12

Maxwell left Lady Regina’s townhome in a daze, barely aware of where he was walking. At first he felt a sense of wonder, elation, ecstasy; there did not seem to be an adequate word to describe his feelings. He had held Mrs. Boyle, Diana, in his arms. He had run his fingers through that cloud of silky dark hair and kissed those delectable lips. He had caressed the soft skin at the nape of her neck, its petallike smoothness a sensuous contrast to his calloused fingertips. He realized suddenly that he was trembling, and flopped down onto the front step of the nearest townhouse without first checking it for dirt, uncaring whether he muddied his buff-colored inexpressibles.

But he could not relive that wondrous experience for too long before his conscience began to plague him. He had taken shocking liberties with a lady of his acquaintance. As a gentleman his course was clear: he was obligated to make her an offer of marriage. Of course, it was not merely an obligation but, he suddenly realized, his greatest desire; he wanted Diana like he’d never wanted anything or anyone in his life. Not just in his arms but at his side, always, as the marriage vow said: “For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health.” He could not envision his days without her in them; it would be like a world with no light. Whatever feeling of interest, attraction, or fondness he had once felt for his sister-in-law was nothing compared to what he felt now, for Diana. He said aloud, “I love her. I love Diana,” and smiled at the sound of the most beautiful sentence he had ever heard.

However, his smile quickly faded when he remembered that Diana had made it very clear that she had no interest in marriage. And even if she did change her mind, she would never consider an offer of marriage from him, Maxwell Dean, author of a directory where he had listed her as a commodity! He groaned aloud, cringing at the very thought. Coming to know and love Diana had brought him to a fuller realization of the wrongness of his actions, and the weight of his offense felt as if it was suffocating him. He ran a finger around the neck of his cravat, attempting to loosen it so he could take a deeper breath.

He realized now that his humiliating rejection by his sister-in-law had colored his views of courtship and marriage. He had thought of marriage primarily in practical terms; that matches should be made based on this person’s assets and that person’s deficits. But his feelings had completely changed, and now he would not care if Diana hadn’t a penny to her name; in fact, he wished that she did not! How was she ever to believe in his love for her, when he had demonstrated himself to be one of those lowest, most despicable of creatures, a fortune hunter?

Max heard the townhouse door opening and jumped to his feet, walking hurriedly away. He had no desire to see or talk to anyone. He turned down a side street, one where he was less likely to encounter anyone he knew, taking a circuitous route home while he pondered the situation. He knew it would be useless to propose and would probably do more harm than good, as Diana would assume him to be motivated by either duty or money and would be even less inclined to believe he loved her. And since she would most likely refuse him, it would make subsequent meetings between them awkward. She might even avoid him altogether, which would be the worst possible outcome. So, as much as it went against his principles as a gentleman not to do the honorable thing and propose, he decided it would be best to wait until he had proven his love for her.

But how was he to do that? He considered what he knew about love, and realized he knew very little. He supposed his parents were fond of each other, and if prodded they might admit to mutual esteem, but he did not think the word “love” was part of their vocabulary. (Maxwell’s nanny, on the other hand, had called him “love” from the time he was born. He had actually believed that to be his name and only discovered his error at the age of four when he’d attempted to correct his mother when she’d called him Maxwell.) But while his nanny was of a more affectionate temperament than his mother, she was no example of connubial bliss, either; she had been married to a gruff blacksmith and had taken the position as nanny in order to get away from her husband.

Nor did he consider the fabled lovers from literature appropriate examples, as their stories were quite depressing, and they inevitably had a tragic end. He could not remember any that were happily married. Of the three couples who immediately sprang to mind—Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, and Romeo and Juliet—the last were the only ones not married to other people, and they had killed themselves!

London society had very few happy marriages for him to study; Lord and Lady Gordon being one of the only couples he knew who’d been faithful to each other, and Lord Gordon could no longer be approached for advice. And he did not think he was brave enough to speak to Lady Gordon; he doubted she would consider him a worthy suitor for her friend.

