Discomposed, she allowed Lord Featherfinch—she refrained from looking at his legs but only just—to seat her next to Olive on the settee while the gentlemen scattered to various chairs. Well, two of them did. Archie remained where he’d been standing. Perhaps the trancelike state she’d been in earlier had been shared. A kind of dual, temporary madness.
“Hello? Harcourt?” Lord Featherfinch waved a hand in front of Archie, who blinked a few times.
“Right. Yes. I should sit.” He paused halfway to a chair. “No. I should go change.”
“Don’t change on our account, Archie,” Olive said, her eyes dancing. She sobered. “Oh, I meant Lord Harcourt. My apologies.”
Archie grinned as he took in the room, looking at it as if for the first time. “You may call me whatever you like. No one here will mind.”
“I suppose one needn’t stand on ceremony in such a . . . setting,” Olive agreed.
“I only wish I had procured dressing gowns for you and your sister, too, Miss Olive,” Lord Featherfinch said with great earnestness.
“You’ll forgive me for asking,” Olive said, “but what on earth are you gentlemen doing?”
“Well,” Lord Featherfinch began, and Archie interrupted to say that he was going to change. He was followed by Lord Marsden, leaving Clementine and Olive alone with Lord Featherfinch, who spun an elaborate tale of being accosted by an evil patch of hogweed and finding relief in the wearing of his sister’s clothing. It was a very amusing story, mostly because its teller was so charming. Clementine fretted as she watched Olive come to life under Lord Featherfinch’s attentions. She had a prickling feeling of dismay about this development, though she wasn’t sure why. This behavior could be interpreted as the return of Olive to her normal self. Dangling after someone as charming and handsome as Lord Featherfinch was exactly something Olive would do. She told herself there was no cause for dismay. What harm could it do? On the exceedingly slim chance Lord Featherfinch could be convinced to return Olive’s affections, he would be a very good match. He would meet many of Olive’s requirements. For example, Clementine thought it likely that he would not object to a house decorated entirely in florals. And he was a long-standing bosom friend of Archie’s, which meant that in addition to whatever else he was, he was a good man.
And, as was more likely, if he didnotreturn Olive’s affections, what harm was a little flirtation if it helped her sister find her feet after a very disconcerting time?
It was more a niggling sense that she was watching her sister put on a disguise, one Clementine had only found out about recently. She felt as if she’d been given a peek at the girl beneath the veil, the sister—the real one, the one with the unfamiliar laugh—and she wanted more than a peek. That was not going to be possible if they went back to the way things had been before.
She put her concerns aside when Archie and Lord Marsden reappeared. “Oh look, the gentlemen are back and they’re dressed—” Laughter was still so close, an unfamiliar friend. “I was going to say ‘dressed in proper evening attire,’ but I realized I could stop the sentence after the word ‘dressed.’”
“Well, that’s all fine and good for them, but no one is going to shamemeinto getting back into ‘proper evening attire.’” Lord Featherfinch performed an exaggeratedly satisfied sigh and leaned back languorously in his chair. “Once one has peeled off the trappings of the day and is cozily ensconced in loose silk, the idea of redonning those trappings, however handsome they may be, is simply too terrible to contemplate.”
“It’s the same when a lady removes her stays,” Olive said, and Clementine swallowed her impulse to scold Olive for talking about ladies’ stays in company. It was hardly the least scandalous thing occurring here. “Once they’re off, the idea of putting them back on is anathema.”
“Oh, yes, I imagine that would be the case,” Lord Featherfinch said. He sat up suddenly. “Unless I am making anyone uncomfortable. In that instance, I shall gladly go change. I want you ladies to feel at ease; I do so look forward to spending an evening in your company.”
Olive and Clementine assured Lord Featherfinch that they were not uncomfortable and were, in fact, quite happy to pass the evening with him wearing a dressing gown. Clementine even allowed herself to surreptitiously examine Lord Featherfinch’s legs. They were hairy, like Archie’s, but his ankles did not disturb the regular rhythm of her heart.
Another laugh threatened to burst out of Clementine. Comparative ogling of gentlemen’s ankles: Was this really her life?
It was for now, and she felt lucky to have it. Soon enough she’d be back in London, and it would be time to battle with Father.
The sisters allowed themselves to be given glasses of scotch, which was all that was available to drink without calling upon Mrs. MacPuddle. Clementine had never had scotch. She would have said she was certain Olive hadn’t either, but then she thought of Olive’s list and wondered if she could ever again be certain about anything to do with her sister. She took a tentative sip and fell into a fit of coughing.
Archie rushed to her side. She tried to wave away his concern, but he sat next to her and patted her back. She recovered herself, and the patting slowed. When she stopped coughing, she thought he would take his hand away.
He did not.
“I do apologize for the state in which you found us, Miss Morgan, Miss Olive,” Lord Marsden said with an air of seriousness. “And for the state in which you still find Lord Featherfinch. Had we thought you would be joining us, we would, of course, have been respectably attired.”
“It is I who must apologize,” Clementine said, trying to focus on the conversation and not on the steady pressure of Archie’s hand between her shoulder blades. “I’d told Lord Harcourt we would join you after dinner this evening. The reason we are so tardy is that tonight, contrary to the pattern that had been established, our evening meal occurred after yours. So we’ve only just finished our dinner.”
Heat was blooming across her back, radiating from the spot upon which Archie’s hand rested.
“The cook has taken to the challenge presented by my sister’s dietary preferences,” Olive said. “Tonight she made us a mushroom pie that apparently required six hours of preparation, chiefly involving the marination of mushrooms. Mrs. MacPuddle asked if we would mind eating later than usual.”
“As you can imagine, we could not say no,” Clementine said.
“Of course not,” Lord Featherfinch declared. “One does not say no to six-hour mushroom pie.”
Clementine wasn’t sure if he was teasing or in earnest. “The cook is very ambitious.” Her ambition had produced uneven results—though the mushroom pie had been quite good—but Clementine left that part out.
“We brought our embroidery,” Olive said. “I’ve been teaching my sister.” Olive sat up straighter and looked . . . well, she looked proud. Interesting. Could something as simple as teaching Clementine to stitch make someone as seemingly sophisticated as Olive proud?
“I have to say,” Clementine said, “I am a convert. The act of embroidery turns out to be surprisingly soothing, and when you’re done, you have a beautiful object. Theoretically.” Chuckling, she turned her hoop around to show the gentlemen her “leaves.”
