He shrugged. “She obviously wished to speak with Mr. Wright about something.”

“Scold him, more like.”

A grim smile edged Mr. Archer’s mouth. “I’m certain he deserves it.”

“Probably, but it’s not likely to have much effect. Lectures and scolds have never achieved anything with George, except to hasten his departure from Lower Hawley.”

“The vicar doesn’t strike me as a particularly stern parent.”

“He wields his authority gently, but he does wield it. I suppose that over time it must have begun to pall.”

“Death by a million cuts?”

“Something like that.”

He fell silent a moment. And then: “You and Mr. Wright have a history.” It wasn’t a question.

Laura glanced at him. “Has he said so?”

Mr. Archer met her eyes. “He says that two years ago you slapped his face.”

She inwardly flinched. What had the pair of them been discussing for that to have come up? She shuddered to think. “I’m surprised he admitted it.”

“He was half-seas.”

She huffed a short laugh. “Naturally.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Slap him across the face?”

She held Mr. Archer’s gaze. “With all of my strength.”

He looked steadily back at her, his expression completely unreadable. “He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened yesterday, does he?”

“George?” She stopped short at the top of the hill, under the wide branches of a magnificent yew tree with a split trunk. A stretch of grass spread out before them, the stones of the Roman ruin in the distance. “No. Why would he?”

Mr. Archer stopped as well. The tree cast his face in shadow. “I haven’t any idea. I don’t know what upset you.” He paused. “I’d like to know.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps…” He looked away from her, the lines of his firm jaw set as immoveable as granite. “Perhaps I could help you.”

Her stomach trembled. It was nerves. Either that or the threat of butterflies. One was as bad as the other. “You can’t.”

“Try me.”

His deep voice sent another tremor through her core. “The ruin,” she said. “We should—”

“It’s thousands of years old. It can wait another hour.”

An hour? Did he mean for them to linger here together—to talk—for as long as that?

Under other circumstances, Laura might have resisted. But she was hot and tired, and overwhelmed by her responsibilities. A good night’s sleep had done little to remedy her poor spirits. “Very well. But I shouldn’t like anything I tell you to go further.”

Mr. Archer turned back to her, a glint of wry humor in his eyes. “I can keep a secret, Miss Hayes.”

“I expect you can. But these aren’t just my secrets. They’re my family’s secrets.”

“I’ll guard them as if they were my own.”