A Matter of Marriage Read Free Page A

couldn’t saw lumber or swing a hammer?
    She
unsuccessfully tried to tug her wrist free of his grasp. Color returned to her
face. “Sir, I am grateful for what you did for me, but I must insist you
release me immediately.”
    He
inhaled more carefully. “Do you promise … not to run off?”
    “If
my staying here will put you at ease, then I can certainly send someone else
for the doctor.”
    “I
don’t need a doctor.” He let her go, eased himself into a sitting position, and
breathed as normally as he could considering his aching ribs and the woman’s
nearness. His body well remembered the feel of her pressed against him only
moments before. Her very proximity was enough to raise his heart rate. He’d
forgotten how that felt.
    “Of
course you need a doctor,” she said. “You must be looked after.”
    Her
genuine concern for his well-being took him aback. It had been a long time
since anyone cared about Alexander MacLean. His late wife had given a good
impression of caring when they’d been courting, but it changed soon after their
wedding. He had discovered that beneath her beauty and sophistication lay a powerful
streak of self-indulgence. What Elizabeth wanted, Elizabeth got.
    “Let
me help you,” the woman said as he tried to stand up.
    “There’s
no need.” Alex wanted to show her he would be fine on his own, but getting up
proved more difficult than he expected.
    She
crouched, shoved aside several locks of hair that had escaped during their
tumble, and positioned herself under his right arm. On his left side appeared a
spry old man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a bellboy’s navy blue uniform.
Gold braid decorated each shoulder and cuff. He grasped Alex’s left arm and,
with the woman’s assistance, gently hauled him to his feet.
    “Thanks,”
he grunted, wishing he hadn’t needed their help.
    “Theo,”
she said, “I’m going to take this gentleman to the doctor’s office. Will you
see that the geranium pot is cleaned up and the others are not in danger of
falling?”
    At
her uncommon air of authority, Alex tilted his head. Who was she to give orders
to a bellboy?
    “Yes,
Miss Fairbanks,” Theo answered, “but are you sure you don’t need a hand with
him?”
    Now
steady on his feet, and having noted her name, Alex stepped out of their hold. “I’m
fine now. It’s you, Miss Fairbanks, that I’m worried about.”
    “Me?”
she said. “I appreciate your concern, but our roll across the drive did not
harm me. I’m just a little dusty.” She batted at her clothing, raising a cloud
of dust. Someone laughed from the veranda, and she looked up. “Oh dear, we’ve
attracted a crowd.”
    Alex
followed her gaze and cringed.
    Guests
stood at the veranda railing like patrons in an opera-house box. The women wore
dresses of silk and satin, their hair done up in what Alex assumed were the
latest styles. He hadn’t kept track. The men sported fedoras or derbies, high
collars, and tailored frock suits, a far cry from his patched brown pants and
old work shirt. It was unlikely he knew any of them, or, if he did, that they
would recognize him now. Few people had seen him after Danny’s and Elizabeth’s
deaths.
    “Miss
Fairbanks, we need to talk. Let’s go inside.” He hated all this attention, and
she needed to know the flowerpot had been intentionally thrown at her.
    She
turned to the bellboy. “Theo, please take— I’m sorry, what is your name, sir?”
    “MacLean.
Alex MacLean.”
    “Please
take Mr. MacLean’s traveling bag inside the lobby. He and I will be meeting
with Dr. Dolan.” She cast Alex a look that dared him to challenge her.
    He
scowled, first at her, then at the bag that had somehow ended up beside the
older man. “I can carry my own bag. And if I decide to see your physician, I’ll
find him myself.”
    “Mr.
MacLean,” the bellboy said, adjusting spectacles crowned by wiry white
eyebrows, “please allow an old man to offer you a bit of advice. Just do as