“It could never have worked between Mr. Archer and me anyway,” Henrietta said at last. “He would have been far too difficult for me to manage.”

It was the closest thing to an olive branch Laura was likely to get. She didn’t have the heart to reject it. “No more difficult than George.”

“Oh, George is easy. If you can limit his drinking, and give him a purpose to which he can turn his attention.” Henrietta frowned. “Though I will have to address his gambling habits.”

“Does this mean—?”

“That I’ll marry him? I expect I will. Someone must take George in hand. I suppose it was always going to be me.”

“I wish you luck.”

“I’d wish you the same if Mr. Archer hadn’t disappeared without a trace.” She cast Laura a curious glance. “Did you really like him, Laura?”

“I still do,” Laura said. “Very much.”

“Enough to have him as a husband?” Henrietta laughed. “Well, if you can manage it, I’ll see that the church is decked out in ribbons and roses myself—and I’ll loan you Papa’s carriage.”

Laura smiled. “Generous to a fault, just as I said.”

Henrietta’s cheeks dimpled. “Naturally. You’re my oldest friend. And we are still friends, aren’t we? Despite our quarrels?”

“I hope we are,” Laura said.

“I meant it about your wedding, you know. Though I don’t expect Mr. Archer will be your groom. George said he’s likely gone back to France. I daresay we’ll never see him again.”

Laura didn’t believe it. She couldn’t. Alex was coming back to Lower Hawley. He had to be. She needed him to redeem her reputation. To put things right with her family, and with the villagers. Without him, she was ruined. Everything was ruined. All of her hopes for the future. Her plans for the perfumery. Her very standing and credibility as a lady.

It was she who’d put it all at risk. And now it was up to him to make it right. To play the hero once more.

She prayed he wouldn’t let her down.

Chapter 15

Wednesday morning, Laura ventured outside of the cottage for the first time since their return home. It was still hot as the dickens. Even the heads of the roses were drooping. She nevertheless twined her fringed silk shawl through her arms before stepping out the back door. The chill she’d received from her ill-fated swim hadn’t yet left her. She could still feel it all the way to her bones.