A Convenient Fiction

by Mimi Matthews

  Laura’s gaze softened as her eyes met his. “Our honeymoon has been like a wonderful dream.”

  A wonderful dream.

  The words seeped into Alex’s soul.

  She loved him, and she thought life with him thus far had been a wonderful dream. Despite the things he’d kept from her. Despite the appearance of Tom, and the revelations about Alex’s past. She loved him, and she’d never leave him.

  Jenny cast a self-satisfied glance at Tom. “A love match,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Tom smiled. “So you did, my dear.”

  Cannes, France

  September, 1860

  The beaches of Cannes were as unlike those at Margate as the night was from the day. Golden sands sloped gently to a sapphire sea, sparkling jewellike under the Mediterranean sun. It was warm and temperate. Perfect weather for bathing—and for swimming.

  Laura spent hours in the sea, and Alex on the shore. She’d been hesitant when she’d first gone in. Alex had recognized the signs. The slight stiffening of her spine, and the setting of her shoulders. The glint of resolve in her smoke-blue eyes as she mastered her fear.

  His own fears weren’t as easy to manage. Every instinct told him to drag her out of the water. To keep her safe on dry land. It took all of the strength he could muster to resist those urges. To trust that his wife wouldn’t come to harm.

  She knew her limits now, or so she said. “I won’t push myself as hard as I did at Margate,” she’d promised him. “You won’t be obliged to rescue me again.”

  Reassuring words, such that they were, but he still felt compelled to watch her like a hawk. He even employed a telescope on occasion—much to her amusement.

  Had Tom been there, he’d surely have laughed at him, too. But Tom wasn’t there. Alex and Laura had left the Finchleys behind in Grasse, promising to see them again on their return. They didn’t plan on remaining at the seaside for long. There was too much business to sort out at the perfumery. Too many decisions to make about their future.

  Cannes was merely a temporary idyll. Two glorious days of sun, sand, and Laura in his bed. But it wasn’t all holiday with them. Little by little, Alex shared with his wife the details of his meeting with Tom Finchley. He told her about his childhood in the orphanage. About Sir Oswald Bannister, and Leonard Cheevers. About Crenshaw, and Morley.

  “I never wanted any of this to touch you,” he said one night as he held her in his arms. “All this sordid history.”

  Her cheek rested against his shoulder. The gaslights were turned down low in their hotel bedroom. They cast a soft shadow on the curve of her face.

  “I thought I was protecting you from it. Keeping you separate and apart.” He took her hand gently in his. The ruby in her ring glinted in the dim light. “And yet, I gave you this cursed thing.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowned. “I suppose a part of me wanted to marry my past with my future. To reconcile them somehow. A nonsensical impulse. At the time I’d no idea that it was possible.”

  “I don’t believe it was nonsensical,” she said. “Indeed, I have a theory.”

  He stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Have you?”

  “Mmm. I think this ring is a symbol of who you really are. Not the gambler. Not the man who came to Lower Hawley to woo Henrietta. The real Alex Archer. The boy who saved Neville Cross from drowning. The man who saved me. I think, in giving me this ring, you were pledging yourself to me. Your true self.”

  Alex swallowed hard.

  “Have I got it right?” she asked. “Or am I being too fanciful?”

  It took an effort to find his voice. “You’re not being too fanciful.”

  The next morning, they went for a walk together on the beach. It was early hours. So early that Laura felt free to discard her hat and gloves. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “No one is about.”

  Alex didn’t have the heart to scold her. He was too enamored of her. Too indulgent by half. “If you stay in France much longer, you’ll get in the habit of flaunting propriety. And then what will happen when you return to England?”

  Laura came to a slow halt. “When I return to England?” She faced him on the sand, her shawl slipping down her arms. “You make it sound as though you’re not going back.”

  “As to that…” Alex suppressed a grimace. He hadn’t intended to tell her just yet. Not until he’d had a chance to study more on the subject. But there was no keeping it from her now. “I’ve had an idea. Something that will affect Hayes’s perfumes—and the Hayes family, as well.”

  A shadow of worry crossed her face. “Go on.”

  Alex settled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “I’ve thought of a way we can make it all work. The distillery in Grasse, your family, and our finances. But…it would mean leaving England.”

  “To live here?”

  He nodded. “We could find a house somewhere close to the distillery. Close enough that we could manage production ourselves.”

  “And sell the products…where? Hayes’s Perfumes is practically unknown in France. It’s England where our brand held sway.”

  “And that’s where we’d continue to distribute it. Imagine the packaging: Hayes’s Rose Water—now made exclusively in France. The ladies of London would snap it up, not to mention countrywomen like Henrietta Talbot. Thanks to Empress Eugénie, they all follow the latest French fashions.”

  “In gowns and hats, perhaps. Things the empress is actually known to wear. Rose water and lavender water aren’t of that category, surely.”

  “They could be. It only wants a little creative advertising.”

  She knit her brows. “Do you truly think that would work?”

  “To a certainty? I don’t know. But I’d say there’s a greater than average chance of success. Hayes’s Perfumes is still a recognizable name.”

