IN Max’s experience, even the most jaded of London Society did not offer up “congratulations” upon the death of one’s parent.
So it was highly perplexing when upon alighting from his carriage in front of Longsbowe House (later than expected, as he had headed toward Weymouth Street before Harris reminded him he no longer lived there), no less than three sets of people passing by offered up their congratulations and best wishes for his future.
Unable to comprehend all the well wishing he received while wearing a black armband of mourning, Max simply shrugged it off as an oddity, as he had far more important things to do. Such as, after a change of clothes, repairing directly to the Altons at Number Seven.
He had told Gail he would sort everything out, and that entailed speaking with her father. Truthfully, he was not looking forward to the conversation. Remembering all too well his first interview with Sir Geoffrey when he applied for Evangeline’s hand, he could easily imagine what the gentleman would think of his transference of affections. But it was best done as soon as possible, and Max was eager to see Gail again. Just one smile, he thought. One smile, and he’d walk into Sir Geoffrey’s library with no hesitation. Hell, he’d walk through fire.
These pleasant thoughts in his mind, Max almost knocked over Mrs. Pickering, who emerged from the door of Number Seven just as Max climbed the front steps, her twin daughters in tow.
Really, Max thought, those girls would never do well for themselves until they began to dress differently.
“Mrs. Pickering”—Max tipped his hat after he steadied himself—“good morning.”
As the twins made identical curtsies, Mrs. Pickering cried, “Lord Longsbowe!” in a high-pitched voice that may very well have indicated delight. “Returned to town, how wonderful! The Alton ladies have been quite desolate without you. One Alton lady in particular,” she finished with a roguish wink. Not many shrill women could pull off a roguish wink, but Mrs. Pickering managed superbly.
Max covered his perplexity with a polite smile. What did she mean by that? Unless, Mrs. Pickering was far more acute than she seemed, and Gail…
“Yes,” the twin he thought was Lilly piped up, interrupting Max’s thoughts. “We were all so thrilled when we learned of your engagement.” After a pointed look from her sister, indicating his black armband, she added, “Er, and so sad when we heard of your loss.”
Max frowned in confusion. What on earth were they talking of? He hadn’t yet asked Gail to marry him, of that he was certain. He had it all planned, too. He would take Gail down to the lake where they first met, unceremoniously throw her in, and then, while she sputtered and raved, he would sink to one knee in the muck and beg for her hand. It would be…
A cold chill settled over Max’s entire body, as the polite smile he kept pasted on his face began to crack. And then, he knew.
Engagement. The prescribed month of acquainting time had long since come and gone. It must have been announced. If the Pickerings knew, everyone did. He was officially engaged.
To Evangeline.
When at last, Max was admitted to the drawing room, Romilla greeted him with cries of rapture, Evangeline with a demure nod, and Gail with silence and a stony stare out the front window.
She most certainly was not smiling.
HE exited Number Seven an hour later, desperate to hit something. He had sat there, between Romilla and Evangeline, unable to do more than seethe, while Gail…Gail did nothing.
He placed the blame for this disaster exactly where he knew it should go: Romilla. Why was the announcement not discussed? Why had he not been at least informed? He managed to glean from some pointed conversation that the announcement had been placed in the Times a fortnight ago! How could he have been unaware that whole time?
You did this, his mind raged as he watched Romilla command the whole room like the conductor of an orchestra. You brought this to pass. Even though some bothersome little corner of his brain played devil’s advocate, pointing out his own involvement in the affair, the rest of him was ready and willing to indict Romilla Alton on the unpardonable charge of unwanted interference. In fact, the only thing that kept him silent in his seat while Romilla and Evangeline chattered over him about lace or some such stupid thing, was the half dozen or so ladies that came to pay calls—all of whom were eager to offer their congratulations.
And all the while, Gail did nothing. She sat at the window seat, staring out onto the street, paying only enough attention to the conversation to give short, distracted answers when asked a question.
It was as if she had transformed back into that wallflower that had too little confidence in herself.
When Gail rose and left the drawing room, giving the excuse of a previous appointment, Max’s hangdog gaze followed her out the door.
Romilla’s gaze, on the other hand, followed Max’s, with an expression decidedly more disapproving.
ONCE outside, Max tried to decide between running all over town looking for Gail or repairing to Jackson’s Saloon to vent his spleen when someone familiar handed him Jupiter’s reins.
“Jimmy!” Max cried, happy to find an ally. Although to be quite honest, Jimmy’s expression did not read “ally” so much as it did “hostile.”
“Sir,” he said through tight lips, before turning away and heading back to the stables, causing Max to give chase.
“Jimmy! Wait. You must help me, I need to see Miss Gail alone. Er, again.”