Maxwell finally decided that, since it was unlikely that he could ever convince Diana of his love with mere words, he would take the phrase “Actions are more significant than words” as his maxim. His determination to assist her in her present difficulties might be the most effective way of proving his love. He hated seeing Diana subjected to the attentions of that jackass Lucius Boyle, whose pursuit amounted to little more than persecution, and Maxwell genuinely wanted to help Diana escape Lucius, whether it forwarded his own suit or not. He wondered if he’d somehow stumbled across the real meaning of love: wanting another’s happiness more than your own.

Maxwell was so suspicious of Lucius Boyle, he did not believe that was even his name. Apparently someone of that name did exist, as Mildred Boyle had known him when he was a child, but who was to say this so-called Lucius Boyle was that person? It was very easy to say you were a man who had emigrated to the other side of the world more than a decade ago and had never been seen since. Maxwell had attempted to talk to him about America, and it seemed to Maxwell that Lucius knew less about the continent than Maxwell did. When asked where he’d lived after emigrating, Lucius had answered “Boston,” but then when Maxwell mentioned he had a friend who lived in Boston, Lucius immediately said he’d most recently lived outside of Boston, in Baltimore. Maxwell had later checked a map of America and Baltimore was nowhere near Boston. Of course, his words could be interpreted in different ways, but his very demeanor when he and Maxwell were talking had been suspicious. It was obvious he did not want to talk about his supposed sojourn in America, and he had changed the subject as quickly as possible. Had anyone else even questioned his bona fides? The only person who might possibly do so was Mildred, and she seemed so eager to promote this match that her own motives were in question. Could she be in league with the soi-disant Lucius Boyle? Or, if he was an impostor, had Mildred been tricked into accepting him?

Of course, the man could be who he claimed to be, as well as a scoundrel and avaricious fortune hunter. But Maxwell felt there had to be something he was trying to hide, as he seemed so very inauthentic, as if he was always playing a role.

He was glad that Diana hadn’t rejected Lucius Boyle outright, but still danced with him and seemingly accepted his attentions. Maxwell thought Diana had successfully hidden her feelings from Lucius, who was not the most perceptive of men, even though Maxwell, who was very perceptive where Diana was concerned, had discerned immediately that she disliked Lucius. Maxwell didn’t want Diana to reject him too quickly, however, because a man faced with the rejection of his suit and the loss of a potential fortune could grow desperate, and there were many cases where such men had abducted heiresses in an effort to force them into marriage. Though some of these women had later been rescued from their abductors, one could only imagine the horrors they had suffered in the meantime. Maxwell, thinking of Diana suffering such things, was sickened by the thought, and had to force himself not to think of it. Especially as it made him feel even worse about having inadvertently exposed the ladies in the directory to such dangers.

Therefore Maxwell, who would have preferred to spend more time dwelling on his ladylove and her many charms, told himself he must instead concentrate on the mystery of her unwanted suitor and rid her of his attentions as he had promised. Though he’d just scoffed at romantic stories of old, he suddenly felt himself akin to a medieval knight on a chivalrous quest: he would pledge himself to his lady’s service and perform this task with no personal reward as his object but instead find fulfillment in a courtly love; one which existed on a higher, spiritual plane and was entirely unselfish.

However, if Diana found herself so delighted with his efforts on her behalf that she insisted on rewarding him, perhaps with another one (or more) of those intoxicating kisses, well, he wouldn’t be so selfish as to deny her.

---

The investigation into Lucius Boyle’s origins began the next day, when Maxwell questioned Diana during a morning call, from which Boyle was thankfully absent. This was the first time Max and Diana had seen each other since their embrace, and they were both initially a little shy and self-conscious, but Lord Jerome soon arrived and began speaking to Lady Regina, and that couple’s lighthearted talk helped alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“I believe you said that Miss Boyle claims Lucius as her nephew?” Maxwell asked Diana, after Jerome and Regina had begun a private conversation of their own.

“Yes, that is what Mildred told me. And Lucius Boyle refers to her as ‘Aunt’ Mildred.”

“Then he would have to be the son of her deceased brother, or his surname would not be Boyle. Were you acquainted with your brother-in-law before his death?” Maxwell asked.

“No, I never knew him,” Diana said slowly, her brow furrowed. “Actually, now that you mention it, it’s very strange; I had never heard Mildred or Mr. Boyle ever mention a brother before Mildred introduced Lucius to me.”

