Of Moths and Butterflies

CHAPTER twenty





OULD YOU MIND telling me what that was about?” Claire demanded of Archer, breaking the silence left in the wake of Gina’s hasty departure.

“We should bring the other specimens up, I think. Before Sir Edmund returns home.” He moved to the door.

Claire stopped him. “Archer?”

“Nothing, Claire.”

“Nothing? Are you quite sure? She’ll tell me, you know, if you won’t.”

He stopped and drew in a breath. “I asked her if there was anything I might do for her.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not sure I know even now.”

“You were not asking her to marry you.”

“I don’t know that I wasn’t.”

“But it’s impossible.”

“Is it?”

“You made her an offer of marriage? You said those words?”

“No. No, my question was not so plainly put as that.”

“Then you left it open to interpretation. Did you think how such an ill thought out request was likely to sound to her? Considering the disparity in your stations?”

“But think what you might do for her, Claire.”

“That has nothing to do with the present circumstances. And even I cannot make a poor woman wealthy. Think, Archer, for once, before you act. Do you understand what she was likely to have thought?”

Archer drew a hand through his hair. “I have a good idea, yes.”

“Do you?”

“She told me so herself.”

Claire was surprised, but only for a moment. “She has put you in your place again, I hope.”

“Or taken me out of it.”

“What does that mean?”

“What’s begun, Claire…” He shook his head and looked, for the moment, like a helpless child. “I’m not sure I have the power to end it.”

“What was her reply? Tell me, Archer.”

“She said she was not prepared to be another Bess Mason.”

“She knows?”

“She can’t understand it correctly.”

“Neither do I, if you want to know. Charlie belongs to someone. He cannot belong to you.”

“She has reason, or so she believes, to suspect it’s so. She saw me in a rather heated discussion with Bess after church a few weeks ago.”

“Archer, don’t you see what you must do?”

“I’m beginning to,” he said with a resolve she had never before seen in him.

“Are you?”

“Claire, something in her words, perhaps it was in her manner, I don’t know. It gave me hope. I cannot believe it’s impossible. I won’t believe it.” And then, tentatively, he added, “Were I to make myself independent…”

This was precisely what she had hoped most to hear. “Archer, you understand, don’t you, that my helping her was not meant to help you.”

“Yes, of course,” he said and looked down, betraying the fact that he had nevertheless counted on the possibility.

It had not been her plan. At least not originally. But it had not taken much effort to see what this woman was capable of. “If, however, you mean what you say, and you can persuade her to place her trust in you, I will do nothing to prevent it.”

“You’ll help me?” His eyes were suddenly on her.

“I didn’t say that. If my helping her helps you… So long as you are truly in earnest.”

Archer kissed Claire on the cheek.

“But I’m warning you, Archer. It isn’t going to be easy. You’ll have to prove yourself, and Sir Edmund is not your only obstacle.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, but she wasn’t sure he was still listening.

As he left to see to the removal of the remainder of his collection from the dining room to the upstairs library, she almost regretted what she had agreed to. She was not sure, after all, that Archer had it in him to repair all the years of damage done, both to Gina Shaw and to himself. And there were other sacrifices too, which she was not yet prepared to consider.

* * *

Claire knocked on Gina’s door. At last, and tentatively, it opened.

“So this is your room?” Claire said as she entered it. “How do you stand it?”

“It’s not so bad, really.”

“It’s freezing in here. All your things are in my room, you know. You needn’t stay here.”

“I just needed a place of my own for a bit.”

With a great sigh, Claire sat down on the bed beside Gina.

“My cousin has spoken to you?”

Gina blushed but did not answer.

“Were he to break from his uncle, he would take little with him. He’d have to make his own way.”

“What has that to do with me?”

Claire gave her a sidelong glance. She had eyes. She understood well enough what was going on. “You have no interest in Mr. Hamilton, then?”

“How can you ask such a question?” Gina answered. “He’s a gentleman. I’m a servant. There’s no point in even thinking of it.”

