Page 108

“That’s true,” Effie said. “Though I do somewhat admire it for just how ridiculous it is.”

“Well,” Simon said, “my mother can do whatever she likes with the place now.”

“Simon,” Effie said, “was it awful? I didn’t have to talk to my father. Just when I would have had to, he died. It was quite a bit more convenient than your situation.”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It wasn’t pleasant, of course. I did what you two are always telling me and used my Parliament voice. I told her it wasn’t a discussion or a negotiation, then I left. It took all of five minutes.”

“Well, cheers to you.” Archie lifted a glass, and they toasted.

He could have left it there. It was big enough news. But the truth was, he was imagining life at Galecroft with Frances in the dower house and … well, he was imagining having his own version of the “too many countesses” problem.

He wanted it so badly he thought he might expire before he could attempt to attain it.

That was why they were here, he reminded himself. So he could attempt to attain too many Countesses of Marsden.

He blew out a breath. “There is more.”

“What’s the matter?” Archie set down his drink.

Effie did the same. “Whatever it is, we can help.”

Simon had alarmed them. He had indeed sounded rather pained. He would have laughed at himself, but he could summon no laughter on account of … all the pain.

The thing to do was to approach his confession the same way he had approached the pool at Gurglewood—just make the plunge.

“I am in love!”

There was a beat of silence in which Simon was sure he would indeed finally expire, but then Effie exclaimed, “Simon! That’s wonderful!”

“Yes, huzzah!” Archie said.

“You must be so happy,” Effie gushed. “You must tell us everything.”

“Happy? I am miserable.”

Archie laughed.

“Don’t laugh at him,” Effie scolded.

“I am in earnest,” Simon said. “Being in love feels … like having eaten rotten meat.”

“Oh, Simon,” Effie said, “please tell me you have not said those words to her. Please tell me you have not said them to another living soul whatsoever.”

“I have not, but you’re being rather dramatic.”

“‘Loving you feels like eating rotten meat’?” Archie said. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I do hear myself, and I am only telling the truth. I’ve spent weeks now feeling unwell, as if a marauder has taken up residence in my belly. It’s very like the feeling one has after one has eaten spoiled food and is about to—”

“I understand,” Archie said. “You need say no more.”

“Have you considered,” Effie said, “that there is a way to convey your meaning more poetically? To soften the blow, so to speak? For example, instead of ‘rotten meat,’ may I suggest ‘feculent flesh’? Or ‘contaminated comestible’? Or—”

Simon silenced Effie with a look.

“Who is it?” Archie asked.

Simon had searched his soul before summoning the boys. He had vowed not to betray any of Diantha’s confidences, and he had asked himself if this was one. He had decided it was not. This was about his love for her, his wild, gut-churning love for her. In a sense, it didn’t even concern her.