Despite being adults, he still had the unreasonable need to impress his oldest sister, the one who escaped their miserable household when he’d lacked the intestinal fortitude to do so. “She’s an aristo.”
Florence’s eyes popped. “She? Your client is awoman? You won’t win.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And I might. I’m putting together a good case.”
“Who is the lady?” Florence beamed. “I won’t know her, of course, but I’ll feel clever when the gossip rags get the story after I have it. Is she dreadful?”
“No, not at all! She’s lovely.”
Archie realized his mistake immediately. Florence’s lips spread into a wicked smile.
“Oh, my dear Archie. You havefeelingsfor the scorned woman!”
He pushed to his feet. “I donot. Marigold is my client, and—”Dammit!
“Marigold!” Florence echoed, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “Is she beautiful? I’d bet she is with the way you’re blushing. Does she know how you feel?”
“You’re worse than Samantha, wanting everyone to be in love,” he grumbled, referring to a sister who still lived on the farm. “And of course not. It would be highly inappropriate.”
“But youneedsomeone in your life, Arch. Patrick and I have talked about it—”
He gaped. “You and Patrick talk about my romantic life?”
She ignored his interjection and barreled on. “And we both agree that you need to find someone and settle down. Mum and the girls think so too. Thenyoucould take the farm.”
His insides froze up. “I don’t want the farm. I want my practice, mylife here.”
“You could live on the moon, for all I care, as long as you’re happy.” She winced. “Although I’d miss you. A little.”
He pressed his palm to his chest. “Oh, Florence, how sweet,” he drawled.
“Hush,” she said, standing and gathering her bags. “You’ll come to the farm this weekend.”
“I’m busy this weekend.”
Her lips curled into a wicked smirk. “Aah, I should have known. You’ll be chasing your divorcée’s skirts, won’t you?”
“I willnot!For Christ’s sake, will you give it a rest? She’s—we’re—it’s not like that!”
She pointed at his face. “You’re blushing! Youwantit to belike that, don’t you? You’re pining for her!”
He raked both hands through his hair. “Florence, stop.”
“Pardon me, Mrs. McAuley, Mr. Grant, but…” Jasper stood by the open door, looking chagrined. “You have a visitor.”
The Grants were not quiet people. Anyone standing outside would have heard every word—
Oh. No.“Who is here?”
Jasper cringed. “Lady Croydon.”
Florence swung her gaze to Archie and grinned like a cat who found a mouse sleeping in its bed. “Lady Croydon? Is that the lovely divorcée?”
Archie already had his hands on his sister’s shoulders and was steering her out the door. “Thank you, Jasper. I’m going to see my sister out.”
“Lady Croydon,” Florence cried when she saw Marigold standing in the parlor, and Marigold’s eyes widened. “Such a pleasure tofinallymeet you!”
Christ, the sight of Marigold, even flustered in the frenzy that was his sister, pushed the air from his lungs. She stared at Florence, aghast, and Archie noticed several things at once.
