Chapter 8
Archer
Bailey greeted Archer an hour before he was due to meet Aunt Cynthia. He ushered him into the kitchen, where Maggie sat him down and fed him breakfast. The puppy he’d rescued was sleeping on a dog bed in front of the small, lit fireplace like he’d lived there his whole life.
“What did you call him, Maggie?” Archer asked.
He sipped on his coffee while watching the clock. Even if he was a minute late, he knew his aunt would say no to his plea, just for his tardiness. She’d evict him from her land in the next breath.
“Teddy,” she said.
Teddy raised his head and looked at Maggie and then at Archer. He let out a woof and got up to pad across to him. Archer dropped his hand for the dog to sniff and lick. Once Teddy had approved of his rescuer, he flopped down at Archer’s feet and went back to sleep.
“How is the lady of the house today?” Archer asked.
“A pain in my goddam arse,” Jennifer said as she stomped into the room. “Do I have you to thank for her foul mood?” Jennifer asked, picking up the tea towel and pretended to flick Archer’s arm.
“I haven’t seen her today, so you can’t blame me,” Archer said with a broad grin, standing to bring the aged woman into a hug.
“It’s good to see you, Archer. Are you staying long?”
“That depends on the Mistress of the house. If she says no, then I’ll be on the next ferry off the Island.”
“For all our sakes, I hope she says yes. Your brothers and sister coming back to live here would be the greatest news we could hope for.”
It was an extreme statement. Archer hadn’t spoken to any of the staff since his grandfather had died. Coming back to Copper Island hurt in too many ways.
“Sir, it’s time to head upstairs if you don’t want to upset Miss Turner,” Bailey said, coming into the kitchen.
“Okay, Teddy, the moment of truth,” Archer said to the dog, who got up while Archer stood. Teddy let out a yap and nudged Archer’s leg.
Archer looked to Bailey and stood for inspection. Bailey assessed his suit, shirt, and tie with a grey eyebrow raised.
“I feel the need to retie your tie, Sir,” Bailey said.
“I’d be honoured. For old time’s sake. Even as a kid, I never could get it to sit straight.”
“I suspect that’s why you chose a job on the oil rigs than working in the City, Sir.”
“There may be some truth in that.”
Everyone laughed at the comment as Bailey and Archer left the kitchen and ascended the stone stairs up to the main foyer. Every piece of furniture was pristine, perfectly placed. There wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere. Memories came back from sliding down the banister and being caught by his grandfather, who tanned his backside so he couldn’t sit without wincing for a week.
“I’ll take you into the morning room. Miss Turner is finishing breakfast.”
“Thanks, Bailey.”
Archer stood in the middle of the morning room. One side had waist-to-ceiling windows lined with a criss-cross of lead. His grandfather’s writing desk stood in the far corner. Archer wandered over and tugged on a drawer on the left. He smiled wide when he saw a fat cigar. His grandfather had let him smoke one when he was eleven, and Archer had never choked so much in his life.
“Rifling through the drawers already. I’m not dead yet,” the clipped voice of his aunt said from behind him.
Archer thought she was a ninja the way she’d crept in and stood directly behind him without him hearing. Not having perfect hearing was a downside to working in the rigs and the machine noises. It hampered nothing in everyday life, but people creeping up on him would always take him by surprise.
“Just taking a walk down memory lane, Aunt Cynthia,” Archer said.
He plastered a genial smile on his face before he faced her.
“Let’s talk,” she said, walking away to the red velvet sofas by the fire. It was too early in the day for the fire to be lit. However, the sun streaming in the window kept the room warm for most of the day.
He mirrored her position on the sofas precisely as he’d done the previous day. Archer dared not say anything until she was ready. At the moment, his aunt was brushing off invisible dust from her plaid skirt. This was a trait his old headteacher used to do to intimidate him. But his headmaster wasn’t a patch on his aunt for intimidation. The uncomfortable wait was excruciating, but he had to keep perfectly still.
“I’ve thought about your proposal,” Aunt Cynthia said.
“That’s great news,” Archer replied, smiling wide.
“Wait until I have finished before you assume you’ll get everything you came here for.”
He felt the whiplash of her words but didn’t physically react.
“I’m listening,” he answered.
“I’ll hand over the business for Edward Hall and the cottages,” Aunt Cynthia said.
“Fantastic,” Archer said and stood.
“Sit back down, Archer Turner,” she said, giving him an icy glare.
Archer returned to the sofa and felt his smile wither away with her continued stare and pinched lips.
“I’ll sign over the paperwork, but there are conditions,” she said, raising her palm when a smile played on his lips again.
“Okay,” he said hesitantly.
“You only get the business itself. You don’t have any hold over Turner Hall or Copper Island land.”
“That sounds fair,” Archer said.
“I haven’t finished.”
Archer kept quiet, keeping eye contact but barely breathing.
“You are to get married before I sign the papers.”
“What?”
“And you have three months, or the deal is off.”
Aunt Cynthia dropped her chin to stare at her lap. She cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down her a-line plaid skirt. Archer dropped his eyes to her shoes, positioned neatly together and to the side.
“A wife?”
“A wife, Archer,” she answered. “I don’t mean an engagement—a wedding where I am attending. You can get married in the family chapel. A single man living under my roof at your age brings all kinds of trouble. Next, I’ll hear that you’ve got half the town’s single women pregnant.”
“Seriously? What kind of man do you take me for?”
His aunt gave him a hard stare. “You look exactly like your father.”
That comment got a reaction from him. He stood, buttoned his jacket, and stepped away from the sofa. His aunt had agreed to look after them while his dad was on the rigs, but she still harboured so much distaste for him.
“Thank you for seeing me, Aunt Cynthia. Will you permit me to sleep on this and come to you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she answered and then rang her bell.
Bailey entered the room a few seconds later, but Archer was already striding past him and out of the morning-room. Bailey followed him through the servant’s door and down the steps. Archer’s strides were longer. He took the steps two at a time as he descended. When he reached the bottom and stood on the flagstones, he put his hands on his head, waiting for Bailey to catch up.
“Do you have something stronger than tea, Bailey?”
“Right away, Sir. Take a seat in the kitchen, and I’ll bring it through.”
“Thanks, Bailey,” Archer said.
Teddy came bounding down the hallway, tripping over his enthusiasm to reach Archer’s feet. As soon as he landed with a plop on his shiny shoes, he let out a yap. Archer reached down and picked him up .
“Do you want to live here, Teddy?”
A double bark came out of Teddy’s mouth. Archer had no clue if two barks meant yes or no. It didn’t make the news any easier to digest.
How the hell would he find a wife in three months?