Well, he was welcome to both, with her good wishes. As for herself, she needed more than kindness to her family. More than wolfish good looks. She needed a gentleman who would love her. Sacrifice for her. Give up his schemes, and choose her and her alone.

It was never going to happen. Not with him.

Alex Archer simply wasn’t that kind of man.

“A letter came while you were out!” Aunt Charlotte called out as Laura entered the cottage.

Laura stripped off her hat and gloves, and stepped out of her muddy half boots. She made her way into the parlor in her bare feet. “Something from Henrietta?”

Aunt Charlotte was seated on the sofa, a paper fan in her hand. “No. That is, you did receive a note from Miss Talbot, but the letter I speak of is from London. I’ve put it on the mantelpiece for you.”

All Laura’s anxiety over her ill-thought-out proposal to Alex Archer slipped away. She hurried to the fireplace and retrieved the letter from the mantel. The return address was written in heavy black ink, the name of the sender not the one she was expecting. At least, not entirely.

The Law Offices of Finchley and Fothergill

She looked up at her aunt. “Finchley and Fothergill?”

Aunt Charlotte wafted her fan. “I know nothing more than you do, my dear.”

Laura opened the letter, devouring the contents where she stood.

Dear Miss Hayes,

I have your letter of the 15th inst.

In reply thereto, I beg to inform you that Mr. Finchley, being currently engaged in a matter involving Mr. Weatherwax, is unable to represent you. He will, however, make himself available for consultation and referral on the 31st of August at the hour of half past eleven of the clock in the forenoon.

Please respond to confirm your appointment.

Sincerely,

J. Poole, clerk

Laura read the letter again before handing it to her aunt. “What do you suppose he means ‘engaged in a matter involving Mr. Weatherwax’?”

Aunt Charlotte’s face clouded with worry. “Perhaps the two of them are working together?”

“Or against each other,” Laura suggested.

Her aunt didn’t seem to hear her. “He may have already told Mr. Weatherwax that you’ve written, seeking another opinion. And if Mr. Weatherwax knows—”

“Surely that would breach some ethical rule or other? Communication with one’s solicitor is meant to be sacred, isn’t it? Like a priest and penitent, that’s what Papa used to say.”

“But Laura, my love, Mr. Finchley isn’t your solicitor. Not yet.”

Laura bit her lip. Had she already bungled everything before she’d even met the man? “If Mr. Weatherwax and Mr. Finchley are indeed working on a case together, I doubt Mr. Finchley would have offered to consult on the matter—or to refer me to another solicitor.”

“I really couldn’t say, dear. I know nothing of solicitors and their ways. If your father were here…”