Page 41 of Holly & Folly

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I shall leave you to reflect. Have a good day, Mother.”

Archie inhaled a large breath of cold air, forcing it into his lungs as he walked through the crowds. Mother was often aggravating, but he had rarely been so out of charity with her as just now. The idea that Miss Prescott was attempting to trap him into marriage was as laughable as the idea of Mother as a scullery maid.

Beneath his annoyance, however, was a thread of curiosity. He did not know how much of Mother’s information about the near-elopement was accurate rather than information warped and exaggerated through gossip, but the idea of Miss Prescott alone at an inn could not help but make his chest pinch with sympathy.

Archie watched two of the guests roll cheese wheels before his gaze veered to Miss Caldwell and her mother, sipping from mugs. Based on the smell wafting through the chill air, the contents were mulled wine.

He regarded Miss Caldwell, imagining a life married to her. She might be forward, but she was pretty and well-mannered and the daughter of a baron, which was why it made no sense at all that the prospect was so unpalatable to him. Was it because her interest in him seemed pragmatic rather than romantic?

That was the point, was it not? A marriage in which he expected and wanted nothing more from his wife? Miss Caldwell would enter the contract with the promise of title and status, while Archie would do so with the knowledge that he was fulfilling his duty.

Better that than to be swept up in love as his parents had been, only to watch that love curdle over the years and be left with nothing but fond memories of the past and a tense and loveless future.

He caught sight of Freddie and his wife taking their turn at cheese rolling, and the smiles they shared sent a jolt of envy through Archie’s chest.

“Dalmeer,” Cole said with a tip of the hat.

“Cole,” Archie responded, offering a polite smile to the young woman at his side. She looked familiar, but it was not until they had passed that Archie realized where he had seen her: at Bellthorne, carrying a heap of folded linens. She was one of the maids they had taken on for the house party. Perhaps that was why she was trying to hide her face.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at Cole’s antics, then slowed as Miss Prescott came into view. She stood beside her brother and Miss Hollis at the ring toss. She flicked her wrist, sending a ring flying through the air and onto its mark. The delight on her face as she turned to Miss Hollis made Archie smile.

Mother might think Miss Prescott cunning, but she was the most artless and genuine woman of his acquaintance. He was never in her company but he found himself smiling.

In fact, more and more, he found the prospect of participating in any activity without Miss Prescott insupportable. It was why he had come to the fete at all—not simply to satisfy the arrangement they had made or to relieve his conscience. He had come to see her. To be with her and enjoy her.

The realization settled in him uneasily.

He did not approach her. He stood, rooted to the spot, trying to decide what to do with the way Miss Prescott’s smiles brought about his own, the way her laughter made his chest ache with affinity when the ring sailed wide of its target.

His pulse hastened, and he took a step backward, for every moment his eyes rested upon her, his affection seemed to grow, and along with it, his unease.

He should not have come.

He began to turn as Mr. Fowell approached the ring toss, his gaze on Miss Prescott.

Annoyance flashed through Archie.

Confound the man’s persistence.

Mr. Prescott and Miss Hollis were tossing their own rings and did not notice Fowell come up behind Miss Prescott.

He said something that brought her head around, and her smile after the victory of her last toss flickered, then turned polite.

She offered a response, her eyes darting to her brother, who was focused on tossing a ring.

Archie sucked in a breath and strode over. “Miss Prescott!”

She turned, and when she saw him, he felt her relieved smile in his chest.

“I bear good news,” he said. “The mulled wine has been replenished.” He put out his arm for her. “Ah! Good day, Fowell.”

Fowell inclined his head politely, though his eyes held a glint of annoyance.

Miss Prescott took Archie’s arm, then smiled at Fowell. “Forgive me. I have worked up a great thirst. I hope you enjoy the fete.”

“I hope you do not mind, Prescott,” Archie said.