“It’s fine, Aunt,” Miss Hayes said. “I’m fine.” She shifted her valise to one hand, setting her other hand on her aunt’s back. “Shall we go inside? We mustn’t keep Mr. Archer. Not in this heat.”

Alex stood at the end of the path, watching them go. He hadn’t expected to be invited in. But as Miss Hayes and her aunt disappeared inside, the door shutting firmly behind them, he admitted to a certain curiosity—if not outright concern.

What had happened today to make Miss Hayes weep as she had? He’d never before seen a lady so desolate. So utterly undone. Certainly not a lady as self-contained and dignified as Laura Hayes.

It was something to do with her visit to London and the meeting she’d had with her solicitor. Mr. Weatherwax, wasn’t that his name? It would be the work of a moment to discover more. Perhaps he could help her? Perhaps he could—

But he shouldn’t.

And wouldn’t.

He had no reason to do so, and every reason not to.

Alex climbed back into the gig and set the horse in motion with a slap of the reins. Bramble Cottage grew smaller behind him as he drove away from it, down the road that led past Talbot’s Wood and onto Edgington Park, and thereby, his future.

He didn’t look back.

Nothing in his life had ever been achieved by succumbing to sentiment. He had to think of himself. Only of himself, and his interests. For if he didn’t, who else on earth would?

Chapter 7

“I’ve never heard anything so preposterous!” Aunt Charlotte paced the confines of Teddy’s bedroom, her silk skirts and starched petticoats swishing with every step. “The nerve of the man—the absolute, unmitigated nerve.”

Laura sat in a low-backed chair beside Teddy’s bed, trying not to look and sound as bleak as she felt. “It’s early days yet. We still have time—”

“One month.” Teddy was in his nightshirt, tucked under a quilt, his back propped up against a mountain of pillows. Magpie was curled up beside him. “And then he’ll take control of everything for good and all.”

Aunt Charlotte twisted her lace-trimmed handkerchief in her hands. “If my brother were alive—”

“Don’t speak to me about Papa,” Laura said. “The whole of this is of his devising.”

“An old will. It surely doesn’t reflect the reality of what was in his mind—”

“His only will. That’s all that matters. And Mr. Weatherwax is the executor. The decisions are his to make.”

Teddy’s eyes met hers. “Until I come of age. That’s what you’ve always said.”

“That’s what I understood to be the case.” Laura gave her brother an apologetic look. “I never considered that he would argue against it. I didn’t think he could do. But now—”