He scanned Archie from head to toe and back, and, based on his expression, found him lacking. “I’m Mr. Matthew Torcross, sir.”
Something inside him shifted, rearranging several organs to make room for this new feeling. Marigold’s son, one of them. The reason she had instigated the divorce.
Archie extended his hand, and it engulfed the child’s. “Mr. Archibald Grant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Torcross.”
Matthew remained skeptical. Smart lad.
“Do you make my mama happy?”
Archie tilted his head. “I beg your par—”
“Matthew, who are you speaking to?”
“Whom,” piped up another boy’s voice from inside. “Tomakes it an object, so you’d sayWhom are you speaking to, or better yet,to whom are you speaking.”
A pause, then he heard Marigold speak again, much closer to the door. “Thank you, Reggie, I—”
She pulled the door open wide and caught her gasp.
Archie waved dumbly. “Hello. I met Matthew.”
Her cheeks were pale, and she glanced down at her youngest son. His eyes were pinging between them like he was watching a lawn tennis match. “Yes, this is Matthew. D-darling,” this directed to the boy, much to Archie’s chagrin. “Why don’t you go back to your book?”
He huffed. “Because I’m bored with it. I wanted to go to the park, but Nanny has a headache.”
“P-probably because you insisted on t-teaching her cricket in the library.”
Archie straightened. “You play cricket? I’d love to learn. I’m a rugby player myself.”
Matthew beamed, suddenly approving of Archie’s presence. “Rugby! I’ve always wanted to play. Mummy thinks I’ll get hurt.”
Marigold’s lips flattened. “You will.”
“You won’t,” Archie said at the same time, and flushed. He cleared his throat. “Master Torcross, may I have a word with your mother?”
He looked thoughtful for a long moment before nodding and stepping aside. Marigold, for her part, seemed less than eager to welcome him, but motioned for him to enter and pointed him towards the parlor. A young man sat at a chess table in the corner, looking at Archie expectantly.
Reggie.“Lord Torcross, I presume.”
He hesitated, then stood and glanced at his mother for introductions. “Reggie,” Marigold said, “this is Mr. Archibald Grant. He is the b-barrister helping with my case. Mr. Grant, Lord Reginald T-torcross, Viscount Torcross.”
Archie bowed. “My lord, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“A pleasure,” he mumbled, fixing his gaze at the knot of Archie’s necktie.
“Did you really play rugby?”
Archie jumped as Matthew came into his vision from the side, his eyes bright and seeking.
“I still do,” Archie said, throwing a glance at Marigold. Her features remained tense as she chewed her lower lip. “Would you ever—”
“Mr. Grant,” Marigold burst in. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I—” He shot his gaze to the boys, who were still contemplating him like one would a wild animal in a menagerie. The comparison was rather apt. “Yes, may I have a word in private?”
Her jaw ticked as she nodded, pulled at her nail, and motioned towards an adjacent room. “Reggie, Matthew, we’ll b-be just a moment.”
Reggie had already gone back to the chess game, but Matthew watched Archie with stars in his eyes.