The young man turned, his eyes hard.
“Sorry, sir, I doubt the lady would want that.”
“Jimmy, please,” Max begged, adding impetuously, “I’ll pay you. Fifty pounds if you bring her to me.”
Jimmy, not even taking a moment to consider such a large sum of money, simply turned his head and spat on the ground.
Max took the gesture as it was intended.
“My apologies. That was insulting.” He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “Something became mixed up and turned around while I was away, I realize that. But please, help me see Gail. I only want to fix this.”
“And how would you be fixin’ it, sir? By makin’ love to one girl and marryin’ her sister?”
Max sighed deeply, but before he could explain the situation, Jimmy continued. “I shouldn’a helped ye before. I may only be a stable hand, but you, sir, are no—”
“I suggest you think carefully before finishing that sentence,” Max said darkly, giving his best imperious glare. Apparently, the imperious glare of an Earl is far more effective that that of a Viscount, because Jimmy did indeed think twice about insulting him. The silence gave Max the time necessary to press his case.
“Please. I love her,” was all he had to say.
Jimmy, ever the romantic, could not be unaffected, and considered Max thoughtfully for a moment. “You’ll not hurt her? Not try nothin’?”
“Never,” Max replied immediately. “You’ll stay within sight at all times.”
“Damn right I’ll stay within sight at all times,” Jimmy replied, “with a hunting rifle to boot.” He rubbed his chin, considering. “All right, I’ll help ye meet her. When an’ where?”
Max felt such relief fill his chest, it was all he could do to keep from embracing the groom. “Thank you. More than words can say.”
“Don’t thank me,” Jimmy snorted. “Half the reason I’m doin’ this is so I can watch her order you to hell with me own eyes.”
IT may not have looked like hell in the beautiful grotto, but Max certainly felt to be assigned to some form of perdition. Waiting was torture. He had ridden immediately to this place once deciding on it with Jimmy—a place that brought forth powerful memories for him, and he hoped for Gail as well.
He had found it instinctively this time, Jupiter’s hooves following an invisible path to the hidden copse. The warming weather of summer had made the grotto lushly verdant, the sun dappled through the trees on this perfect afternoon, but none of this natural beauty could calm Max’s racing thoughts.
What on earth was he to do? How did he fix this? What if Gail refused to see him? What if she came, but refused to see him ever after? Hours had passed in this way, Max pacing the ground, sitting in the gazebo, standing up again, pacing some more, his mind torturing him with “what-ifs.” Jupiter munched on grass, obliviously content in the knowledge that he was a horse, and therefore not given to getting himself stuck in untenable situations. Or, at least that’s how it seemed to Max.
Such was how Gail found him—pacing, sitting abruptly, standing, and shooting dark looks at his horse. She took a moment to watch him, too sad to smile at his antics. Then she emerged from the trees, Jimmy and his hunting rifle not ten feet behind.
Max immediately stilled, watching her alight from QueenBee, who immediately joined Jupiter. She walked with measured paces, keeping herself from running either to or from him. He showed great restraint in meeting her halfway.
“Gail,” he breathed, moving to embrace her, but she stiffly backed away. She did not meet his eye as she gave a formal curtsy, replying, “Lord Longsbowe.”
So this is how it was to be, Max thought, breaking a little with the need to touch her, and yet not being permitted. She was too lovely to look at, in a new crimson riding habit.
“What happened to your other habit? The, er, green one?” he blurted out.
“I burned it,” she replied, ice in her words.
Of the many small cues Max had received regarding Gail’s state of mind, this spoke the loudest.
“You’re angry.”
“You’re engaged. My congratulations. I can think of no better Countess than my sister.”
“Oh yes there is, there is her sister,” Max retorted, only to see Gail’s eyes narrow.
“Please, do not try to placate me with hollow promises. I have no sympathies left for you to prey on.”
“Gail, darling.” He reached for her again, this time she made a decided step back, maintaining the distance between them at all times. He slowed his step and his breathing. “I didn’t know it was going to be announced, I swear. True, a month was prescribed, but no certain date attached. I would never have left London. I would have stopped it.”
Gail looked at him like he was crazy. She felt the sudden urge to laugh. “You would have stopped it?” she sneered, disbelief dripping from her words. “Your Lordship, please don’t plead ignorance, for I am not. You announced it.”
“What?” he asked, startled. “How?”
“You sent notice to the papers. I realize that was a very eventful day for you, what with your father dying and deflowering me, but surely you can recall sending notice earlier of your impending nuptials.”
“I did no such thing!” he stated vehemently.
