Laura wished that Henrietta had chosen somewhere else for their walk. Through the rose garden, perhaps. Or along the drive that led down to the village. Anything other than the intimacy of the wilderness garden path. With every brush of her full linen skirts against Mr. Archer’s trouser-clad leg, Laura’s heart beat a little more erratically.

“An outdated precept,” she replied.

“You believe so?”

“Wholeheartedly. It’s been the ruination of many gentlemen who might have otherwise saved themselves, and their families, from ruin.”

“You speak with some authority on the subject.”

“I do. My father was such a one.”

Mr. Archer’s expression sobered. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize—”

“I’m not ashamed to own it. Had he exerted himself…” Laura couldn’t bring herself to finish.

The truth was, if Papa had exerted himself, it wouldn’t have changed anything in the end. He’d still have died and left them all. But perhaps there might have been some money to soften the blow of his loss. Some value left in the Hayes’s name.

“What I mean to say,” she continued, “is that a gentleman shouldn’t refuse to work merely because he’s a gentleman. The idea is as foolish as a man who can swim refusing to save himself from drowning. What does pride matter if the alternative is death or ruination?”

“Did your father leave you in very straitened circumstances?” Mr. Archer asked. “Or is that too impertinent a question?”

It was an impertinent question. As a rule, one’s personal finances were never discussed in polite company. It simply wasn’t done.

But she’d been the one to broach the subject.

She supposed it was a consequence of how they’d met. Much like the darkening wilderness walk, it gave the illusion of intimacy to their conversation. As if the two of them were acquaintances of long standing.

“We’re not in straitened circumstances,” she said. Her conscience gave a sharp pang of protest at the falsehood. “That is, not entirely.”

There was no point dissembling. He’d seen her in her twice-mended underthings, for pity’s sake. She nevertheless couldn’t shake the last remnants of her pride.

“For a time, my family was quite well known in the world of fragrance. Perhaps you’ve heard of Hayes’s Lavender Soap? Or Hayes’s Lavender-Scented Powder?”

Mr. Archer gazed down at her, the whole of his attention fixed on her face. “I can’t say that I have.”

“What about Hayes’s Lavender Water? It was in all the shops four years ago. A purely respectable fragrance. You might have given some to your mother once—or to a sweetheart.”

“The sweethearts I had four years ago weren’t the sort to wear respectable fragrances. As for my mother…”

“Let me guess. You’ve never given her such a frivolous gift.”

“I might if I’d ever known her.”