The questions made a hollow open in Max’s chest that he preferred not to think about too much. He was leaving for New York soon, so none of those answers really mattered. Excusing himself, he went to his father, who was sitting in an overstuffed chair holding court on the far side of the room. It took some cajoling and a bit of scowling, but ten minutes later they were making their way up the stairs.
“Millie tells me that you’ve seen Lady Helena several times this week,” his father said, referring to Max’s mother.
“Has she?” Max was intentionally noncommittal. He walked a razor’s edge of plausibility: too agreeable and their relationship would seem suspiciously convenient; too obstinate and it would seem forced.
“Are you considering her?” Papa’s voice was calm and difficult to read, but his breathing was labored.
“Considering, yes. I haven’t made a decision.” Max grimaced inwardly at the difficulty his father seemed to have navigating the stairs. They were almost to the top, and he held on to Max’s arm with more force than when they had started.
“I’m surprised.”
Max paused at the top of the stairs to give his father a moment to catch his breath. “Why? She’s attractive, reasonably wealthy, from a respectable family.”
“No, no, you misunderstand. She’s entirely suitable; it isn’t that. It’s . . . well . . . to be honest, you didn’t seem to get on well back in the spring.”
Damn. He’d hoped his parents had been too blinded by their triumph in adding another nobleman to the family to have noticed that. “I wouldn’t say that. She was instrumental in finding Violet. I very much appreciated her assistance. Besides, when did you ever see us together?”
“The wedding breakfast. I admit that I watched you both, hoping to see interest there.” At Max’s questioning look, he added, “You’d spent considerable time alone together traveling North. A father can hope.”
Max stifled a curse. Apparently, even his plan to thwart his father’s wishes was playing into the man’s hopes. This was what he’d wanted, but galling nonetheless. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, leading his father toward his room whether he wanted to go or not.
“What has changed?” His father persisted in his questioning.
“Nothing has changed. I was interested in Helena before. How could I not be? She’s beautiful and intelligent. The coldness you saw was on her part.”
Papa was quiet as they made their way into the room. A fire blazed in the hearth, making the bedroom almost too hot. Gibbs, his father’s valet, stepped forward, but Papa held up his hand to ask for another moment as he sat gingerly on the side of the bed.
“It came from her.” Papa mulled this over before he nodded. “What happened to change her mind?”
Max stood looking down at his father. He could say that he’d written letters to her. That he’d charmed her. That he’d won her over with his wit and grace. Even if those were all true, Papa wouldn’t believe them. There was only one thing the man respected, and though a lump formed in Max’s stomach, he said it. “I donated to her charity.”
“You clever boy.” A smile of pride twisted the older man’s lips. “They always say that blood will tell, but they’re all wrong. It’s money. It doesn’t even take all that much to show a person’s true nature.”
Max refrained from agreeing as his stomach churned, souring on his father’s satisfaction. This was the man who raised him. This was the man who taught him all he knew about the world. This was the man who had agreed it was best for Max to spend his summers working in the heat of their factories so that he would understand the challenges their workers faced. When once Max would have agreed with almost everything he said, now they were falling more and more out of step. The past year had Max questioning everything he thought he knew about his family, his business, and their legacy.
“I have to get back downstairs.” He turned without another word.
“If you’d like a bit of alone time with the fair lady, you have my blessing.”
Max closed the door harder than necessary, a common occurrence these days as nausea roiled through him. His earlier base thoughts about her came back to haunt him, shaming him in how they so completely aligned with his father’s words. She deserved more than to be a convenient answer to his father’s demented schemes. She deserved more than to be even momentarily allied with his family, who would only use her for their purposes. She deserved more than him. A sudden need to protect her came over him.
He walked down the stairs with a newfound purpose—to save her from the folly of their plan. It wasn’t too late. He would find her, release her from their agreement, and apologize for ever trying to bring her into this chaos that had become his family. With the plan for the building almost certain to move ahead, they were almost at the point where Papa couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.
Only, when he got downstairs, he couldn’t find her. The party had trickled out like spilled tinsel, taking up parts of the music room, the drawing room, another sitting room, and the dining room. The accompanist played Chopin’s “Nocturne in E Minor,” and the music floated around the house, lending the evening an air of romance. Voices hummed in low conversations.
“Louise!” His mother laughed at something her friend had said. Her voice came from the dining room, so he headed in that direction, in case Helena had made her regrets and left. As he approached, Mother stood in profile just within the open door, a small circle of three women surrounding her. “Not so loud,” she was saying. “Nothing is decided yet. You know it’s all rumor.”
Lady Louise Ashcroft, a close friend of his mother’s, said, “Yes, I’m well aware of that, but we all know there is a little truth in every rumor.” The woman’s voice was as devilish as his mother’s. Max bristled, certain they were talking about him and Helena.
“I cannot confirm it, but neither can I deny it,” his mother said, setting off a round of tittering.
Lady Ashcroft touched his mother’s shoulder with the tip of her fan. “Be careful there. We all know the lady in question to be virtuous, but that business with the fallen women is rather undesirable. None of us can understand what she’s thinking.”
His mother murmured something too low for him to overhear, but he paused in his approach, anxious to know where this was going.
“Your daughters are married, but what of your grandchildren?” Lady Ashcroft’s voice was insistent. “If they marry, you will have to worry about the influence of those women on the children. I don’t care what anyone says. Immorality is a stain that cannot be washed away with a new beginning.”
A woman he couldn’t see murmured in agreement, adding, “I believe her heart is in the right place, but those women will always be wicked. There is no saving them.”