“It was in the papers that morning!” she replied hotly. “That morning, after we…” A choke had crept into her voice, robbing her of the emotional detachment she employed like a shield. He watch as she swallowed her anger and summoned a wry tone of voice—but she could not stop her eyes from shining with tears. “I woke up, and there were all these people in our drawing room, congratulating Evangeline on snaring you. And I thought, this is a mistake, they’ve got the wrong girl. But then I saw Mr. Holt and the paper itself, and I…I knew myself for a fool. I’ve been silly and stupid and wrong before, but never have I been so damned ashamed of myself.”
“Gail, I never thought…” But Max was lost in his pain for his Gail, for what she had been through. What he had abandoned her to.
“I was so convenient, wasn’t I? Creeping into your room—silly me! Thinking I might be wanted. But who would want me?”
She raged blindly, anger spewing forth, cutting at him as surely as a rapier would.
“I want you. You know that,” he tried gently, and in an added attempt at humor, “and I assure you, you are the least convenient creature in the world.”
She simply stared off sadly. Coldly.
“When I never received an answer to my letter…” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “I half expected you to rush to London once you received it, but at the very least I thought you’d send a reply.”
A lone tear trailed down her cheek, she kept her profile to him. He didn’t reach for her.
“I never received a letter,” he said quietly. Another tear rolled, but she simply shrugged.
“Does it really matter now?”
“Yes, it matters,” Max replied, emphatic. “If I had, I should have seen your name and flown back here. The whole time I was away, you were not far from me. Every damn day I thought of you. Every damn hour.”
For a moment it seemed she might believe him. Then she looked up at him, all the tears she had for herself gone from her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was bare.
“Where do I stand with you, Max? Where the hell do I stand with you? One moment I’m the love of your life, and you mine, and everything will work itself blissfully out, but that’s not what happened, is it? All that occurred was we stayed on the same course set out by circumstance months before, with you marrying Evangeline, no matter your feelings for me, or hers for you, or what you and I have known together.”
He crowded her then, closing the space between them. “Do you think me so low that I should make love to you if I had the slightest intention of marrying her? It has been a long time since I knew that she and I would not suit.” He refused to allow her to run away, framing her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “And a long time since I knew that we would.”
He kissed her then, fiercely, possessively, crushing her body to his. Only the knowledge that Jimmy was likely aiming his rifle at that moment kept Max from holding on to her forever.
Shakily, he let go, removed himself to arm’s distance. A good thing, too, because if Jimmy had covered the last two yards, that younger, smaller man would have been at Max’s throat. As it was, Gail, her face flushed and tear-streaked, dazedly waved Jimmy back. He returned to his post by the horses, but kept a sharp eye on Max.
Silence reigned for a time, thoughts reeling, eyes searching, breaths racing.
Finally, Gail spoke raggedly. “I…I do not think you so low as to…what you said.” A faint smile played across Max’s lips, knowing how difficult it was to disconcert Gail’s speech, but she cleared her throat and continued. “Oh! But I don’t know what to think! And even so, what is there that can be done now? You are as good as married to Evangeline. The rules—”
“Hang the rules!” he said so vehemently, even the birds in the trees were shocked into silence. “I have spent a fortnight remembering my life, and I realized something. I have spent the time following the rules of someone else. My father, Society…Gail.” He came to her again, but only held her firmly by the arms, pleading. “Don’t you find bowing to the dictates of the Ton abominably stupid? To hold our breaths for fear of what? We want to be together, but what keeps us apart? Not such conquerable barriers as language, distance, or time, no—it’s gossip! I’ve been pushed around all my life. I shan’t let it happen now.” He cupped her chin, again bringing her eyes to his face. “You want to know where you stand with me? Gail, please, just stand with me! Come away. We’ll fly to Gretna Green and be married, and no one will tell us how to act or who to be ever again.”
It was so tempting. But…“You forget one thing, my Lord.” She removed herself from his grasp and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. “’Twas you yourself that knotted the string to Evangeline. And now you would leave her flapping in the breeze? My sister, my family, would never recover from that. They live by the rules of society you are so eager to disdain.”
Her stiff back to him, she looked to be made of solid rock—unmoving, and simply accepting of what happened around her.
“How can you be so accepting of this?” he asked, anger bunching his shoulders and pounding at his temples.
“I have had the last two weeks to become accustomed to the situation, my lord.”
Max shook his head. “Two weeks, two years, two decades, I should still not accept it. I can’t believe you’d give up so easily.”
“I never had you to give up,” she said dully.
He spoke softly now, so softly that Gail turned her head to catch his words, and in doing so, found his lips at her ear.
“You conceded your own happiness. You gave up on yourself. I will not.”
Before she could speak, before she could open her eyes, he was gone.