“He’s insufferable and overbearing, is what he is. I’ve hated dealing with him these past years.” She couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied smile. “I can hardly wait to see the look on his face when he learns that I’ve managed to marry before my birthday.”

“Will you have to see him again?”

“I’m afraid I must. Not only to sort out the legalities for my half of the business, but to make another argument for Teddy’s half. I’ll have to go to London on Friday. I already have an appointment with another solicitor.” She frowned. “I wonder if I should keep it?”

“Is it purely to force Weatherwax’s hand?”

“That was the original idea. Unfortunately, Mr. Finchley isn’t able to represent me. He’s only agreed to see me in order to refer me to another solicitor. Still, I…” She trailed off. “What is it?”

Alex took a step back from her. “What did you say?”

Her hand fell from his cheek. She looked at him in bewilderment. “Which part? Was it about Mr. Finchley?”

He visibly flinched. “Is that his name?”

“Thomas Finchley, Esquire. That’s what his card says.” She searched Alex’s face. It was slowly draining of color. “Have you had dealings with the man?”

“Have you?” he returned.

“No. I haven’t even communicated with him. Not directly. The letter I received was signed by his clerk. It was he who set the appointment.”

“Cancel it.”

“But why—”

“It’s unnecessary.” He turned his back to her for a moment. Laura heard him take a ragged breath. She had the impression he was exercising brutal control over his emotions. “Whereabouts in London was this solicitor located?”

“On Fleet Street. Not far from Mr. Weatherwax’s office.” She touched his sleeve. “Alex…who is he?”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know. He might be no one. Or…”

“Or?”

“He might be a boy I knew once in the orphanage. A former friend.”

“You don’t wish to find out?”

“No.” He gave her a wry look. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

She frowned up at him. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this story?”

“That chapter of my life has been closed for a very long time. I’d rather not revisit it.”

She nodded slowly. “Very well. We don’t have to speak of it if you don’t wish to.”

“I don’t,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

Chapter 17

Tom Finchley was alive.

Not only alive, but alive and well, and apparently thriving—in Fleet Street, of all places. Only a short railway journey and a hansom cab’s drive away.