Page 91 of A Convenient Fiction

She didn’t have to wonder long.

The words had hardly left her mouth when the door of the carriage opened, and Mr. Weatherwax stepped out.

Alex hadn’t given much thought to the Hayes family’s solicitor, except insofar as the man was a nuisance—a nuisance that would likely be eliminated by Alex and Laura’s marriage. When he’d sent the wire to London yesterday, he’d expected Weatherwax to respond in some form or another. An angry letter, perhaps. Or a grudging visit on Friday. But to see the man standing in front of Bramble Cottage less than twenty-four hours after being informed of his client’s intent to marry was…interesting.

Laura’s reaction, however, wasn’t quite so academic. Indeed, at the sight of Weatherwax, her entire demeanor changed. Gone was the glow in her cheeks she’d had since she’d walked down the aisle—and the even brighter glow she’d possessed while broaching the subject of consummating their marriage. She’d gone pale, and grave, her body fairly vibrating with tension as Alex assisted her down from the carriage.

“What on earth is he doing here?” she asked under her breath.

“Miss Hayes! I must speak with you immediately!” Weatherwax hurried toward them, only to stop short. His gaze flicked over Laura’s white dress and flower crown. He staggered back a step. “Dear God, ma’am. Don’t say I’m too late?”

“Too late for what, sir?” Laura asked.

“To stop this travesty. What can you have been thinking, Miss Hayes?”

“It’s Mrs. Archer now,” Alex said. “We’ve just come from the church.”

The solicitor’s face fell. “You are married, then.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted the perspiration from his brow. “This complicates matters.”

Alex felt Laura’s hand tighten on his arm. He covered it with his own. “Let’s go inside, shall we? There’s no need to discuss family business in the street.”

She nodded. “Yes. Do come in, Mr. Weatherwax. You’ll want some refreshment after your journey.”

Mrs. Crabtree met them at the door. She looked as surprised to see the solicitor as they were.

“Mr. Weatherwax has come down from London to speak with me,” Laura explained.

“But your guests,” the housekeeper protested. “I’ve a wedding breakfast to serve.”

“This won’t take long,” Laura said. “We’ll go into Papa’s bookroom. If you would be so good as to bring some tea?”

Alex hadn’t yet seen the bookroom at Bramble Cottage. Far smaller than the parlor, it was located under the stairs and looked to be the place where Laura balanced the accounts. A desk was angled in the corner, heaped with leather-bound ledgers, ink pots and quills, and a tallow candle burnt almost to its nub. An old settee and chair graced the middle of the room, the fabric upholstery on the seats worn through from years of use.

Laura motioned for Weatherwax to sit before going to the desk and closing one of the ledgers. She straightened the others, tucking away a few scraps of paper within their pages. “I apologize for the clutter.”

“Don’t apologize,” Alex said. “It isn’t as if you were expecting anyone.”

“Not in the bookroom, certainly.” She took a seat on the settee, arranging her skirts as Alex came to stand behind her. “Why have you come, sir? We didn’t anticipate you until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Weatherwax availed himself of the chair. He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. “When last we met at my office, ma’am, you said, quite emphatically, that you had no intention to marry.”

“Nor did she,” Alex said. “Until I proposed to her.”

The solicitor’s gaze shot to his. “With respect, sir, it’s my sworn duty to look after the interests of Miss Hayes and her brother. It would be preferable if she and I spoke privately.”

Alex rested his hand on Laura’s shoulder. It was as possessive a gesture as his standing behind her. “I think not.”

“You may speak freely,” Laura said. “Mr. Archer is my husband now. We haven’t any secrets.”

Weatherwax’s face went a shade paler.

Alex recognized a guilty conscience when he saw one. He wondered what crime the man had committed. Had he stolen from Laura and her brother? Fudged the books or pocketed a portion of the rents? “Out with it, man. Best to confess your sins before we bring in another solicitor to discover the extent of them.”

“Another solicitor?” Weatherwax gave Laura a look of alarm. “Have you consulted with someone?”

“I’ve made enquiries,” Laura admitted. “After your unwillingness to relinquish control—”

“Your brother is an invalid. I had every reason to be reluctant. And as to you consulting with some other solicitor…a regrettable action, to be sure. Deeply regrettable in every respect. London is populated with unscrupulous solicitors. Men who haven’t the faintest notion of legal nuance.”