His wife. Once an idea that had seemed very far removed from where he was, now it felt right. He wanted Helena to be his wife.
* * *
• • •
Max was on his way to Helena’s townhome almost before he realized he meant to go. It wasn’t the dinner hour yet, but it was outside regular calling hours. His visit wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of acceptable etiquette, not that he gave a damn about that except for how it would impact her reputation. But it was too early still to sneak in through her drawing room door, and he had to see her.
Huxley appeared startled when he opened the door to find Max standing there. “Mr. Crenshaw?”
“Is Lady Helena at home?” When there was a pause, Max added, “I understand this is highly irregular.”
“Apologies, sir, your attendance wasn’t expected.”
It was a strange statement, but he stepped back and allowed Max to enter. As soon as he was within the house, he could hear Helena’s voice along with several others coming from the room that faced the street. The door was closed, so he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Max had only ever seen the drawing room at the back of the house and had no idea what the front room was. He did, however, have the distinct feeling that he was interrupting. That perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to barge into her home.
“Huxley, I—” It was too late. The man was already swinging the door open.
The room was larger than her intimate drawing room and more formal. While decorated in the same apple greens, creams, and golds as the rest of her home, the gold won out here as the principal color. This was primarily accomplished with the gilded carving in the paneling on the walls and which encircled the edges of the ceiling. The massive mantelpiece was white but gilded with a whimsical display of gold leaves along the top, mirroring the flowers and leaves inscribed along the panels on the wall. Despite the abundance of gold, it was tastefully done so as not to be overpowering, with the delicate pieces of rosewood furniture upholstered in pale greens and creams placed strategically throughout the room. There were two groupings of settees and chairs with a round table covered in a tablecloth and set with a decadent spread of cakes, sandwiches, and pastries. Every available seat in the room was occupied by a woman, including both of his sisters. Every seat except for the one Helena had likely vacated.
Helena stood at the head of the room near the fireplace. She looked as surprised as he felt. She wore a two-piece walking dress in the new elongated-waist style that exhibited her shapely hips so well. It was a deep, rich blue that somehow perfectly matched her eyes and set off the pale beauty of her hair. She was so gorgeous that he lost his breath.
“Mr. Crenshaw! What a pleasant surprise. Helena, you didn’t tell us he was expected.” This was said by Lady Blaylock, a woman he vaguely remembered to be a lifelong friend of Helena’s mother, the one who had pulled her funding for Helena’s charity. She sat on one of the settees with another woman he didn’t recognize.
For a long and increasingly awkward moment, neither he nor Helena spoke. He hadn’t been expected, and it would be the height of impropriety to come visit after calling hours with so many guests aware of it.
“I wasn’t certain that I could come,” he finally hedged, having no idea what he walked into.
Regaining her composure, Helena gave him a strained smile as she walked over to greet him. “I am happy you’re here.” Despite the barely thwarted faux pas, there did seem to be a genuine glimmer of happiness in her eyes. “Sir Phineas was kind enough to invite some of his friends here to listen to me speak about the home we’re building.”
Max whipped his head in the direction she indicated. There Sir Phineas sat at the table laden with treats, cup of tea in hand and a broad smile on his face. Max had somehow missed him the first time. He seemed pleased to see Max, setting his tea down and standing to greet him. “You’re just in time,” the man said, retaking his seat. “Helena was about to go over her plans for the London Home.”
“Everyone, I would like to present Mr. Maxwell Crenshaw, a very dear friend,” she said to the room at large.
He greeted everyone, aware of a murmuring that was sweeping through the space.
“You could take my seat,” she said, indicating the vacant chair next to Sir Phineas.
Of course she had been sitting next to Sir Phineas. A hollow pang of jealousy churned deep within him, but he managed to ignore it as he sat down. A young maid appeared from nowhere and set a cup and saucer on the table before him. She wasn’t the typical footman he had come to expect at such gatherings, and he couldn’t help but smile at his sister’s influence. Violet had famously staffed her own London home with maids hired from Helena’s charity, much to the scandal of all the old-fashioned types who believed that only men should serve guests in drawing rooms and dinner tables. Or perhaps it was Helena who had influenced his sister. Max had only ever seen the Huxleys when he’d come over, which made him realize that he didn’t know as much about Helena as he wanted.
Over the course of the next hour, Helena spoke about her ideas for the London Home for Young Women. Guests would interrupt to ask questions or for clarification, and the discussion would veer into a tangent until Helena skillfully brought it back on track. Sir Phineas asked the occasional question, but mostly he watched her with clear admiration and nodded along. Near the end, all the nodding made Max suspicious that the man had heard this all before.
When she took off the covering that had been draped over an as yet unnoticed stand to reveal a black-on-white drawing of the finished London Home for Young Women, Max knew that his suspicion had been correct. Unprompted, Sir Phineas stood and walked up to help her display a second page, which was an interior drawing. A hum of approval resounded in the room as Helena’s vision was brought to temporary, corporeal life on those papers.
After the man sat back down a few moments later, Max whispered, “Have you heard all of this before?”
Sir Phineas leaned over. “I proposed this idea over correspondence, and we arranged this meeting two days ago when I returned to London to prepare. I have an adequate hand, so I came up with a few drawings based on Lady Helena’s discussions with Mr. Wilson.” His gaze, full of admiration, was almost immediately lured back to Helena. “She’s marvelous, isn’t she?”
August heard the comment from where she sat in the next group and glanced over at Max with a brow raised, as if to note that he had competition.
Max ground his molars but managed to nod in agreement. Sir Phineas could claim he was only helping her all he wanted, but there was no denying the expression on his face when he looked at her. If she were Max’s actual fiancée, he would have set the man straight. As it stood now he was left seething in his unreasonable jealousy, perfectly aware that it was an unwanted emotion, but unable to stop it.