“I must admit that’s a clever idea.” Father got up and went to his desk, and after rummaging around, came back with a handful of coins for Olive, who practically had a fit of the vapors as she expressed her thanks.
“Now, now, there’s a good girl,” Father said, peeling Olive off him.
“Clementine must come with me to see the milliner,” Olive declared, once she’d “recovered.” “She knows all kinds of things about birds and the like and can help me explain my vision.”
“Yes, quite,” said Father. “I shall leave you girls to make the arrangements for our journey.” Father had a tendency to remove himself abruptly after an outburst of emotion from Olive, but since they were in his study, he was, effectively, dismissing them.
With a final flurry of effusive thanks from Olive, the girls found themselves in the corridor. Olive sniffed, smoothed her hair, raised her eyebrows at Clementine, and made a show of pocketing the money she’d extorted from Father.
Clementine raised her eyebrows back and clapped her hands in a silent gesture of applause.
They didn’t speak until they were safely around the corner. The laughter came then, from both of them.
“That was impressive,” Clementine said.
Olive shrugged with false modesty. “Now we’re off to Hill House, and you can speak to Archie.”
“I don’t know about that part. I don’t think there’s anything to say. But I do appreciate your having sprung us from Town.”
“There is plenty to say, Clemmie. And you’re going to have to go first, because he won’t. He’s too upstanding for that.”
“What do you mean?” She was bewildered.
“He’s only heard you say a thousand times that you refuse to marry, that marriage would kill your soul or some such nonsense. Archie isn’t the man to kill anyone’s soul, least of all yours. So you shall have to start the conversation. You must tell him what is in your heart.”
“Why would I do that? Assuming there is anything in my heart”—there was, but she wasn’t ready to admit it, even to Olive—“what does it matter if there isn’t anything in his?”
“Do you remember our evening conversations at Quintrell Castle?” Olive said as she mounted the stairs.
“Of course,” Clementine said, following, as confused as ever.
“One night we were talking about Archie, and you said he was a pacifist.”
“Yes,” Clementine said, struggling to see Olive’s point.
They had come to Olive’s room. Olive put her hand on the latch and said, “Lords Marsden and Featherfinch disagreed with your characterization. They said Archie could be quite combative when defending the people he loves.”
“Yes. It was gratifying to think of him sticking up for his friends so loyally back when they were children. That’s Archie for you, though, isn’t it? I still fail to understand what you’re on about with him not wanting to kill my soul?”
Olive sighed theatrically. “Clementine. Think back to dinner last night. Before Archie was lying his way out of our house, before he was not looking at you, what was he doing?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“He wasdefendingyou.”
Clementine gasped. “No!”
“Yes! He was defending you, and quite forcefully, too. He kept making these impassioned speeches in support of you, and as they wound down, he’d append my name to them, as if he’d only just remembered his logic ought to apply to me, too.”
Clementine’s skin felt tight, as if she’d fallen asleep in the sun and awakened to find it burnt. She had to force herself to mind Olive, who was still talking.
“Now, Clemmie, I’m going to work on my embroidery for a while, but I’m coming to your room to sleep tonight, for once we’re at Hill House, I suppose I must give up having you as a bedfellow.” Olive waggled her eyebrows at Clementine and shut the door in her face.
Clementine was left standing in the hallway gaping like the poor sun-addled creature that she was.
People that he loves.
Could she possibly be so lucky?
