She didn’t know, but Maxwell seemed to understand her reticence, because he gave her an almost imperceptible nod from his chair opposite her. Shifting toward his sisters on the settee, he said, “I’m certain you both noticed that Lady Helena and I danced a few waltzes last night.”
“Is that what they’re calling kissing in the conservatory now?” Violet muttered from behind her cup.
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed at his sister in displeasure, his brows coming together in that fierce scowl that was absurdly attractive, and a bolt of desire shot right through Helena. Her lips parted in a gasp that she managed to silence at the last moment, as heat roiled inside her, turning her molten. She shifted, drawing Maxwell’s smoldering attention, which did nothing for the heady dose of lust she was battling.
“We . . . um . . . that is to say we spoke in the conservatory, but nothing happened, whatever you may have heard.” She could not admit to kissing him. She had barely managed to admit it to herself; she would not discuss it in front of his sisters.
Maxwell stared at her, and for one terrifying moment she thought he meant to betray their secret, but he lowered his eyes, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he said, “Lady Helena and I have decided to pretend a flirtation.”
“Pretend?” August piped up. Apparently, even she had thought it had been real last night.
But could Helena blame her for the mistake? She herself had got so caught up in the game that she had kissed him. It was mortifying! She had to do a better job at keeping her attraction to him under control. He wanted children, children she could not give him, and he lived in New York. This would not do at all.
“Yes,” Maxwell saved her by answering. “Papa wants me involved with someone by the end of the year, and it seems expedient to let him believe that Lady Helena and I have developed a relationship.”
“But why?” August shook her head. “Why must he be led to believe anything? He wants you married, but you are your own man, Max. He’d hardly be able to force a marriage on you.”
“That is true, but he could make things unpleasant if he believes I’m not proceeding down that path. We never thought he and Mother would force both of you into marriage, but here we are. With his health as precarious as it is, I believe it is better, easier, to play along for a while until he recovers.”
August pursed her lips in thought, and Helena could almost hear the gears churning in her head as she tried to poke holes in her brother’s logic. She was too inquisitive for this sort of subterfuge, but they could not come out and tell her of the awful ultimatum her father had delivered.
“This seems extreme,” Violet said into the silence. “To what extent will this go on?”
Maxwell cleared his throat. “Well, before I leave for New York, I’ll propose, and Helena will accept. Once Papa is better, likely by spring, we’ll call the whole thing off.”
Neither of the sisters appeared convinced.
“Let me see if I understand this,” August said. “You’ll court Helena, and convince all of her friends and family that you are in love, and then you’ll call it off in a few months?”
Put like that, she did make it sound radical.
The moment Maxwell opened his mouth to reply, Helena took over, positive that if given half the chance he would explain his theory of want versus love and she would be a puddle of mortified jelly by the time he finished. “Yes, that is what your brother means, but that isn’t precisely the whole story. You see—and Violet might have already explained to you—the London Home for Young Women is in trouble. My father, bless him, has made it known that he doesn’t entirely approve of the endeavor and some . . . well, several . . . most”—she winced at the truth of the word—“of our donors have decided that now is not the time to give to such a cause. It is my belief that with a strong male figure at my side lending his support, my father will come around and his friends will come with him.”
“I’m certain I could persuade a few donors on my own, as well,” Max added, his voice firm and deliberate.
The proof of his support settled within her like hot chocolate on a cold winter morning. She did her best not to savor it, but that was impossible.
“Do you really believe that your father will come around so easily?” August asked, raising a skeptical brow.
“Papa has been after me to entertain the idea of another marriage for a while now. I do believe this will help. There’s also the issue of it being somewhat unsavory for a single woman to support women who some believe have questionable moral character. Mr. . . . um, Maxwell will serve as a buffer temporarily. Once things are up and running, and we call off the arrangement, it will be too late because everyone will see how well the charity is working.”
The room was silent for a moment too long. Sweat prickled the back of her neck. Taking a linen napkin from the table, she discreetly patted her mouth. She felt as if she were under interrogation and losing the battle with the truth, though she couldn’t understand why. Everything she had just said was entirely accurate. No one had to know that she had secretly, at some point, developed an interest in Maxwell that went beyond the rules of their ploy. Not even twenty-four hours later and she was already on the edge of failing.
“I suppose that makes sense.” August picked up a biscuit and took a bite as she continued to turn the issue over in her mind.
Violet looked pensive, but also a bit sad. “I know it was no secret that I wanted you two to . . . well, you know . . . but for some reason this makes it seem even less likely to happen.”
“It was never going to happen, Violet.” Maxwell’s voice was flat, making him sound bored.
Helena tried not to let his words hurt her, but they did. “It simply doesn’t make sense, dear. We live in two separate worlds.” Maxwell straightened a bit, prompting Helena to add, “He wouldn’t want to move to London, and I’m afraid I’m in no position to leave,” lest there be some mistake in what worlds she meant.
“That brings up an interesting point,” August said. “What of your father, Helena? I know that you want him to come around with your charity, but I daresay Lord Farthington will not want Maxwell as a son-in-law. I’m certain he’d want a titled noble for you. This could all backfire if he can’t be persuaded.”
“I have made it known that if I do marry again, I will choose my own husband. He has had years to come to terms with this, and I would never select a titled gentleman.” They all seemed to look at her in question about this, so she hurried onward so she wouldn’t have to answer them. “I don’t anticipate a problem.”
The conversation continued for some time after. August or Violet would volley questions, and she or Max would answer them. By the time Helena walked the sisters to the door later, she was convinced that they might actually be able to pull this off. It was only when the door closed behind them and she turned to see Maxwell waiting for her in the doorway of the drawing room that her earlier doubts began to resurface.