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‘I did. And I tied Rafe’s because he couldn’t do it with only one hand.’ Archie preened like a peacock at his own brilliance. ‘Although he helped a little.’ He held up his thumb and index finger an inch apart, earning him an insincere glare from his dashing sibling.
‘By that he means he ruined at least six before he decided to listen to my instructions.’
‘Rafe normally ties both our cravats.’ Archie touched his knot and frowned. ‘He likes his to look boring like this one—but I prefer a mathematical. I couldn’t do that on my own even with Rafe’s instructions.’
‘My stubborn little brother ruined a further six trying before I decreed enough was enough.’
‘Couldn’t your valet help with the mathematical?’ Hockley Hall was teaming with servants. ‘I presume you have one?’
‘We inherited one alongside all these dusty antiques.’ Rafe’s good arm swept the clutter filling the room while he pulled a face. ‘He is as old as the hills and as dour as these dowdy draperies. I doubt he has the first clue how to tie a cravat in a modern style.’
‘Oh, dear.’ He was using his charm to put her at her ease. His way of telling her not to feel self-conscious for earlier.
‘Oh, dear, indeed, madam.’ He made a great show of adjusting the cuff that poked out of his sling as if he were an outrageous dandy. ‘While I am happy to delegate the day-to-day maintenance of my wardrobe to the fellow, I suspect his sartorial expertise leans more towards dressing curmudgeonly old earls rather than one in his absolute prime.’ All evidence of the affectation disappeared with his shrug. ‘Besides, I am used to dressing myself.’ She sympathised and rather approved of that.
‘But I dressed him tonight,’ said Archie. ‘And I dressed me too. Do you like my new waistcoat?’ He tugged it to sit smooth. ‘Purple is my new favourite colour. It used to be crimson, but I changed it last week when this arrived back from the tailor. What’s your favourite colour?’
Her eyes locked with Rafe’s, amused, then were dazzled by the depth of them. ‘Blue.’ She hadn’t meant to say that as she had always had a penchant for purple herself, but the word was out and she could not claw it back.
‘The same colour as my brother’s waistcoat!’ Was it? She had been so absorbed in admiring his eyes and the way he filled his coat and breeches, she had missed the flash of bold sapphire silk adorning his chest. ‘That is a coincidence as Rafe’s favourite colour is brunette.’ As soon as Archie said it with a loaded wiggle of his golden eyebrows, the eldest Peel winced.
‘And on that note, I think it’s time for dinner.’ He raised his good elbow. ‘Shall we, Miss Gilbert? Before my horrid brother says something else to mortify one of us.’
Just as it had been earlier, his arm was comforting and solid, but this evening it was also disconcerting. Sophie was honest enough with herself to realise not all of that was due to the dark secrets she had spilled out of nowhere. The rest was down to the odd effect he had on her. The increasingly odd effect which wasn’t merely a result of the undeniable physical attraction she had for him. There was something else beyond that, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Really liked him. Enough to be drawn to him in a way she had not allowed herself to be drawn by a man since Michael.
Which was a worry—but not one she had the capacity to overindulge now when there was so much else fighting for attention in her overwhelmed brain.