  “It would mean convincing Teddy and Aunt Charlotte to come here.” Laura’s face fell. “They’d never do it.”

  “Your brother would.”

  “How can you say so? Until last month, Teddy scarcely wanted to leave his room.”

  “Have you seen the style of his landscapes? The experimental ones he was painting at Margate? They’re all light and movement. If he lived in France, he might be able to study under a painter in the same style. Someone with more experience. I can’t imagine your brother would turn down the opportunity.”

  She paused to consider. “What about Aunt Charlotte?”

  “The weather here is perfect for her health. All this sun and fresh sea air? Invalids have relocated for less.”

  Laura searched his face. “And what about us?”

  “What about us?”

  “You speak as though you’ll have a hand in running the business. Does this mean you’ve decided to stay with me?”

  He scowled. “What sort of question is that?”

  “A simple one I should think.” There was a sudden stark vulnerability in her face. “I just want to know that the perfumery isn’t the only thing keeping you here.”

  “You’re what’s keeping me here.”

  “You say that now, but…what if the business fails? What if it all comes to nothing?”

  He raised a hand to cup her face. “Do you think your only value to me lies in your wealth? I didn’t even know I would gain half the perfumery when I proposed to you.”

  “When you proposed to me, you said you’d be content if our marriage remained nothing but a convenient fiction. That you’d be willing to leave me in a few months’ time. And now—”

  “I was an idiot,” he said. “I thought I was being noble, when all I was being was a coward. Afraid of hurting you. Afraid of being hurt in return. Too much of a coward to tell you that I loved you.”

  Laura blinked rapidly. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
/>   “I love you,” he said again. “I should have told you long ago.”

  “How long ago?” she asked.

  “I knew it the night we danced together at Margate. But I think it must have been there even longer. This feeling within me.” His gaze drifted over her face. “It’s strange. When I left Marseilles for London in company with George… All the time we traveled…I thought I was coming to Surrey to meet Henrietta Talbot. But more and more, I begin to think I came there to meet you.”

  Her eyes glistened as she gazed up at him.

  “I wonder if there is such a thing as fate. Some force that drew me to you, across continents, and across the sea. I think I knew you the moment I laid eyes on you. My love. My Laura.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “It’s not a marriage of convenience. Not for me.”

  “Oh Alex.” She bent her head.

  He tipped her face back to his. She looked as though she wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words. He could sympathize. In that moment, the right words seemed in woefully short supply.

  So he did precisely what he wanted to do.

  He leaned down and kissed her, right there on the beach at Cannes. In public for all to see.

  Her lips yielded to his, softly, sweetly, just as they always did. Shaping to his mouth so perfectly that his heart squeezed with near-agony at the pleasure of it.

  When at last they broke apart, her cheeks were flushed pink. His wife. His water nymph. The person he loved most in all the world.

  She glanced down the beach at a couple who had stopped walking to watch them. “I fear we’re on the verge of causing another seaside scandal.”

  “Let them stare.” Alex tucked a flyaway lock of ebony hair behind Laura’s ear. “Tell me…what do you think of my plan?”

  “The plan for Hayes’s perfumes?”

  “And for us. You and me, here in the South of France, with a house near the sea.”

  “And Teddy and Aunt Charlotte, too?”

  “And them, too. Your family.” A lump formed in his throat. “Our family.”

  At that, Laura flung her arms around his neck, startling a laugh out of him. “Yes, then.” Her shawl slid down her back. “Yes, yes.”

  He encircled her in an unyielding embrace, crushing her heavy skirts against his legs. “To which part?”

  “To everything,” she said. “I want it all. A home, a family, the perfumery, and the sea. And I want it with you, Alex. I want it all with you.”

  Alex pressed his cheek to her hair. His voice, when it came, was a husky promise. “Then you shall have it, my love.”

  North Devon, England

  December, 1860

  The train platform at Abbot’s Holcombe was bustling with activity. Gentlemen in heavy greatcoats and ladies in cloaks and bonnets rushed up and down, calling for porters and for hansom cabs. It was raining out and everyone seemed in a terrible hurry, shoving past each other to climb into their carriages or to take shelter in the refreshment room.

  Alex didn’t blame them. The wind was whistling through the station, cold as ice. His own woolen topcoat and leather gloves provided precious little protection against the chill.

  He handed Laura out of their first-class compartment. She was bundled up in a dark blue coat that nipped in at her waist before flaring down over her wide skirts. Her raven hair was bound in a corded net with a velvet ribbon run through it. Alex had watched her style it earlier that morning at their hotel. Had pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck as he’d helped her tie the ribbon.

  She took his arm. “How are you?”

  “Very well.” He covered her gloved hand with his. It was the truth. On disembarking from the train, he’d had no visceral reaction. No disturbing flood of memory. “It’s nothing like I remember.”

  “It’s been two decades. I daresay it’s changed a little.”

  “More than a little. None of this was here when I was a boy. No railway station. Not even a platform halt. Abbot’s Holcombe was much humbler, then.”

  “Tom said that it’s become a fashionable resort town. But one wouldn’t think it would be so busy at this time of year.” She looked about them as they made their way through the crowd. “Not in this weather.”