“But if I were to raise you, dear Gina…and it would not take much, I think… Were we to display you in the right circles, much might be done. It’s not an unconquerable obstacle. Not in your case.”

“Is that what you want of me, Claire? Is that your purpose? Are you doing this for him?”

“Certainly not. I’m doing this for you. Because it would comfort me to know that something good might be made of the tragedy that has been your life so far.”

“I can’t understand how it is you can have met me and in the same day decided we are to be companions, friends, that you are to rescue me. It is beyond my comprehension.”

“I suppose,” Claire said, placing a hand over hers, “that, in some ways, you remind me of myself. Our stories are not as different as you may think. I’ll tell you one day. Now’s not the time.”

“Yes it is. Certainly it is. You are asking me to trust you. I see that I must. I see that I cannot stay here. But I chose this life, the life of a servant for a reason. I’m trying to avoid drawing undue attention to myself. I have no wish to place myself on display. Certainly not to place myself in a position where I might be discovered. I would be much happier knowing I come to you as your hired companion, a lady’s maid, and nothing more. Not ever to aspire to more.”

Claire sighed. “And what of Archer?”

“I do not want to think of him, Claire. Truly.”

“You have no feelings for him?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I may tell him so?”

Gina stared at her blindly for a moment or two. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, do. I think that would be for the best.”

So she was that stubborn, was she?

“You will not come back down to my room?”

“Not today. If you don’t mind, that is. I would like some time to sort out my thoughts.”

“Of course,” Claire said and arose to leave. “I’ll have your things sent up to you.”

“Thank you, Claire. Truly.”

* * *

Sir Edmund returned from London that evening to find his nephew sitting before the fire in the library. The book Archer had been reading a moment before lay open in his lap, his gaze focused on some imaginary object before him.

“Is it a thought-provoking story, Archer, or is there something in the wallpaper you find particularly intriguing?”

Archer suddenly awoke. “You’re home,” he said.

“Yes. I’m home.” He threw his portmanteau onto the desk, and crossed to where Archer was sitting. He lowered the book to see for himself what his nephew was reading. “Keats?”

“Yes.”

Sir Edmund laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Cupid’s namesake is not reading Ode to Psyche, I hope.”

“Of course not!” Archer lied, closing the book with a snap.

“I always thought it a ridiculous name your mother gave you. And all because she hoped you would have more luck in love than she did. Well, she ought to have left you independent to have that liberty!”

A long, tense silence followed this. Sir Edmund rarely mentioned her, and when he did, it was in no very pleasant terms.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he went on, “those rooms would be wasted on Mrs. Barton. Truly I have no wish to change my circumstances. Were it not for the money…”

Archer laid the book aside and slowly looked up.

“I spent a pretty penny on those rooms, and I think it’s time I see a return on my investments.”

“It’s assuming a great deal, sir, to presume I’ll make that return for you.”

“You don’t have much of a choice, you know? Not if you want the Abbey. Not if you have any proper feeling at all for what’s been done for you.”

“You don’t have...?” he began, his anxiety apparent. He did not finish.

“No, I’ve got nothing fixed just yet.”

The relief that washed over Archer with this declaration was both immediate and transitory. The idea so often before suggested was a distasteful one to him. Were his uncle to choose his bride… Archer shuddered to think, for there was only one vital quality necessary in Sir Edmund’s mind, and it had nothing at all to do with compatibility or sentiment.

He closed his eyes against the thought and heard Claire’s petition, impossible now to dismiss. But could he do it? And what would it cost him? Without a penny to his name that was not tied up in the Abbey or in his uncle’s ventures, how could he possibly recommend himself? He would simply have to find a way. But it was possible, quite likely in fact, that there was not the time necessary to do it.

“I should say,” Sir Edmund continued, “I have someone in mind, but the terms are not yet fixed.”

Archer grew rigid. His eyes flashed to meet those of his uncle.

“Terms?”

“Yes. I’ve discovered an heiress whom I think would suit, and whose relations are quite happy to be rid of, but the price, at present, is too high.”

At the word “price” Archer was up and out the door. This could not be happening. Not now. It was impossible.