the newfound intimacy that had resulted from their time together was because these were adult concerns. The last time they had spoken meaningfully, they had been children.
“Until tomorrow evening,” she echoed, and just as he was about to disappear back into “his” bedchamber she called his name.
“Yes?” He squinted back into the dark to find her staring at him. She held the lantern next to her head, and it threw odd shadows onto her face, making him wonder for an instant if shewasn’tsome kind of supernatural creature.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“’Tis merely a telescope,” he said lightly. “And probably not a very good one at that.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
He did. What he didnotknow was how to tell her that no thanks were needed. Not because he was a saint who was above wanting gratitude, but because sitting next to her, talking with her, being the person to whom she told her secrets, was his pleasure. His honor. Not being able to vocalize any of that, he simply said, “You’re welcome, Clem. You’re so welcome.”
10
The Gentlemen Are Resplendent in Silk
