He glanced up at her, an unreadable expression on his features. “Yes.” Demeanour quiet, he started up the stairs.
His gloom cast a pall upon her excitement. “Is aught wrong, Maxim?”
“No. Why would anything be wrong?”
“I do not know. That is why I asked.”
“Nothing is wrong, Alexandra. I am happy for you.” He gave her a tired smile.
“Oh. Good.”
He said nothing as they traversed the passageway, as they left the housekeeper’s chamber, as she wrote her notes in the library.
And he said nothing as they climbed into bed, as she kissed him, as he fell asleep by her side.
Chapter Ten
MAXIM STARED OUT THE window. Bright sunshine greeted him, the sky an endless blue, the lawn easing into the dark green glade. Gently sloping hills blocked the horizon and, over those hills, was Bentley Close.
Arms folded, he stared at where Bentley Close would be. It wasn’t far, not above a half hour’s walk. He remembered making that trek many times, sometimes with Alexandra, sometimes because he wanted to see her. A torrent of memories had returned to him, and Alexandra featured prominently in nearly all of them. Investigating the secret passages of Waithe Hall. Fishing at the lake. Playing cricket on a summer’s day. Holed up in the library while it snowed outside. He also remembered their townhouses in London and traversing through the connecting attic to sneak into her bedchamber. He remembered running through Hyde Park, holding her items as they shopped on Oxford Street, sharing an ice in Convent Garden. He remembered her.
Restlessness turned him from the window to stalk the room. The pile of books on the table beside his chair beckoned, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to focus. His attention was scattered, such he couldn’t keep two thoughts in his head, and agitation made it feel he would jump out of skin.
And all because Alexandra sat in her chair, a lock of hair twisted around a finger.
Notebook in lap, she scribbled in it of an occasion, her pencil between her teeth as she thought. She hadn’t left, even though she’d found the keys, even though there was no reason for her to stay. They’d woken this morning, broken their fast, and she’d taken residence in the library while he’d hauled the sandbags in the conservatory out into the sun to dry. He’d fully expected her to be gone when he returned, or at least with her bag packed and ready to leave, but she’d still been in the library, in her chair, bent over her notebook.
Picking up one of the books, he flipped it open. The words were jumbled and wrong. Frowning, he tried again. Just when he thought it made sense, he lost it. Frustrated beyond measure, he was tempted to throw the book across the room, but that wouldn’t fix the problem. It wouldn’t fix him.
Alexandra scribbled something in her notebook.
He didn’t understand why she was still here. Why wouldn’t she just leave? This was the worst part, the waiting. He knew she would. He knew she would leave, and she wouldn’t come back. He’d never ask her to stay. What was the point? He’d lose her, no matter what he did. Even if he went back to London with her, if he attempted society, she would quickly discover how broken and wrong he was. When his brothers saw him again, they would remember their father’s words, and he would see pity in their eyes, in Alexandra’s eyes, and they would stay with him because it was bad form to abandon a fool, but he would know, he would know that was the only reason they stayed, and he would resent them, and they would resent him, and he’d rather she just left now and be done with it.
God damn it, would wouldn’t she leave? “I won’t go to London,” he said abruptly.
She blinked. “Very well,” she said, and returned to her notes.
She wasn’t listening. “I mean it. I have no desire to move amongst society.”
A crease forming between her brow, she looked up. “Neither do I.”
His chest felt tight. Why was it so tight? “I will tell my brothers, but that is the extent of it. I may even tell them by letter.”
“Your brothers will be pleased. However, I would suggest telling them in person.” She pursed her lips. “Actually, perhaps send a letter before you appear. I should think it would be less shocking that way.”
He stared at her. She didn’t understand. “But I won’t return to London. I will stay here.”
“I have already agreed.” She looked back at her notebook. “I don’t think these notes are detailed enough. Do you think this requires further explanation?” She held out her notebook.
He looked at the notebook, then he looked at her. “I can’t read that.”
The words were stark between them. Setting his jaw, he dared her to comment.
