Page 65 of A Convenient Fiction

“Perhaps I’ll have a dance at Edgington Park when we return?” Henrietta suggested. “Or a ball?” Her eyes brightened. “I know! I shall plan a betrothal ball. Something grand. An event the villagers will talk about for years to come.”

Laura gave her a sharp look. “He didn’t propose last night, did he?”

“Gracious, no. There wasn’t any privacy. But when he danced with me, and when he gazed into my eyes… Oh, Laura. I pray that one day you shall know what it is to be admired by such a man.”

“We are speaking of Mr. Archer, aren’t we?”

“Who else?”

“You danced with George, as well.”

“Oh, George is a dear. I won’t argue that. But if I were to marry him, I’d spend my entire life managing his little weaknesses. Monitoring his drink, and seeing that he didn’t wager too much at cards.”

Laura smiled. “If anyone could manage him, you could.”

“There’s no question of that. But I’d far rather have a tall, dark-haired stranger sweep me off my feet. Someone with a little bit of mystery about him.” She glanced at Laura. “What about you? You’ve always admired George.”

“I haven’t. Not for a long while.”

“What? But I thought—”

“And he’s never cared for me,” Laura said. “Not like that. It’s you George has been holding a candle for, ever since we were children. We asked him once, do you remember? Whether he favored guinea gold or raven black?”

Henrietta gave a sudden tinkling laugh. “Oh, I’d quite forgotten. He said guinea gold, didn’t he? George has never had any tact.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“But it didn’t hurt you, did it, Laura? Being second to me?”

“It might have once, when we were children. Not anymore.”

Two open bathing machines stood ahead, their large wooden wheels parked in the wet sand. One was already hitched to a horse, waiting to be hauled out into the sea.

“What luck,” Henrietta said. “We’ll be right beside each other.”

“Good,” Laura said. “We can—”

“Laura!” Teddy’s voice called out to her.

She looked back over her shoulder to see her brother waving in her direction. He was seated on the beach in his wheeled chair, nearer to the jetty than the water.

Alex was with him. He raised a hand in greeting.

She lifted her hand in return, even as her stomach performed a disconcerting somersault.

“You are not mine,” she’d told him last night.

And he never would be.

The sooner she accustomed herself to that fact, the better it would be for all of them.

“Really, Laura,” Henrietta scolded as the pair of them walked on. “You should say something to your brother.”

“About what?”

“About shouting your name out across the beach as if you were a common doxy.” Her lips pursed. “And what are the pair of them doing so close to the women’s bathing machines? They should be farther away from us.”

“They’re not that close. No more so than anyone else this morning. It’s the machines that move from day to day. Can’t you tell? Yesterday they were closer to the cliffs.”