Page 80 of A Convenient Fiction

Alex’s brows shot up. “Henrietta? I thought you despised her.”

“I don’t despise her. I merely recognize her for what she is. A small-minded, provincial petty tyrant. One doesn’t notice so much at first, but in time it’s all too clear.”

Alex wiped the remaining soap from his jaw. “What happened?”

Teddy shrugged. “I grew out of it. Every man does.”

“You make it sound as though falling in love with Henrietta Talbot was a rite of passage for the gentlemen of Surrey.”

“I daresay it is. She’s very beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as your sister.”

“Oh, Laura’s all right. She doesn’t bore a chap, at least.” Teddy rolled his chair back from his desk. “I don’t expect she’ll bore you.”

Alex dried his face with the cloth. “Chances are, I won’t be around long enough to find out.”

Teddy said nothing in response. The look of disapproval on his face was reply enough.

When Alex finished washing and changing, he assisted Teddy down the stairs to the parlor and helped him get settled on the sofa. Mrs. Bainbridge was already there, seated in a winged chair near the fireplace. She’d been decidedly cool to Alex since his arrival.

“Where’s Laura?” he asked.

“She’s gone to the kitchen to see about tea. We’re very informal here, Mr. Archer. Had you sent us word that you intended to arrive today, we might have been better prepared.”

“For that, I must beg your pardon,” Alex said. “And for causing you any distress. I’ve been too much on my own these past years. One forgets the common courtesies.”

She pursed her lips. “I think you might have at least mentioned you were going to London to procure a special license. Had we known, it would have alleviated much of our worrying.”

Alex apologized once more before withdrawing from the room to find Laura.

He didn’t like making excuses for his behavior. Didn’t feel he owed them to anyone. Apologizing was simply a matter of form. A means of smoothing over ruffled feathers, so one could get on with the business of the day.

In this case, however, Alex had to own that Mrs. Bainbridge was right.

Perhaps he should have sent word of his whereabouts to Laura and her family. On arriving in London, it had certainly crossed his mind. But when it came to the point, he hadn’t been equal to sending a telegram. Not because he hadn’t had the time, and not because he lacked the courtesy, but because—in all truth—a part of him had wanted, quite badly, to simply disappear.

He hadn’t been lying to Laura about the dangers of his caring for people. There would always be a part of him that couldn’t be trusted or relied upon. The more he cared for someone, the greater his betrayal would be in the end. His past provided ample proof of that fact. He’d loved Justin, Tom, and Neville like brothers. They were the closest thing he’d ever had to a family, and he’d betrayed them worst of all.

On boarding the train from Margate, Alex had felt the urge to betray Laura, too. To leave her behind before he hurt her even worse than he’d hurt them. It would be a noble action, he’d told himself. A sacrifice which would, ultimately, spare her from being bound forever to an unscrupulous villain.

In the end, such sentiments were no match for his own selfishness. As he waited for the clerk to fill out the special license in Doctor’s Commons, he came to accept the simple truth: He wanted Laura too much to let her go.

“You’re mine now,” he’d whispered to her on the beach. “And I’m yours.”

It had been a foolish, impulsive thing to say. A sentiment brought on by her words to him as they’d waltzed together. But he’d meant it, God help him.

There had been no turning back from that moment. No running away. He might be a villain. A selfish, heartless, rogue. But Laura was his. Bound to him as surely as if they’d already been joined in matrimony.

All that remained was to make their connection legal.

Alex found her in the pantry cupboard off the kitchen. She’d changed into a clean morning dress, her hair freshly arranged in a plaited coil at her neck, secured with a pair of combs.

She stood up on the toes of her slippers, stretching her arm to reach the top shelf. When she saw him, her face brightened. “Just the fellow I need. Can you reach that tin?”

He stepped past her, briefly resting his hand on the small of her back. “What is it?”

“Sugared biscuits. Mrs. Crabtree made them for our tea yesterday.”