Page 22
Archie’s amusement grew. “Are your accommodations not to your satisfaction, Miss Prescott?”
Her eyes widened. “No, they are quite…satisfactory, I assure you. I did not intend to give offense, my lor—”
“They are abominable.”
She stared at him, her mouth open but soundless.
“I must apologize on behalf of my mother, who I can only assume is responsible for giving you that poor excuse for a bedchamber.”
Miss Prescott let out a relieved laugh. “It is quite all right. I understand why she did.”
Archie did not, however. There was a great deal he did not understand about Miss Prescott. What was more, he wanted to understand it.
“How did you fare with our dear friend Mr. Fowell today?” he asked.
Miss Prescott had passed Archie and Miss Caldwell when she had brought back the basket of tacks, only to return two minutes later, her color heightened and that same look of the chased rabbit in her eyes. Archie had observed Mr. Fowell enough to notice his interest in Miss Prescott—to recognize the way he looked at her.
She did not respond immediately, but her cheeks grew pink as she searched Archie’s face. “The suggestion you made yesterday,” she said, not answering his question, “do you still wish for it?”
“What? The pretended courtship between us?”
“Yes…that.”
He smiled. “Have you experienced a change of heart?”
Another hesitation. “Let us say my interest in the option has grown.”
He gave a shallow bow. “I am flattered, ma’am.”
She laughed softly. “I assure you, my lingering reluctance has little to do with you.”
“Little,” he repeated, intrigued, “but not nothing.”
Her cheeks infused with more color, and she gave a rueful laugh. “I only meant, my lord, that my hesitation remains a matter of consideration for you more than it is for myself.”
He frowned. “You must expound on such a statement, Miss Prescott.”
She swallowed, then lifted her chin slightly. “I assume you are familiar with my…history.”
“I am not. Merely that you think it an obstacle—and that it is perhaps the reason you believe yourself deserving of that hovel of a room.”
She glanced behind her, smiling. “It is sufficient for my needs, my lord. Is your bedchamber”—she nodded at the door he stood before—“so very different from it?”
“You may judge for yourself.” He opened the door and stepped aside for her to look within.
She hesitated, but curiosity lit her eyes, making him wonder just how often she refrained from doing the things she wished to.
“Go on,” he encouraged her.
After another pause, she stepped forward and peeked within. Her brows lifted.
Archie smiled as she looked at him. “Worse, isn’t it?”
“You can hardly expect me to agree with that.”
“Why ever not?”
“It would be bad manners to insult the accommodations in the presence of the host.”
