Alice throws me a surprised look. “Maybe later what?” She glances at the dance floor and the band of musicians. “Maybe never. And I mean it, I don’t dance.”
“Don’t worry. I only said that because it’s the easiest way to get out of an invitation. Believe me. In my life, unless you want a reputation for being an arse, you learn quickly how to get out of invitations without giving offense.”
“You could be a politician,” she muses. “Ever thought about dedicating your life to a cause?”
“Is that what politicians do? I thought they mostly dedicate their life to winning.”
Her eyes unfocus, staring into the middle distance. “Some do, yes. It depends if they want to make a difference. Make the country a better place.”
“Isn’t it easier to just make a regular donation to charity?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “The lazy option, you mean?”
Her question sounds like a joke, but it slowly thickens and hardens into something uncomfortable. What did Liam say in his letter?Give something, not money but something real.
My mind shies away from the seriousness. Surely, I’ve done the charitable donkey race earlier. Nothing is more real than testicular pain in the cause of… What was the charity? I can’t remember, probably hadn’t thought to ask.
Because I didn’t care, apparently.
A woman calls from her stall. “I’ve some lovely, seeded bread.”
The change of subject has come at the right time. I dig into my pocket for cash. “Yes, please. This will be perfect for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I’ve put in a couple of soft cinnamon buns.” She wraps the bread and pastries in brown paper. “For you and your missus.” She smiles at Alice.
“You’re very kind.” I hand over the money and take the package. The bread is still warm. There’s still loads of fresh butter and cheese at home; my stomach growls a little.
“Everyone seems to think I’m ‘your misses.’ Sorry.” Alice falls into step beside me.
“Why are you apologising?”
“Because you live here, and now you’re being put in an impossible position.”
“According to Lord Du Montfort, it’s my fault they think you’re my wife.”
She turns surprised eyes on me but her words are lost because the band has just started playing and a cheer goes up as the organiser calls out names from his clipboard.
I move closer to her so we can talk without shouting “It’s my fault apparently, when I took you round to my neighbours last night and introduced you, I’d given them the wrong idea.”
She winces. “That’s my fault, too. If I hadn’t accused you of being a murderer and rapist you wouldn’t have had to show me to the neighbours.”
Couples have gathered up on the dance floor and started waltzing to an accordion rendition ofTrois Petite Notes de Musique. It’s a popular dance, played in the French countryside, usually at weddings. The couples on the dance floor are certainly doing their best to win the contest as they smile adoringly into their partners eyes and twirl around to the pretty song. One young man holds his girl by the waist, dips her low, then pulls her back up for a long kiss.
Two older women on the other side of the dance circle were watching me and Alice instead and smirking. This situation is getting too complicated, too quickly.
Alice notices, too.
“Lord Du Montfort told you his insane idea?”
I nod. “It does make some sense.” I say because even though I’m not on board, the idea does have some merit, at least theoretically.
“No,” she says vehemently. “No, absolutely not. Doesn’t matter what sense the idea might make, this isn't something I can accept from anyone. Besides you don't meet a man for the first time, and less than twenty-four hours later ask him to pretend to be your husband.”
“Only in bad opera.” My attempt at a joke falls flat.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sort something out and be out of your hair in a few days.”
Is it bad that I’m relieved? Of course, I don’t want her to feel like a burden in her time of need. “Take your time, Alice.”