“Do the Boyles possess a family Bible that might contain information about this mysterious brother?” Maxwell asked.

“Yes, at Whitley House there is one.”

“Could we go look at it?” Mr. Dean asked.

“What, now?” Diana asked, surprised.

“It’s a nice day for a drive,” Mr. Dean said.

Diana looked pointedly at the window, where rain trickled down the panes. “It looks rather wet to me. We could just ask Lucius Boyle. If he doesn’t call today, I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow or the next. Unfortunately,” Diana said, with a sigh.

“I’d prefer not to ask him, if you don’t mind. I don’t want him to know that we are looking into his background.”

“I understand. But I should probably write to Mildred and let her know that I am coming to Whitley House,” Diana said slowly, thinking aloud.

There was a lull in the other couple’s conversation, and Regina, who had overheard the last part of Diana and Maxwell’s discussion, asked Diana if she was thinking of visiting her home.

“Yes,” Diana answered. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“May I come along?” Regina asked. “It would be nice to take a little break from London, and I’m very curious about Whitley House, as well.”

“It’s a very nice house,” Lord Jerome said, and Regina’s smile faltered for a moment. She had apparently forgotten that Jerome had once called on Diana and she was not pleased at the reminder.

“You are both welcome to join us,” Diana said, anxious to reassure Regina that there was nothing, and never had been anything, between her and Lord Jerome. “I don’t think I was very cordial to you on your first visit to Whitley House, Lord Jerome.”

“It was my fault entirely,” Jerome said. “You weren’t expecting callers and were more than gracious, under the circumstances.”

“Didn’t Raymond Pryce call on you as well?” Lady Regina asked Diana, having regained her savoir faire. “I would have liked to have been there to witness that.”

“It was extremely awkward, as I recall,” Lord Jerome said. “Mr. Pryce surmised that Mrs. Boyle, an ‘ace of spades,’ had ‘whiddled our scrap’ and encouraged me to cast my line ‘where the fish are biting,’ ” he quoted, straight-faced, and the words sounded even more ludicrous said in Lord Jerome’s very proper Eton College accent.

“I don’t even know what most of that means, but unfortunately I can guess,” said Diana, who could now laugh at something that had not seemed funny at all at the time.

“It is settled then?” Regina asked, taking charge as usual. “We will go to Twickenham tomorrow?”

“I suppose so,” Diana said, with an inquiring look at Mr. Dean, who nodded, and said he would hire a carriage for the trip. “I don’t know why I feel so reluctant,” Diana said, with a sigh. “But I do not look forward to seeing Mildred or Lucius.”

“Maybe we’ll be fortunate and she’ll have gone out,” Regina said.

“Mildred never goes anywhere. But I suppose there is no need to inform her of my intentions. It is my house, after all,” Diana said, assuming a confident demeanor and hoping that it would actually give her confidence.

Mr. Dean, who was the instigator of the visit to Whitley House, now had very little to say on the subject, and after Regina and Jerome had returned to their private conversation, Diana looked at Maxwell, her eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you pleased that we will be going to Whitley House tomorrow, as you wished?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, although his tone and frown said the opposite. He had just been reminded that Diana had been pursued for her house, thanks to his publication of the directory, and now wished he had not suggested going there. He did not want her to think he was looking it over, as a potential prize if he should succeed in winning her hand. But then he reminded himself that his motives were entirely altruistic. “I am pleased to be going to your home, but I look on it primarily as a means to an end, not necessarily a pleasure jaunt,” he explained. “It’s a good place to begin our search for information about Lucius Boyle.”

“Do you suspect he is not who he claims to be?” Diana asked.

“Possibly. What do you think?”

“I have no idea. I do find something suspicious about him; I’ve felt an instinctive distrust of him since we first met but, then again, some of his mannerisms do put me in mind of Mildred and her brother, my late husband.”

“Well then, perhaps this trip is a waste of time,” Mr. Dean said, slightly discouraged that his theory might prove to be wrong.

“Or perhaps we can find some enjoyment from it,” Diana said, with a teasing smile.

“Since I will be in your company, nothing is more certain,” Mr. Dean said, returning her smile.