Archie chuckled despite the gravity of the situation. He certainly did recall that.
And not to put too fine a point on it, but I’d begun to give up hope of Clementine’s making a match. She does not possess any of the traits quality gentlemen seek in a wife.
Archie didn’t know that he’d go that far. Clementine Morgan had a true spirit of adventure and kindness in spades, at least she had when they were young. Though given what he knew of London society, he supposed such qualities may not be those sought by the average gentleman in want of a wife. Still, she had remarkably pretty hair.
He returned to the letter.
They announced their engagement, and I thought all was well. The banns were called, but the very same day, Clementine informed me of her desire to cry off the match. I put it down to a case of nerves. I assumed it would pass and was attempting to smooth things over, as the die had been cast.
Then we awakened this morning to the shocking note from Olive. Clementine aside, Mr. Bull is an ill match for my Olive. No, he is adisastrousmatch. You know Olive: she is changeable and easily flattered. I fear she is making the gravest mistake of her life. Clementine I can trust to make a rational decision, to know what she is giving up in exchange for what she is getting. Olive . . . well, once again, you know Olive. I know you have not seen either girl these recent years, but since their mother’s passing Olive has become even more . . . Olivelike.
Clementine and I found the note very early this morning, and I left the house to seek counsel from a trusted friend. When I returned, Clementine was gone. I fear she has run after them. What can the outcome be? She stops the marriage but the girls are stranded in Scotland? She doesnotstop the marriage? I fear the most likely result is one girl unhappily married, the other ruined.
On her deathbed, their dear departed mother made me promise I would see them both satisfactorily wed. I have made a complete hash of things. You have never known me to be overdramatic. Therefore know that when I say I am begging you to go after them, I am beseeching you with my whole heart. I’ve taken ill in recent months, and my girls are all I have left. I’d been about to take to my own carriage in pursuit of them, but travel is slow and painful on account of my condition. If you ever held your father in any esteem, I implore you to do this service for his dearest friend.
Please, Archibald: save my girls.
Archie had to take a step to right himself because for a moment there, he’d been overcome. He should have been a better friend to the Morgans, especially after the death of Mrs. Morgan. Yes, Mother’s situation made leaving Mollybrook difficult—as had just been so exquisitely illustrated, Archie’s being gone for the annual Earls Trip required a heroic effort by Miss Brown. And yes, beyond that, Archie despised Town.
And yes . . . Sir Albert was perhaps not Archie’s favorite person in the world. Even now, he could remember him chuckling with Father over some perceived shortcoming or other of Archie’s.
But none of that was the fault of Olive and Clementine, both of whom he liked very much. Could he not have made, say, one trip a year to check in on the family? His scalp prickled with shame.
“Whatever’s the matter, Harcourt?” Simon asked.
“You’ve gone altogether pale,” Effie said.
He handed over the letter, and after a minute, Effie said, “Well. I think this year’s Earls Trip is about to take a turn.”
It was indeed. Archie strode over to the servant. “Please advise Sir Albert that I will take care of this matter. Tell him not to worry and to stay where he is. It is all in hand, and I shall send word as soon as I am able.”
The rider departed in a cloud of dust, and Archie’s friends drew near, the three of them forming a tight circle in the September sun.
“Olive and Clementine Morgan are the daughters of Sir Albert, who has a country house near Mollybrook,” he said. “Clementine and I . . .” How to explain what Clementine was to him?
“Used to be fast friends,” Effie supplied. “Yes, we know.”
“You do?”
“You used to talk about her all the time at school. Afterward, too,” Simon said. “Though not so much in recent years.”
“You used to write to her,” Effie said. “I seem to remember you trying to pay me to answer her letters for you.”
“That’s right.” Archie had forgotten. “She used to write to me, and though I’d neither the patience nor the inclination for letter-writing, I couldn’t bring myself to ignore her correspondence.” He hadn’t wanted to, really. Archie had never been any good at writing—letters, essays, any of it—but the arrival of a newsy letter from Clementine Morgan, reporting on the local flora and fauna, had always lifted his spirits for days.
He shook his head. Now was not the time to be lollygagging about in memories of yesteryear. “I must go in search of them. I am sorry. We’ll have to detour to the nearest posting inn. I’ll hire a horse, and you two can continue on to Cumbria.” He sighed. “It seems fate is determined I shan’t make this year’s trip.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Simon said. “If you believe we won’t be accompanying you, you’re completely daft.”
“Honestly.” Effie sniffed. “You think we’re simply going to abandon you? There’s a wrong that needs righting here, and of course we’re with you all the way.”
“Besides,” Simon said, “none of us has ever missed a trip. I say we institute a new rule whereby the trip bends to accommodate the travelers—allof the travelers. Perhaps next year we will holiday near Mollybrook so you may be close to your mother.”
“Thank you.” Archie was again overcome by his affection for his friends, for the unconditional, if unspoken, loyalty that bound them together. If only he had extended some of that same loyalty to the Morgans, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I know of Theodore Bull,” Simon said. “He’s the author of a tract entitledOn the Moral Obligation of Not Eating Animals.”
“I beg your pardon?” Archie said.
