Page 23 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)

A rchibald Grant had no issue detaching his mind; it seemed to be on a loose tether on the best of days, but knowing what the marquess had done to her, what he’d implied —

Shuddering, he paused in his march to his office to catch his breath. He had kept himself focused on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s words until Marigold dozed off, a soft susurrus of breathing as she succumbed to sleep. Then his thoughts ran wild. He’d heard of husbands, particularly wealthy ones, shipping their wives off to asylums when they became a bother, claiming hysteria or other such feminine ailments. The women then withered away under inhumane circumstances while their spouses were free to carry on their lives.

Marigold was right not to trust the doctors, nor her husband.

The weight low in his gut grew in size. If he lost this case, odds were good the bastard would send her to an institution .

He was close to growling by the time he stormed into his office, blowing past a stunned Jasper and not pausing to remove his hat before he started scanning his bookcase.

“Archie, what’s wrong?”

“Everything.” He threw a heavy volume down on his desk and began flipping pages.

“Can I help you find something?”

“ Weldon v. Semple .” He didn’t pause even when he sliced his finger with his rapid paging. “Mid-1880s. I remember reading it, how it challenged the Lunacy Act of 1845.”

Archie was vaguely aware of his assistant approaching from behind, but he could have detonated fireworks and not distracted Archie from his task. “Is there something you need to tell me about your mental state?”

He spun around, and Jasper recoiled, the smirk falling from his face like a lead balloon. “The bastard drugged her. He had doctors claim hysteria, and if we lose…”

His voice broke, and he returned his attention to the book, his vision blurring as he scanned down the page, though he couldn’t make sense of the words. His glasses, he needed his glasses. He shoved them on his face, his hands trembling.

He wouldn’t lose her, not like this. She would be gone in a month, regardless of the outcome of their case. But knowing the marquess could lock her away in one of these brutal, cruel institutions—

“Archie, stop.” Jasper’s heavy hand on his shoulder broke his focus, and Archie’s head dropped. “What in the devil is going on? ”

He huffed out a breath. “I failed her. I hadn’t thought about what would happen if we lost the case until today . Croydon already had doctors treat her for hysteria, unjustified. If we lose, he’ll toss her in one of those prisons and let her rot.” His stomach clenched imagining Marigold in such a place, of the misery that would consume her from the inside out.

“Has he threatened her?”

“Not that I know of.” Archie sat behind his desk, his legs suddenly weak. “But I need to be ready. I can track down the doctors, find witnesses to discredit them, be prepared—”

“She can give you their names, can’t she?”

He shook his head hard enough that his spectacles slid down his nose. “She can’t know what he’s planning. She’ll panic.” I can’t let her hurt anymore. “I can do this on my own.”

“We only have a month. You don’t have time to chase down phantoms when you need to ready Lady Croydon to testify and prepare your evidence.”

Archie stood and slammed his hand down on the desk, making Jasper jump. “I’ll make the time! I won’t sleep if I have to.”

“You’re only one man, and you need to focus on the most probable defenses they’ll make.”

The ache in Archie’s chest kept expanding, like a bruise bleeding beneath his skin. “I didn’t predict this attack. I always think of every angle, and I didn’t expect this.”

Jasper spoke like a patient parent, and it only irritated Archie further. “You’ve never tried a divorce case before, let alone one involving a woman you’ve—well.” He cleared his throat. “Regardless, you can be forgiven for missing something.”

“Her children won’t forgive me if she’s locked away for the rest of her life.”

“That won’t happen.”

“It might.” Archie looked down, grabbed a piece of paper—to hell with the bloody blueberry scone case—and started scribbling over the back as he read. Mrs. Weldon sued the doctors… “I need to be ready.”

“You need to rest. And eat. You’re of no use if you make yourself ill.”

“I’m of no use if I lose.”

“You’ve never been like this before.”

“Because nothing, no one, has mattered like this before!”

His words echoed in the still room for several long moments. As though he feared Archie himself may detonate, Jasper settled into the chair across from him in careful increments, then motioned for Archie to do the same.

Jasper stared Archie down, and he felt himself beginning to cower under the glare of a septuagenarian semi-retired secretary. “Every case matters,” Jasper enunciated. “Mrs. Etterlein thought her argument over the turnip field was the most important case in the world. Misters Durbin both believe their grandfather wanted the other to have that literally damned clock, and nothing matters more than keeping it out of their respective houses.“ Jasper drew in a long breath before continuing. “This case will be decided one way or the other, and life will go on in Britain as though nothing happened, because to them, it hasn’t.”

“Her life might not go on, her children—”

“They will live, as will you, and that snake, Croydon. And you’ll have to move on, take on new clients and cases, because your mother and sisters and I, for that matter, all depend on you doing just that. So tell me, because I think I already know the answer, but I don’t know if you know it—”

He rubbed his temples. “That’s a lot of knows, Jasper.”

“Why is this case different?”

He threw his arms out wide, knocking a teacup onto the floor with a crash. “Because I love her. I’m utterly in love with a woman I can never, ever have, and it’s driving me mad. There, are you happy? I’m bloody miserable, and no matter what happens with this case, I lose her.”

“Why? Why are you so convinced you couldn’t have her?”

Archie carded his hand through his hair. “She won’t stay in England, and I can’t leave Mum and my sisters behind. They need me here.”

“Then convince her to stay. You’re persuasive.”

Lord, did he resent his assistant’s nonchalant logic in the face of Archie’s turmoil. “Not that persuasive. Not to mention the marquess could turn all of England against me if we were together publicly. He’s just the sort of bastard who would see me ruined for petty revenge.”

Jasper looked irritatingly nonplussed. “So, are you going to quit? Give the case to someone else? ”

“God, no.”

Jasper’s chuckle was dark as he stood, brushing off his sleeves. “Then you need to get yourself together, because if you keep spinning in circles and anticipating everything that might go wrong, you’ll lose before you set foot in the courtroom.”

Archie would blame exhaustion for the burning in his eyes, the gentle breaking open of his heart like a soft-boiled egg at the words of advice his father should be around to give him. But Jasper had settled into that role without even wanting it. “God, I hate when you’re right.”

Jasper raised one silver brow. “So, always?”

Despite the turmoil raging between his ears, Archie cracked a smile. “Just about.” He slammed the book shut, crumpled up his notes on the Weldon case, and shoved both aside. “Will you help me with the testimony preparation?”

Jasper grinned. “I’d be delighted. But first, you need to eat a sandwich.”

“Roast chicken?” He was pushing his luck.

Jasper’s grin was evil. “Anchovies on toast.”