The act dislodged Archie’s hand from her back. She wished she had stayed still.
“You must not judge my sister’s teaching abilities by the result I have achieved,” she said. “Or not achieved.”
She could tell the gentlemen were searching for something kind to say. She interceded, saying to Olive, “Show them yours.”
Olive obliged, and everyone exclaimed with admiration. Clementine watched her sister closely. Their praise was being taken to heart, though Olive responded humbly. “This is nothing. Merely a way to fill the time.”
“Well, then I should like to see what you could produce when you were making an effort,” Lord Featherfinch said.
Archie and Lord Marsden murmured their agreement.
“I have always wanted to try embroidery,” Lord Featherfinch said. “My sister does not care for it, but I have seen other women make the most remarkable creations, though none so fine as yours, Miss Olive.”
Olive was a flower blooming under the viscount’s praise. “I would be happy to teach you, if you like.” She paused, seeming to think better of her offer. “Perhaps that would not be appropriate.”
“Yes, Olive,” Archie said wryly. “Clearly, for a creature such as this”—he gestured at the scandalously clad Lord Featherfinch—“an embroidery lesson would be beyond the pale.”
Lord Featherfinch mock-snarled at Archie, but when he turned to Olive he was half exuberance, half solicitousness. “Would you, Miss Olive? I would be thrilled to submit to your tutelage. Tomorrow after dinner, perhaps?”
“Olive,” Clementine said, “while it was kind of the gentlemen to invite us this evening, we can’t make a habit of joining them. This is their trip, after all.”
“Nonsense!” Lord Featherfinch exclaimed.
“Yes,” Lord Marsden agreed. “We would be happy to have you join us in the evenings for the remainder of our time here.”
He seemed genuine in his sentiment, and everyone’s attention swung to Archie, who smiled wryly and said, “I am in complete agreement, if for no other reason than if you ladies will join us in the evenings, I am certain I will be less likely to find myself wearing green silk.”
“Thank you for the invitation; we happily accept.” Clementine felt sheshouldargue, but she didn’t want to. The spot on her back where Archie had laid his hand was still . . . alive. It felt as if the sun were shining on it, awakening seeds hidden beneath the winter soil. So she didn’t argue. She didn’t even vocalize an “If you’re sure we won’t be in your way,” perfunctory protest. She picked up her embroidery and said, “What were you . . . discussing before we joined you?” By which she meant: What in Heaven’s name were youdoing?
“We were actually having quite a serious conversation regarding the nature of familial bonds,” Lord Marsden said. “Picking up on what’s been somewhat of an ongoing discussion of late.”
Well. She hadn’t expectedthat, given the state they’d been in when she and Olive arrived.
“Marsden is being too judicious,” Archie said. “We were discussing how disappointed Father always was in me.”
“That’s putting it too simplistically, I should think,” Lord Featherfinch said.
“It isn’t, though,” Archie said. “Miss Morgan will know what I mean. He was always trying to get me interested in estate management, pressing books on me about agriculture and animal husbandry that I routinely failed to read.”
“Hmm,” Clementine said noncommittally. She did remember that. Archiehadalways been disappointing the late earl, but Archie had never seemed overbothered by it. She had interpreted their standoffs—and she thought he had as well—as being more about his father’s overbearing nature than about Archie’s failings.
“Were you not tempted to just do what he asked, as unpleasant as the tomes may have been?” Olive asked.
“You misunderstand me,” Archie said. “When I say ‘failed to read,’ I don’t mean that I couldn’t bring myself to, I mean that Icouldn’t. It is true that I don’t care for reading. Never have. But I would have done it if it’d pleased Father, and I did—do—care about the estate. I care very much. But it’s equally true that I’m notgoodat reading. After a while, and not a very long while, the words start to swim on the page, and I can’t make any sense of them, nor can I remember what I read two sentences ago. The more concertedly I apply myself, the worse it gets, until I may as well be looking at something written in hieroglyphs. It’s worse still when I’ve an audience. Writing is equally challenging.” He glanced at Clementine, and she thought back to their discussion about having fallen out of touch. Her heart squeezed.
“I’m not clever,” Archie went on, “a fact with which I’ve made my peace. I’ve got a steward I’d trust with my life; Mr. Hughes is worth every penny I pay him. But my father could never accept a dimwitted heir. The only thing he respected about me was my skill with a rifle.”
Several beats of silence followed. It wasn’t a fraught silence, though. These men were clearly even closer than Clementine had realized, given how comfortable they were talking about matters that should by all reasonable standards beuncomfortable. She rather thought no one wanted to disagree with Archie because to do so would seem as if they didn’t respect his opinion. He was, after all, the expert on his own life. But his easy, blanket dismissal of his own intellect didn’t sit right with her.
“Lord Harcourt has a different sort of intelligence.” She poked at her sewing as she spoke and kept her tone mild, as if she were commenting on a fact of the weather.
“He does, doesn’t he?” Lord Marsden said.
“I quite agree,” said Lord Featherfinch.
“Excuse me?” Archie waved at them as if he were standing on the shore of a lake signaling a passing boat. “I should like to remind you that I’m right here, and also for you to explain yourselves.”
“You aren’t good at books, fine,” Clementine said. “But you can take the measure of a man in an instant. Or of a difficult situation. You got my sister and me out of what might have been a disaster by pulling off a scheme that by rights should have taken a great deal of advance planning. But you just . . . did it.”
