It was definitely heartbreak.
Chapter 19
I’m not going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve.
Emily Brontë
The next morning Helena seemed to be avoiding him and Max didn’t know what the hell to do about it. At first her evasion was innocuous. After breakfast, she gathered her four nieces and nephews along with her sisters, Violet and Camille, and set about decorating every door, window, and mantelpiece with the greenery that had been collected and arranged before his arrival. Instead of joining, he and August sat ensconced in the study with their father, Lord Farthington, and Hereford discussing how Max should handle the threat of a strike back home. Max had no idea what Hereford lent the conversation aside from condescension since he owned not one factory, nor did he run any sort of business operation aside from the small fortune Camille had brought to their marriage. That didn’t stop the man from passing ill-advised judgment on Max.
Max would have much rather joined Helena, because he had already telegrammed New York with his plans to negotiate, and he would not resort to his father’s heavy-handedness if it could be avoided. Also, as the hours ticked by on the clock, he was disturbingly aware of how very little time he had with her. He wasn’t such a fool that he thought in the short days left to him he could convince her to marry him, but he had hoped to quietly press his case by building on what was already between them.
In the late afternoon, when he and August had managed to escape the study, Helena had been nowhere to be found. It was only after tracking down his mother that he had been told she had taken the group sledding in the hills beyond the estate. That was a sight he very much wanted to see, but he was halfway to the stable when they came back, the happy squeals of the children preceding them around the bend in the drive. Since there was only a light snow on the ground, most of the children were covered in a fair bit of mud when they came into sight. Helena was smiling and laughing with Penelope and Camille, despite the mud visible on the hem of her skirts.
The other women fell away as he walked up to the group, leaving him to talk to Helena. “I had hoped to join in the sledding.”
She smiled, but it was lacking any real warmth. “You didn’t miss very much. Unfortunately, there was hardly any sledding to be had. I knew before we left there wasn’t enough snow for proper sledding, but I allowed myself to be tempted by the children.”
The rumble of wagon wheels drew his attention to the path behind her as a groom drove the vehicle laden with sleds and paraphernalia. In that time, she walked around him toward the house. He hurried to catch up with her, falling into step beside her. “I’d like a few minutes of your time today to talk.”
Smile in place like a shield, she shook her head. “Perhaps after dinner? I’m such an absolute mess right now that I’m afraid I’ll miss tea. I’m due belowstairs later to help Mrs. Harding with the menu.”
He paused, taken aback by her renewed coolness toward him. He thought they had worked past this, and then that kiss last night . . . He didn’t know what to think of her. Before he could say anything, she continued walking. “After dinner, then,” he called after her.
She waved but didn’t look back. That’s when he knew for certain that she was avoiding him on purpose.
He could only explain his behavior later in the evening as a combination of both angry frustration with his father and despair that he was losing Helena.
Dinner was the same as the night before, a relaxed and lighthearted affair. Instead of the typical long table, there were several large round tables in the room, and guests were encouraged to sit where they wanted. It wasn’t something Max would have expected from the usually formal Lord and Lady Farthington, but he gathered it was a tradition started long ago and no one had the impudence to change it. Instead of being escorted into dinner, the women led the way and the men followed, taking seats where they were available. It didn’t escape his notice that Helena had positioned herself at a table without additional chairs. Therefore, he found himself seated next to his sisters and brothers-in-law. No one but him seemed to think this was odd.
He participated in the conversations around him to a reasonable degree, neither too talkative nor sullen. Afterward, he remembered that he had spoken to Evan and Christian about Britain’s recent purchase of a share of the Suez Canal, but he could not recall the particulars of the conversation. He existed at the table, there but not present, barely eating, preferring to sip his scotch instead as he stole glances at Helena and the ring on her finger.
After dinner, the women left, and Farthington, Papa, Hereford, and Helena’s brother, Viscount Rivendale, joined him, Evan, and Christian at their table. Christian handed him one of the cigarettes he favored but rarely indulged. Max could taste the sweet and bitter tobacco on his tongue, but it existed as somehow separate from himself. He wanted to go find Helena for their talk, except Farthington seemed determined to keep up their discussion from earlier about the potential strike.
“Your problem here in England, Farthington, is that you allowed your workers to organize,” said Papa. “We are doing everything possible in Congress to stop that from happening in America. Nothing good comes of it, as you’ve well seen.”
Before Farthington could answer that, Max said, “You’re lying to yourself if you believe your lobbying will stop progress.”
Papa looked over, anger lining his brow. “Progress? If we allow our own workers to dictate to us how to operate our company, then all will be lost. That is hardly progress in my book.”
“Indeed,” Farthington put in. “These unions were approved with the expectation that they would benefit both employers and employees, and yet we’ve seen time and time again that they eat into profits that could be put to better use in improvements and advancements.”
“Improvements and advancements?” Max kept his voice steady, but he wasn’t inclined to sit through a repeat discussion so similar to the one from this afternoon. “Don’t you mean profits that could be better put to use lining your pockets?”
Farthington raised a brow and glanced at Papa. “That’s not what I said. These workers claim they want safety but in the same breath demand higher wages. They would run our factories to bankruptcy if we gave in to all of their demands.”
“They want to work in relative safety and earn a living wage. Those two shouldn’t be mutually exclusive,” Max said.
“Philosophy is all well and good, Max, but as leaders in industry, we ultimately decide what is best,” Papa said. “You squash that rebellion with force, and mark my words, we won’t have trouble for years to come.”
“I will not use force unless force is used against us, and even then only in defense.” His voice rose a bit with that, prompting Evan to put a hand on his shoulder. “Where would we find more men willing to work for us if we brutalize those who do?”