“Miss Olive, I’m flattered by your interest. Positively flattened by it, actually.”
“Do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“You do. I am sorry.”
Archie admired Effie. People tended to look at him and think him flippant, given his disinterest in social conventions. And he could be flippant—sometimes he even leaned into that interpretation of his character for reasons Archie didn’t fully understand—but at his core, he was sensitive, kind, and profoundly good. He would never lie to get out of a situation like this. He would tell the truth, but he would do it with exquisite gentleness and probably a good dose of self-deprecation.
“I don’t know why I ever thought it might be otherwise.” Olive huffed a short, resigned sigh. “I know I’m quite far beneath you.”
“No! It’s not that at all.”
“It’s all right. I’m clear-eyed about my position. I am a gentleman’s daughter, yes, but you are a viscount and heir to an earl.”
“It’snotthat. Miss Olive, please believe me when I say that any man with good taste and eyes in his head would be thrilled beyond belief to be the object of your affection. You will forgive me for speaking so openly, I think, since you have been brave enough to do so yourself?”
“Of course. And you flatter me.” She paused. “Or else you are saying you are not in possession of good taste? Or that you do not have eyes in your head?”
“I most certainly have eyes in my head, and honestly, can anyone question my taste? Good Heavens! Look at me!” Olive laughed a little, which had no doubt been Effie’s aim. Archie smiled, too, imagining Effie, who had come to dinner wearing a black velvet jacket over a pink silk waistcoat embroidered with black flowers, his snow-white cravat tied in an excessively elaborate waterfall knot, striking an intentionally haughty pose punctuated by his beribboned pumps. His tone had changed, though, when he spoke again. “No, there is an entirely different reason I cannot entertain your proposition.” He paused. “My heart belongs to someone else. She owns it. She always has and always will.”
What thehell?
Also:she?
Archie had wondered if the reason Effie’s proclivities remained mysterious was because those proclivities did not tend toward ladies the way Archie’s and Simon’s did. Not that they ever discussed the matter. It was more a . . . feeling. And since it didn’t matter to Archie—Effie was Effie and that was all that mattered—he had never pressed the issue.
That aside, Archie knew everything there was to know about Effie’s life. He knew about his social engagements, his frustrations with his family, and his secret poetic ambitions. Just now, he had predicted perfectly how Effie would handle Olive’s declaration. ArchieknewEffie.
He’d thought. But come to find out that not only was Effie in love, he had been for a very long time? It boggled the mind.
Archie was distracted from trying to make sense of Effie’s astonishing statement by the fact that Olive, instead of answering Effie, burst into tears.
Clementine gasped and made to open the door, but Archie stopped her, tugging her hand off the knob and pulling her body into his, his careful attempts to avoid contact be damned. He bent his head and spoke into her ear. “Leave them for a moment. Effie is the person she needs now.” He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. “Trust me.”
He expected her to fight him. She’d batted his hand away before when he tried to comfort her. He would let her go if that was what she wished, but to his surprise, she relaxed in his arms. She did more than that: she sagged against him. His body throbbed with awareness, but it was a different sort from before. Thankfully, his prick remained docile. Now, he wanted to use his body to protect Clementine from whatever was about to occur but also, he observed with some wonderment, from anything and anyone who might wish her the slightest ill.
He shoved that last thought aside and held her up as they listened.
“Oh, Miss Olive,” Effie said, “I am so sorry.”
“It isn’t you,” Olive managed through sobs. “It’s that my heart, too, belongs to another—always has and always will, as you say.”
Clementine gasped, loudly enough Archie feared they would be discovered. She must have thought so, too, because she turned in his arms and pressed her face into his shoulder, as if to forestall any further involuntary outbursts. He kept holding her up. It was all he knew to do. But healsoknew that he knewhowto do it, how to hold Clementine Morgan upright when the world would fell her. He wasn’t good at many things, but he was good at this.
“This was what your embroidery was about, wasn’t it? His was the name depicted?”
“Yes,” Olive whispered.
“Does anyone else know about your lost love?” Olive must have shaken her headno, for Effie said, “Mine either.” After a pause, he added, “I wonder if perhaps youdon’tcarry a tendre for me. Perhaps it is that something in you can sense something in me that is the same. I myself have grown so fond of you these recent days, and I wonder now if we are meant to be each other’s confidants.”
“I’ve never had one of those.”
Clementine stiffened again, not as severely as she had before, but enough to tell Archie that she’d been hurt by Olive’s words.
“Shall we go for a stroll tomorrow?” Effie said. “You can tell me about your love—just as much or as little as you like—and I will do the same.”
“Yes. I would like that. And do you think . . . ?”
“Do I think what?” Effie asked gently.