  “It always rains in Devon,” he said. That was something that hadn’t changed at all. The dampness. The cold. The sound of raindrops drumming on the roof. He scanned the platform. “Tom should be here. He’s not the sort to be late.”

  The Finchleys had left Grasse at the end of September. Before they’d gone, Tom had extracted a promise from Alex. A commitment to come to Devon for Christmas. To reunite with Justin and Neville.

  It was an invitation extended not only to Alex and Laura, but to Mrs. Bainbridge and Teddy, as well. The two of them would be traveling down by rail from Surrey later in the week. Teddy had a proper manservant to assist him now. A young fellow, much stronger than Yardley. Mrs. Bainbridge would be getting someone to look after her, too. Laura had placed an advertisement for a lady’s companion. Someone to sit with her aunt, and to administer her tonic when needed.

  As for the perfumery, until their return it would remain in the capable hands of Monsieur Marchand. When last Alex had seen the man, he’d been helping the workers to set up the new equipment. There were copper stills, vats, and mechanized devices for expression and maceration. Everything that was necessary to produce lavender, rose, and orange water in bulk.

  “There,” Laura said. “Isn’t that Tom? Over by the ticket office?”

  Alex followed her gaze. His breath stopped in his chest. It was Tom. But not only Tom.

  A tall gentleman stood next to him, his top hat in his hand, and his frame shrouded in a dark wool greatcoat. His hair was black, and the bottom right portion of his face marked with burn scars.

  Alex swallowed hard. Tom had warned him about Justin’s disfigurement. Had told him how Justin had been imprisoned and tortured while serving in India during the uprising. Alex had imagined the burns would make his childhood friend unrecognizable.

  They didn’t.

  Indeed, Justin looked much as Alex remembered. Noble. Formidable. The unofficial leader of their little band of orphans.

  His eyes met Alex’s across the distance. As gray as Alex’s own. A spasm of emotion seemed to pass over his face. Of recognition. He moved toward them, Tom at his side.

  “Is that Mr. Thornhill?” Laura asked.

  “It is,” Alex said, his voice gone hoarse.

  Laura squeezed his arm, giving him her undivided support, just as she always did. “He looks happy to see you.”

  And he did look happy.

  It was a miracle of sorts. Almost as much as it had been to see Tom, and to realize that he hadn’t spent the last decades hating Alex for what he’d done. That all he’d wanted was to find his long-lost friend. To bring him home.

  The crowd gave way as Justin strode through it. He came to a stop in front of them. There was a peculiar sheen in his gaze. Alex suspected it was the same moisture he felt in his own. Only the constraint of good manners—of being in public with his wife on his arm—kept him from losing his composure.

  “Alex,” Justin said. “Welcome back to Devon.” He paused, his stern face spreading into a sudden smile. “I never imagined I’d say those words to you.”

  Alex’s mouth hitched at the corner. “I never imagined I’d hear them.”

  Laura was smiling, too. Alex urged her forward, a swell of pride deepening his voice. “This is my wife. My Laura.”

  Justin’s expression softened. “Mrs. Archer. You are very welcome.” He bowed over her hand when she offered it. “My wife, Helena, is very much looking forward to meeting you. She would have accompanied me, but she’s nearing her confinement, and travel is difficult at present.”

  Alex’s heart lurched. Justin was going t
o be a father. The first of them to become so. The four orphan boys who’d never known any love. Any tenderness. He was going to have a child of his own now. It was as if a page had been turned on a dark chapter of their lives, offering a clean slate. A new beginning.

  Laura pressed Alex’s arm as she addressed Justin. She seemed to know what he was thinking. She always did. “I’d no idea you were in anticipation of such a happy event.”

  “Nor did I,” Tom said, “until Jenny and I returned to Devon.”

  Alex didn’t think Justin could have looked any more pleased with himself. “We expect a healthy son or daughter sometime in the new year.”

  “It won’t be too much for Lady Helena?” Laura asked. “Hosting all of us so near to her confinement?”

  “Not at all,” Justin replied. “She insisted on it. She’s talked of nothing else for months.”

  “Jenny is helping her manage the arrangements.” Tom glanced out at the crowd, frowning.

  “Is she with you?” Alex asked.

  “Jenny? No. She’s at the Abbey with Lady Helena. I’m looking for—” Tom broke off with a grin. “Ah. There he is. And he’s managed to find a porter to see to your luggage. Splendid.”

  Alex looked across the platform. The jolt of recognition he’d felt when he saw Justin was nothing to what he felt now.

  A strapping fellow with close-cropped blond hair came toward them, a porter and luggage cart at his heels. He was taller than Alex. Taller, even, than Justin, with impossibly broad shoulders, and light blue eyes with a faraway look in them.

  It was Neville Cross.

  Laura’s hand fell away from Alex’s arm as he moved toward his old friend, first slowly, and then with increasing speed. He caught Neville in a powerful embrace.

  “Alex.” Neville hugged him back, nearly crushing him with the strength of his arms. “I knew you’d come home.”

  “You knew more than I.” Alex stepped back. “Let me look at you.”

  Neville’s cheeks reddened. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “I look different.”