“Of course you can,” she finally said.
“No. The letters will jumble. I cannot read,” he said flatly.
“Right.” Folding her notebook closed, she rose from her chair and went to the desk.
He followed her, restlessness biting him. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a piece of paper,” she said calmly.
God damn, he was spoiling for a fight, and she wouldn’t oblige. “I can see that. Why?”
“I wish to write a letter to our family physician. I am certain he can assist with your affliction.”
“I am not ill. I am defective.”
She expelled a breath. “Honestly, Maxim, I do not know where you get such notions. You are not defective.”
His throat seized. “My father said I was,” he forced out.
“I have no doubt your father regretted his words as soon as he said them.”
“I cannot be fixed, Alexandra.”
“I never said you could be. But if you can’t, we can find a way to work with it.” She scribbled something on the page before her.
A lump formed in his throat. “I cannot, Alexandra. I cannot inflict this on others. My brothers will resent me. You will resent me. You will grow to loathe me, and you will abandon me.” His throat tightened. “You are not to abandon me.”
“I should never abandon you, Maxim,” she said distractedly. “I should think the medical colleges in Edinburgh would be the first place to start, don’t you? George often reads their journals and he is forever spouting nonsense about this study or that. Perhaps I should write George first. What do you think?” She looked at him expectantly.
He stared at her. She continued to look at him, as if what she had said had not shattered worlds. Had not shattered his world.
He looked at the books. At her pen poised over the paper. At her.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “But do you think I should write George?”
He stared at her in disbelief. Something inside him cracked and his knees gave out. Collapsing into his chair, he started to laugh.
She was out of her seat in a flash and before him. “Maxim. Are you well?”
Still laughing, he shook his head. A weight inside him had lifted, and everything seemed right for the first time in years. Since the last time he was with her. Only she would try to help him. Only she had the power to make him think she could.
“Maxim?”
Shaking his head again, he wrapped his arms about her waist and buried himself in her.
Her hand feathered over his hair. “Maxim?”
Closing his eyes, he asked, “Do you love me?”
“Of course.” Her hand passed over his hair again. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I—” Cursing himself, he shook his head again. “I am an idiot.”
She kissed the top of his head. “As long as you can admit it.”
God, he could admit it. He could, because she was with him. Because she loved him. Because, he knew, she didn’t think him stupid. “How was I without you for so long?”
“Well, you were in America and you couldn’t remember anything,” she said. “That more than likely had something to do with it.”
This woman. All his life, it had been her. “You have to marry me,” he said.
“You know,
I think I might,” she said slowly. She threaded her fingers through his hair. “I have missed you.”
“I have missed you.” Tugging her down to him, he captured her lips, telling her without words she was all, she was everything, and he was so glad she put up with his nonsense. Another tug and she was in his lap, cradled in his arms as he kissed her and kissed her.
With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. He watched as she played with his hand, measuring their palms, lacing their fingers. “You are not to think yourself stupid, you know. We can work on it. I’ve seen you with the books. The desire is there. We will conquer this.”
He ducked his head. Her hair smelled of lemons and sunshine. How, he had no clue. “I should go to my brothers, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes.”
His lips twitched. “Not even going to argue, are you?”
“No.” She turned to face him more fully. “They are your family. They deserve to know. Besides, everyone needs their family.”
“You need your family, because your parents are normal and your siblings love you. I’m not sure I need mine.”
“Your brothers might surprise you.”
“Doubtful.” But it didn’t mean he shouldn’t try. Especially as she was with him.
They were silent a moment. “Will you stand beside me?” he asked.
Their gazes met. She took his hands in hers. And then she smiled. He felt it all the way to the bottom of his soul. “Always.”
Epilogue
Northumberland, England, April 1835
THE GARDENS AT WAITHE Hall were in full bloom. Spring had bludgeoned Northumberland, flowers and blossoms rioting aggressively across the dales to bob gently in the warm breeze.
Tossing the cricket ball from hand to hand, Charlotte scowled at her cousin. “Holly, you are not paying attention.”
