Page 16 of A Convenient Fiction

“At a gaming club in Marseilles.” George smirked. “You look surprised.”

“I’m surprised that you answered me honestly.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re nothing if not a good little secret keeper. You might have tattled on me at any point these past years, but you—”

“Perhaps I’m merely biding my time.”

He scowled.

“What do you know of him, George?” she pressed. “Where is he from? Who are his people?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. You’ve brought him here—introduced him to your friends, and to your father, I presume.”

“Not yet. Father hasn’t been home all day.”

“You’ve provided an introduction to Henrietta.”

“Why shouldn’t I have? It’s only an introduction. She’s quite at liberty to snub him.”

Only an introduction? As if it were some minor thing.

An introduction from a lifelong friend—a gentleman who had lived his entire life in the village, and whose father was the vicar for heaven’s sake—was very different from the sort of introductions made by casual acquaintances. It was a voucher. A personal bond. A promise that the man being introduced was worthy of intimate friendship. Of sacred trust.

George introducing Mr. Archer was tantamount to his stamping the man with a golden seal of approval.

“And now you mean to remain here with him for an entire month?” She was incredulous. “Doing what, pray?”

“Doing nothing,” George said. “It’s to be a holiday for us. An August idyll.”

Laura didn’t like the sound of it. “If you’re fond of Henrietta at all—”

“You don’t understand these kinds of things, Laura. You’ve never seen anything of the world. Never lived anywhere outside of Lower Hawley.” Perspiration dotted George’s brow. “If you had, you’d realize that Henrietta could do a great deal worse than a fellow like Archer.”

Her gaze drifted over George’s face. What she found there startled her. “You’re afraid of him.”

George swiftly turned away. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s dreadfully hot.” Henrietta made her way over the bridge on Mr. Archer’s arm, joining them on the bank. “Shall we walk back to the house? I have a sheaf of new music since last you came to visit, Laura. Some marvelous duets. If you’ll play the piano for us, perhaps George and I might attempt them?”

“It sounds a grand idea to me,” George said.

“Do you sing, Mr. Archer?” Henrietta asked.

He smiled. “Not very well.”

Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “How unfortunate. But not to worry. There’s plenty to occupy us until the dinner hour. And then you may meet my father.”

Laura walked along at Henrietta’s side as they returned to the house. A footman in immaculate livery opened the front door of Edgington Park for them. He waited in the marble-tiled hall as they divested themselves of their hats, gloves, and bonnets.

“We’ll have some refreshment in the music room,” Henrietta informed him. “And tell Cook we shall have three additional places at dinner.” She looked to Laura. “You are staying, aren’t you?”

Laura shook her head. The hour was growing late. There was still much to be done at home. “I promised Aunt Charlotte I’d be back before nightfall.”

Henrietta’s mouth pursed. “Really, Laura.”

“Really, Hen. I have time enough to play a song or two for you, but then I must set out. I’m traveling to London in the morning.”