Page 40 of Holly & Folly

Nell’s heart raced, but her body kept still for the duration of the tracing.

Eleven

ARCHIE

The village of Applebury was teeming with people. Archie could not remember the last time he had seen it so lively—not that he made a point of going there much.

It was St. Stephen’s Day, though, which meant the servants had the day to themselves. The vicar had arranged a fete in the village—paid for by Archie, though Mother took the credit—where people could buy tickets to play a variety of games. The proceeds would go to charity for the parish.

Archie had not intended to come at all—indeed, he had told Miss Prescott he would not—but after a morning of estate business, he had found the house strangely silent. This should have pleased him, but instead he felt restless, and then, his conscience had pricked him for leaving Miss Prescott to face the vicar and Mr. Fowell on her own.

So, here he was.

He tipped his hat to various familiar faces as he took in the happy scene.

“Lord Dalmeer!”

He shut his eyes before arranging his face in a smile and turning. “You can call me Archie, Mother. You gave me the name, after all.”

“I did not think to see you, my dear,” she said. “It is a pleasant surprise.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I aim to please, Mother.”

She turned her head, searching amongst the crowds. “Miss Caldwell was watching the blacksmith’s demonstration last I saw.” She said it as though it was the question that had been burning in his bosom.

“How thrilling for her. And what of Miss Prescott?”

The countess’s lips pressed together, and she looked at Archie. “Must you always be in company with that woman?”

“I truly must.”

“Hmph. I thought you shrewder than that.”

He gave a little scoffing laugh. “Than what?”

She turned to him. “Oh, Archie, you must see it, surely.”

He looked around the fete, feigning bemusement at what he was meant to see.

“She means to trap you.”

Archie lifted an amused but skeptical brow. “Does she?”

“Yes,” Mother said. “You cannot be ignorant of her story—how she eloped with that man, only for him to leave her at a common inn after…taking her virtue!” She shuddered. “And because she could not persuade him to wed her, she thinks to trap you into marriage. Setting her sights even higher, as though she had not forfeited any claim to gentility.”

Archie’s jaw ached, and he forced it to unclench.

Mother put a hand on his cheek. “I know you are trying to vex me by paying her any heed, my dear, but I beg you will not. These desperate young women can be very cunning, you know, and I would hate for you to be taken in.”

He grasped her hand and pulled it gently but firmly from his cheek. “Mother, there are fifty people present at Bellthorne, but I assure you, the only one trying to trap me into marriage is you.”

She blinked at him. “Trap? Good heavens, my dear. Is a mother not permitted to want the best for her son? And may I remind you what is at stake if you continue to refuse to marry?”

The reference to his cousin Thomas was unmistakable—and not wide of its mark. Thorne would taint the family legacy and mismanage the estate until it was unrecognizable.

If Archie had possessed a younger, sensible brother to take on the title, he would not have bothered marrying, but Thorne changed the equation. Archie’s secret fear was that some accident would befall him, leading his cousin to take his place before he was ready to consign himself to marriage and its resulting heirs.

“I am confused,” Archie said. “Which do you regard as the greater threat: my cousin as Dalmeer? Or Miss Prescott as my wife?”