She looked down as if suddenly too shy to meet his gaze. “It’s none of my concern, and you don’t have to answer, but I . . . I cannot help wondering how you are so different from your parents.”
He let out a long breath. “I wish I knew. Believe me when I say I’ve asked myself the same thing many times.”
She traced his features with her gaze, studying him in a way that he found immensely appealing. “You care for the people who work for you. I don’t think one could say the same for your father.”
The truth of that made an ache develop in his chest. “No, I suppose not. It wasn’t always that way . . . or maybe it was and I only refused to see it. My grandfather, Augustus, required that my summers and any free time during the year be spent on the factory floors, the railroad yards, and the mines we owned. From the age of twelve I worked what amounted to months every year next to the men whose fate would one day be in my hands. I learned to understand them because I slept in the shacks they were meant to call home, and I ate the provisions they were given. I suppose it gave me perspective.”
“Did your grandfather not require the same of his own son?”
He shook his head. “Grandpa didn’t earn his first million until my father was almost grown. From what I understand, he spent most of his time traveling for work and building his empire. He wasn’t home very much to raise his children.”
She nodded in understanding. “Perhaps your grandfather hoped to rectify his mistakes with you.”
Max had never thought of it in that way before. He’d been so busy learning the company and analyzing all the many ways to improve it that he hadn’t ever closely considered the inner workings of his family. “Come to think of it, he was the one to suggest Papa give August a chance to prove herself.”
“He sounds like a very wise man. That must be where you get it from.” Her eyes widened as if the ease between them had taken her by surprise and she’d said too much. He nearly groaned. If she would only give them a chance, she would have to admit that they were perfect together. Before he could figure out how to say that, she squeezed his hand and rose. “I’ll go get the drawings.” Then she hurried off to the other room to retrieve them.
Something inside him had shifted in the space of the single conversation. He didn’t know how to describe it except that before, he’d been certain of himself. Now, everything inside him trembled a bit. Not quite whole until she returned, smiling in pride mixed with the slightest bit of vulnerability as she presented her work to him. He couldn’t tell her about returning to New York early now, not when it would mar her joy. He’d tell her at Claremont Hall.
Chapter 18
He said true things, but called them by wrong names.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
THREE DAYS LATER
CLAREMONT HALL
SURREY, ENGLAND
The guest list for the small annual gathering Helena’s parents held at Claremont Hall had grown considerably this year. Usually, the party consisted of Papa’s younger brother and his family, Mama’s widowed sister Lady Isabelle Fawly, Arthur’s parents, Lady Blaylock along with whichever of her children could accompany her, and Sir Henry—a childhood friend of Papa’s—and his wife. It occasionally included whichever members of Parliament Papa was hoping to influence that year. This year it had swelled to include the entirety of the Crenshaw family, the Duke and Duchess of Hereford, along with the duke’s ever-present sister, Lady Isabelle Fawly, and Lord Verick, whom Papa had invited earlier as a potential suitor for her.
Everyone except for Max and his parents were here already. Helena had arrived yesterday along with August and Violet and their husbands. They had spent the afternoon collecting sprigs and holly clippings. Today most of the women were assembled in the conservatory at long tables to make wreaths and boughs to adorn the doors and mantelpieces of the estate.
Helena pulled twine through the spruce needles arranged artfully before her, tying them sprig by sprig to the circular wire frame to make a wreath. She wasn’t feeling very inspired, mainly due to her lack of concentration. Every sound from outside had her jumping, her neck craning as she looked out the window hoping to see a carriage coming up the drive.
August giggled softly beside her as Helena did it yet again only to see one of the groundsmen leading a wagon from the stables. “Their train arrived a little while ago if it’s on schedule. He should be here soon.”
There was no need to define who she meant. “I’m not concerned.”
No, she was anxious and excited, butterflies flapping in her stomach like mad to see him again. The past few days apart had only seemed to whet her appetite for the sight of him. She constantly struggled with her decision to keep him at arm’s length when being with him felt so good. Part of her wanted to say damn the consequences and spend as much time alone with him as she could; part of her wanted to protect her already fragile heart at all costs.
Camille also giggled from across the table where she worked next to Violet on one end of a bough, her knowing glance drifting from August to Helena. “Has he actually proposed yet?”
Lady Sansbury, Arthur’s mother, glanced up in irritation at all the laughter from a table the older women were gathered around. She had become even more severe since his death.
“No, not yet.” Helena shifted, uncomfortable with openly discussing the ruse they were pulling over on Society.
“You’re very lucky, you know,” Camille said, keeping her voice low so that it wouldn’t travel past their small group. “Every girl in Manhattan wants him for herself.”
Helena wasn’t surprised. He was handsome, wealthy, thoughtful, and kind, the type of husband anyone would want.
Violet made a face. “Not every girl.”
“Every girl.” Camille nodded with confidence. “Amelia would give her right hand to have him.”
“Amelia? No.” Violet’s tone made it sound like a vast betrayal.
August laughed and explained to Helena, “Amelia is a friend of Violet’s and Camille’s. She practically grew up in our home.”
“And she doesn’t want to marry Max,” Violet said.
“I’m afraid I agree with Camille’s assessment on the matter,” August intervened. “If you’d have seen her at my wedding party in New York, you’d know. She had eyes only for Max, and even asked him to dance.”
Camille smiled wistfully. “She always liked him. Truthfully, I did, too. Why do you think I arranged to be over whenever he came home from Princeton on breaks?”
“Et tu, Camille?” Violet shook her head. “This is the same boy who put lizards in our shoes.”