Chapter 1
Abeggar and an earl should never be seated so comfortably next to each other. Only, neither was Marjorie Leeson a beggar any longer, for quite several years now, nor was Alexander Haddington officially the Earl of Trowbridge. Not yet, in any case.
“I do hope Mr. Willoughby shan’t be much longer,” Alexander sighed, turning around to take an impatient glance at the door, which still stood stubbornly closed. Finding themselves in the waiting room at about the same time, Marjorie and Alexander were ushered into the solicitor’s office by a young man who politely informed them that the solicitor, Mr. Willoughby, would be with them shortly.
Shortly was obviously a subjective phrase. To Marjorie, as it obviously was for Alexander as well, a minute seemed as long as an hour. She herself had nowhere else to be, but she certainly did not wish to remain here much longer than was utterly necessary. Courteously, she nodded to his comment and remained silent.
“I have an appointment after this one, and I simply cannot be late,” Alexander continued, crossing the other leg over the opposite knee this time, then proceeding to drum against the hand rest of his chair.
“Technically, Mr. Willoughby is not late,” she finally decided to say something in the absent solicitor’s defense. “It is us who are early.”
He immediately turned to her, the look on his face as if he were seeing her for the first time and wasn’t even expecting to have someone seated right next to him. Marjorie consciously suppressed the thought that immediately rose to the surface of her mind. He was still unbearably handsome, even more so. His jaw was even more prominent, and a thick tuft of his dark hair was sleekly combed to the side, standing in stark contrast to his vivid dark blue eyes. He was a mirror image of his late father, a ghost neither of them would ever be free from, nor would they have liked to be.
“We are on time, Marjorie,” he corrected her softly, not very much unlike an older sibling corrected the younger one, who was obviously mistaken. “If Mr. Willoughby were a decent solicitor, he would value our time as much as he valued his own. If we took the effort of arriving here on time, then he should have taken the effort to prepare himself on time.”
“Early.” Her voice was bold, determined not to be silenced.
“Pardon me?” His brows knitted at her.
“We are early,” she repeated. “We are not on time. There.” She pointed her thin, willowy finger at the wall clock that stood right in front of them both. The small dial moved silently, almost invisibly. Yet the clock tenaciously showed that they were indeed five minutes early to their assigned appointment.
“Not according to my time,” Alexander commented, although his voice was not as forceful as before. Marjorie did not expect him to admit blame. In all the years that she had known him, he had never done that. Being the earl’s only son came with certain privileges, the kind that an orphan taken in out of sheer pity did not have.
However, Marjorie had no reason to complain. Her life had changed immeasurably as the result of the previous earl’s generosity and kind-heartedness. She was merely sorrowful that these same characteristics seemed to skip a generation.
“I know that a man of your social status has previous engagements,” she told him coolly, seated in that chair like a dignified duchess, with her back straight and her hands resting softly in her own lap. “But we are here for your father’s sake. He is no longer with us. His poor soul does not measure time any longer according to earthly laws. The least we can do to honor his memory is to remain here and not complain that we perhaps need to be left waiting five minutes longer.”
There was nothing about her voice that was confrontational or aggressive. Why would she force herself into an argument with the man who was supposed to be as close to her as a brother, yet who always refused that closeness and deemed himself the better of the two? She only needed to endure this time with him here, during the reading of the will. Once this necessary business was taken care of, they would part their ways as they did before, and she would not need to see him for years to come.
“Lord Foley does not take kindly to people being late,” Alexander explained, as if endeavoring to put the blame on someone else.
Marjorie did not know Lord Foley, nor did she need to reply. “I am certain that Lord Foley won’t mind, knowing that this issue needs to be resolved immediately, so that everything could proceed with the inheritance question.”
“It is no question at all,” Alexander said importantly, leaning back in his chair as if he suddenly found himself in his own study, and it was her who was imposing on his personal space and time. “My presence here is a mere formality, rest assured. I am absolutely certain that you have not managed to fulfill your goal of taking advantage of my father.” His eyes shone at her, daring her to speak.
She certainly would, and gladly so. “Taking advantage of him?”
Even with the knowledge that the two of them had never quite taken a liking to each other, she was shocked to find out that he had such a low opinion of her, as she had never given him or his father any reason to believe that what she felt for the old man was anything short of reverence and true love of a child for a parent.
“Do not act all shocked, Marjorie.” His tone was cynical, much more than usually when circumstances would require them to speak to each other. “You are not my father’s child. I am. You are merely an orphan he picked up from the streets and saved from hunger and being frozen to death.”
Marjorie swallowed heavily listening to his words. The truth always hurt the most.
“Don’t dare think for a moment that you deserve anything else from him or this family.”
“I never wanted anything from you or this family!” she snapped back a little more fervently than she had intended to. She did not wish to prove to him that his words had any effect on her.
She knew that bythis familyhe was referring to himself. Still not being the officially declared earl and without papers deeming him the rightful heir to his father’s estate and everything else, Alexander felt obliged to provide for her financially. It was a small sum, but nonetheless sufficient for her needs. Once he decided that he would no longer be providing for her, Marjorie would find herself in quite a predicament.
Before he could reply anything to that, the door suddenly burst open, and a small-statured, bulgy-looking man appeared. His hair flew across the bald spot in the center of his head in whips, in a futile effort to hide it, while his red nose seemed to overpower his entire face. The man held a bundle of documents, in an utter disarray, and when he placed them on a writing desk that separated him from the two people across, the documents scattered all about the polished surface. Marjorie felt sorry for the man. He seemed to be in a disarray himself.
“Could we please proceed with the reading of the will, Mr. Willoughby?” Alexander squeezed through clenched teeth.
Mr. Willoughby lifted his gaze apologetically, then quickly nodded in a hasty effort at gathering the documents back into a seemingly orderly pile.
“Of course, of course,” the man kept nodding without cessation, until he finally sat down, with his elbows resting at his sides. “I apologize for the delay. You see, it is my father who usually handles business. I am merely helping him, but he has taken ill in the past several days, and I am trying to do his work, which, as you can see takes some time…”
Marjorie smiled at him sympathetically. The moment he came in she could tell that he was not at ease. She completely understood the sentiment, for she shared it. Alexander on his part, did not seem appeased with the explanation. In fact, it only seemed to make him more agitated. Marjorie wondered where all that displeasure was stemming from, when he was a man who should not have a care in the world. If only he knew how many people were out there, in the streets, between walls of cold, dilapidated houses with hungry mouths to feed… those were troubles, not the fact that he would be late to an appointment with a man who might not tolerate tardiness.
