“This is Alexander Ashton, Mr. Feyzi,” she said, smiling back. “Might we steal a moment of your time?”
Feyzi smirked. “It will not be stolen, I promise you. But your grandfather never too carefully analyzes his bill, so I would not concern yourself.”
They were shown into an impressive study so heavily scented with pipe smoke that Alexander imagined it saturated the wine-colored walls. Volumes of law texts lined the walls, the dull titles vaguely familiar to Alexander from hours spent in his father’s study being scolded.
“I love coming here,” Saffron whispered to him. “He has the best tea.”
Mr. Feyzi requested tea and it was excellent.
“Well, my dear,” Mr. Feyzi said, settling at his desk, “what brings you?” He glanced between them as he took a sip of tea.
“Mr. Ashton is in need of a solicitor on behalf of his brother, but I will let him explain the particulars to you so you may determine if you could help him, or if you have a recommendation for another solicitor who could.”
Feyzi took it in stride, nodding and looking at Alexander with interest. Saffron excused herself to wait in the parlor, ignoring Alexander’s protest that she was welcome to stay.
The solicitor was polite as he gently prodded him for details on Adrian’s case, and after a quarter of an hour, Feyzi had given him three names of barristers who might be helpful and discreet. He’d smiled knowingly when Alexander mentioned his desire to avoid his father’s notice.
“I understand perfectly,” he said. “Family is the trickiest of assets, but an asset it is. Jeremy Ashton is well spoken of. I would not avoid his involvement unless absolutely necessary.”
Alexander privately agreed, but this was his brother’s affair. Even acknowledging that, though, he knew that should his brother actually be arrested, Alexander’s first telephone call would be to his father. Adrian and their father might not agree about much of anything, but they cared for each other. Not to mention Adrian would need their father’s support.
“Please send the bill to me,” Alexander said, rising to his feet along with the solicitor.
Feyzi stood but did not move to the door. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scrutinized Alexander with a slight squint. “Thomas Everleigh was a friend of mine, you know. School chums. Then when Lord Easting needed a solicitor after his old retainer died, Thomas insisted he take me on despite the fact I’d only recently finished school. He was a loyal friend, a good man.”
“He was one of my professors,” Alexander said. The brief but warm interactions between Feyzi and Saffron made it clear that Feyzicared for her well-being. Alexander wanted him to understand that he also cared for her. “I was very fortunate to meet Saffron earlier this year. We worked together and became friends. She is also a loyal friend.”
“That she is.”
Alexander almost smiled at the hint of something in Feyzi’s voice. It was meant to be threatening, he’d wager, but it only made him glad that Saffron had someone in the city she could turn to. But shehadn’tturned to Feyzi when she was facing suspicion in the Berking and Blake poisoning. Now he thought of it, she had mentioned a solicitor in one of her letters to him when he was in Brazil, something about a visit from a lawyer had changed her plans for testifying in the case against Berking and Blake. He’d assumed it was from the prosecution, but now he wondered if it had been her family’s lawyer.
He didn’t want to get her in trouble with her family by asking. So he merely said, “I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Feyzi.”
He rejoined Saffron in the parlor, but Feyzi was not done with them yet.
“Miss Saffron,” he said, beckoning to her, “a word, if you please.”
Saffron flashed Alexander a quick smile, and followed the solicitor back out of the parlor, leaving Alexander to wonder exactly what Feyzi would be saying to her.
“An interesting fellow,” Mr. Feyzi said as they settled in his office.
“He is,” Saffron agreed.
“This is the same man you were involved with during that incident in the spring,” he said, stating it not as a question.
“Yes, he is.”
Mr. Feyzi was quiet for a moment, watching her in that uncanny way of his that was both kindly and assessing. At last, he said, “I will not mention this visit to your grandfather, of course, but I must caution you, Miss Saffron, that you risk further angering both Lord and Lady Easting—”
“I don’t care, Mr. Feyzi,” Saffron burst out. “You know that I do not.”
“But you care about your mother,” he said, a sharpness to his words that she rarely heard. “And she cannot refuse to open their letters as you do or simply run off to London.”
Saffron bit her tongue. She would not correct him about running off to London; it would only sound childish. “You’re right. But my mother has told me numerous times that I am to stay the course if this is what I want. You are the one to pass on her …” She released an embarrassed breath. “Monetary support. You know that staying here is what she wishes me to do.”
“That does not mean your actions do not have consequences,” he said. “Consequences your mother faces as a result of your disagreements with Lord and Lady Easting.”
Again, she bit her tongue. Being friends with her father and watching Saffron grow up, albeit from afar, had given Mr. Feyzi a fatherly attitude toward her. She could not deny there were many times she appreciated it. Now was not one of those times.
