Clementine had been plotting how to roll out her plan, but she decided it was better to merely ask. To strike while the iron was hot, so to speak, and not dissemble. “Father, I should like to go to Hill House, spend some time there.” When he didn’t say anything, and in the name of not dissembling, she added, “A great deal of time. In fact, I should like to retire there.”
He regarded her for a beat, his face unchanged, before he said, “No. I forbid it.” He spoke with a calmness that unnerved Clementine. The anger she had expected had not materialized. He was just . . . blank.
“You shall both be under my thumb,” he said with more of that unnerving equanimity. “You shall be here in the house at all times, unless I am with you. You shan’t go out without me. Not with each other, not with a maid, not with any chaperone other than me. I shan’t let you out of my sight until I give you to your future husbands in front of the vicar. You, Clementine, may return to Chiddington for your wedding and not a day before.”
Stunned, Clementine considered voicing a challenge. Not so much to the content of what Father had said—not to the confinement he was imposing—but to the idea that her future would contain a wedding. She tried to reach back for some of the certainty she’d felt at Quintrell Castle, and even before that, on her flight after Olive and Theo. She had been so resolved, possessed of a quiet but firmly entrenched confidence that she would finally have it out with Father on the topic of matrimony, that she wouldmakehim see.
She was so tired. The journey had been long. Her body was sore.
Her heart was sore.
“Wash up,” Father stood, and he was speaking in that same unnervingly flat tone. “Confer with Mrs. Henning about this evening’s menu, for Lord Harcourt and his friends are returning to dine with us.”
“Theyare?” Olive exclaimed, and Clementine wanted to cry. The excitement in Olive’s tone was unwarranted. This would not be a dinner like any they’d had this past fortnight. It was to be merely a performance: of Father thanking Archie, and of Father shutting the door on Clementine’s cage. She consoled herself that at least she now knew about Olive’s motives in accumulating pin money. If Clementine had no other reason to live, at least she could help Olive in that quest.
“Yes, before they all scatter to the winds, I must thank them.” Father pursed his lips, confirming Clementine’s previous assessment. “For averting your ruination, Olive.” He turned to Clementine. “And yours.”
* * *
The last thing Archie wanted to do was to dine with the Morgans, but he hadn’t been able to see his way through to declining Sir Albert’s invitation.
Well, he wanted to dine with one Morgan. Or perhaps two. Hewasfond of Olive.
Or perhaps even three, for he was . . . well, he wasn’t sure if he was fond of Sir Albert, but he did respect him.
Didn’t he?
Sir AlbertwasFather’s oldest friend.
He thought back to Mother’s games with the chairs. Sir Albert had been quite the enthusiastic player, if Archie recalled correctly.
All right, he was overthinking. What was this but a convivial dinner with the Morgans, and Effie and Simon?
It was not convivial.
The conversation before dinner was tense, and dinner itself was no less so. He watched Clementine, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she had just gotten home and had had no jurisdiction over the meal in the way she had previously described to him, but there was very little for her to eat. She picked at a few potatoes, and he watched Olive surreptitiously spear a slice of beef from Clementine’s plate that Clementine had not managed to turn down.
It was all very excruciating, and he thought it would never end.
He was shocked to life, though, when Simon said, “I thought I might pay a visit to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening. Will any of you join me?”
Simon wanted to go to Vauxhall Gardens? Had the world turned upside down?
“No, I am for Highworth first thing tomorrow,” Effie said, confirming Archie’s thesis that the worldhadturned upside down. Effie’s refined tastes and his love of art had historically made him a devoted city dweller, though come to think of it, he had spent an awful lot of time at his family’s estate in Cornwall this past year. Still, Effie had never been one to eschew the fantastical fancies of Vauxhall.
“I am expecting a very important letter at Highworth,” Effie added defensively, almost haughtily. His tone did not go unnoticed by Simon, who turned a raised eyebrow to Archie. Perhaps Effie’s uncharacteristic geographic preferences of late had to do with his long-lost love. Archie so wished he could press him about that, but he had decided not to. He hadn’t been meant to hear that, and all he could only hope was that someday Effie would confide in him.
All he could do in the meantime was be Effie’s friend, his brother by all but blood. Be the salt to his lamb or . . . what have you. Hope that time, and loyalty, would yield the dividends that needed yielding.
He had been woolgathering long enough. “I’d been planning to return with Mother to Mollybrook in the morning, but Vauxhall sounds like a pleasant way to spend an evening, so perhaps we shall delay our departure a day.”
“Will Miss Brown join you?” Simon asked.
“Perhaps,” Archie said, wondering what it was to Simon. “If Mother wants to, and is in a state to go.” He turned to the Morgans. “Will you join us? May I collect you in my carriage?”
“Oh Father, yes, let’s!” Olive exclaimed.
“The last thing I want to do is drag these old aching bones through Vauxhall,” Sir Albert said.
