Chapter Three #3
He smiled half-heartedly. So swiftly had he wished to transport the proposal planner that he had not even bothered to introduce himself. All this misunderstanding would have been avoided if he’d just enacted the good manners his parents had given him.
‘I think I’ve discovered the confusion,’ he said slowly.
The proposal planner was still glaring. Henry had to admit himself impressed.
Well, she was here all alone, wasn’t she? She’d turned up in a town she’d never been to before, to meet a gentleman she’d never met before, and got into a dog cart with someone who hadn’t even made his full name known.
Despite himself, he was impressed. She was bold. Brave.
Alluring.
‘Confusion?’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘There is no confusion—I’m here to help you propose, and—’
‘No, you’re not,’ Henry interrupted. ‘You’re—’
‘I most certainly—’
‘Will you just let me speak, woman! You’re here for my brother. I’m a Paisley brother, yes, but not the one who hired you!’
Miss Oliver stared for a moment, blinking at this new information.
Henry’s stomach twisted. This was all so avoidable, and now she was going to meet Charles with a poor opinion of him.
Not that it mattered. Why did he care what the proposal planner thought of him?
‘Your…your brother.’ Miss Oliver spoke slowly, as though trying out this information and seeing what she thought of it.
Henry’s mouth curved upward as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Mrs Fletcher come out to welcome her new guest.
‘Look, my name is Henry Paisley. You’re here for Charlie—Charles,’ he corrected hastily. There would be time enough to explain that he was also the Duke of Glanyrafon—another time. ‘My younger brother. My better mannered, lawyer brother.’
Was it his imagination, or had bitterness crept in there?
‘He’s the one who wants to get married, he’s the one who hired you and he is the one who asked me to meet you at the staging post,’ Henry said, speaking faster now as Mrs Fletcher approached. ‘Look, I am sorry I offended you, it’s just a misunder— Oh, good afternoon, Mrs Fletcher.’
Mrs Fletcher beamed. ‘Ah, you’ve brought my new lodger.’
Henry smiled faintly. That was the trouble with staying in the small town you grew up in. Everyone knew you from a child. All your foibles, all your mistakes…and had supported you through them. Helped you grow.
He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else other than Brexley.
‘Here she is,’ he said aloud. ‘Aphrodite, the goddess of love. I’ll carry her trunk in for you in a moment, Mrs Fletcher—just got to clear up something first.’
Henry watched Mrs Fletcher’s gaze dart between him and the proposal planner, and tried to keep his groan inward.
Of course. Of course the old lady would start to construct some sort of idea he—
‘Oh, young Henry, you take as long as you need,’ chirped the innkeeper with a smile. ‘I’ll be right inside, you know where to find me.’
She almost clucked with delight as she returned to her door, Henry saw with a wry smile. Well, there was nothing much else for the women of Brexley to do than marry off the younger generation, he supposed.
‘You are not my client,’ said the proposal planner slowly.
Henry turned back to Miss Oliver. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said firmly.
She examined him for a moment, and heat grew in his chest at the attention. Not because it was her, naturally. He would have felt discomforted if it had been anyone.
‘Well,’ said Miss Oliver finally. ‘Well. That changes things.’
‘So you’ll stay?’ Henry said eagerly. He wouldn’t be the one to ruin things for Charles. After all, it had been the one thing their father had asked of him, on his deathbed, Henry’s years of medical training still not enough to keep the man he loved alive.
Look after your brother, whatever you do.
The proposal planner stepped down from the dog cart—which he had to assume was a good sign.
‘My brother is a good man,’ Henry snapped, trying to ignore the heat roaring through his body as she stepped closer. ‘I want him to be happy.’
‘Even if you think I am some sort of charlatan,’ Miss Oliver said, halting before him and gazing up at him through long eyelashes.
Henry swallowed. Charlatan? Yes, that was one word for her. It wouldn’t be particularly accurate. Beauty. That was more accurate. Temptress, for it was tempting to lean down and taste—
He stiffly stepped back, half wondering how he’d managed to get himself into such a situation. Honestly, man. Pull yourself together!
Miss Oliver was examining him closely. ‘It appears most difficult to please you, Mr. Paisley.’
God in His heaven… ‘All I am asking is that you fulfil your agreement with my brother,’ was all he could manage. ‘He is the only family I have left.’
Something flickered in Miss Oliver’s gaze. ‘I’ll stay,’ she said shortly, walking around for her trunk.
Henry almost tripped over his own feet to get out and retrieve it for her. It was the least he could do.
‘Good,’ he said, handing her the heavy thing. What did she have in there? ‘I’m glad you’re staying.’
‘I’m not staying for you!’ Miss Oliver bristled. ‘I—I am already fatigued by avoiding your displeasure.’
They stood there for a heartbeat, glaring at each other, until Miss Oliver snorted, turned around and stamped over to the inn.
Henry watched her go. Well! That would be the last time he’d ever be tempted by Miss Oliver!