Holly started. “What?” Then, clearly remembering her manners and they would more than likely be forced to be ladies when they grew up, amended, “Pardon?”
Charlotte brandished the ball. “I could have thrown this at your head and you would have been none the wiser until you were laid flat on the ground, unconscious.”
“If you had laid me out, unconscious, I would still be none the wiser.”
Holding the ball in one hand, Charlotte crossed her arms and scowled. “That’s neither here nor there.”
Holly made no reply, instead smirking horribly and generally being wholly disagreeable. She completely ignored the fact she had been disagreeable in turn.
Folding her arms, Charlotte’s other cousin rolled her eyes. “Holly never pays attention,” Davina announced.
“Oh, you are here, Davina? I could have sworn you were a tree. You’re certainly rooted to the spot like one,” Holly said snidely.
Davina stuck out her tongue.
Their families had gathered at Waithe Hall to celebrate her, Davina and Holly’s birthdays. They would turn thirteen within days of each other, and their families always used it as an excuse to spend time at the ancestral seat of the Earl of Roxwaithe, Holly’s father and her and Davina’s uncle. Her grandparents were in attendance at Bentley Close, along with her aunts and uncles and cousins from her mother’s side. They made the short walk to Waithe Hall most days, but tomorrow was the birthday party and all would be in attendance, along with the friends she, Davina and Holly had invited.
For now, they were occupying themselves with a rousing game of cricket. They’d found the cricket bat, stumps and ball amongst other playthings in the nursery and so far, Charlotte had smashed the ball for six and come within a hairsbreadth of shattering a window pane. Not to be outdone, Holly had come perilously close to having to fish the ball from the lake when a particularly impressive turn at the crease had seen her pile on three fours and two sixes in an innings. She’d been overenthusiastic on her last whack, the ball careening wildly over silly mid-on toward the water’s edge. Luckily, a bunch of reeds stopped the ball in ankle-deep water and it was easily retrieved. Davina had elected to field and had spent the game standing in one spot, arms crossed and examining her nails.
Currently, they were happily sledging each other as Charlotte stepped up to the crease opposite Holly to bowl.
“You couldn’t hit this ball if you tried,” Charlotte called, tossing said ball from one hand to another.
“I will hit the ball and, what’s more, I will smash another six,” Holly boasted.
Gaze glued to her nails, Davina snorted
Charlotte smirked. “I should like to see you try.”
“I shall try as hard as Aunt Alexandra tried to find the Sewell ghost last night.”
Charlotte drew in her breath. Her mother was a noted spiritual hunter and scholar, and no matter what Holly said, her mother was brilliant. “You take that back.”
Even Davina had glanced up, her eyes wide as she stared at their cousin.
“No,” Holly gloated.
Casting about for something equally heinous to say, she grasped something her brother had told her only yesterday. “Your father cried when my father returned,” she taunted.
Holly gasped. “He did not,” she said indignantly.
“He did. He was so happy Papa was not dead, he wept.”
“Now I know you’re fibbing. An earl does not weep,” Holly quoted, no doubt having heard her father say so on numerous occasions.
Stubbornly, Charlotte shook her head. “He did weep. And Uncle Stephen, too.”
“Uncle Stephen cries at the drop of a hat,” Holly dismissed.
“Don’t speak of my father that way,” Davina demanded.
Holly shot her an impatient look. “He does cry at the drop of a hat.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that!” Davina glared at her, and Holly’s breath exploded in a dismissive puff of air.
“Well, that day he cried because of my father,” Charlotte said. Everyone knew the story. Her father had been lost at sea, and everyone had thought him dead. Then, he’d returned to England, her mother had discovered him, told him he was a blockhead for hiding, and they’d all lived happily ever after. Well, apart from the fact where they’d burdened her with both older and younger brothers. Honestly, who has sons? One should have been quite enough, especially as after they’d had that one, they’d had the good sense to have her.
She looked over at their parents. Her mother stood with her father, their hands almost touching. They always stood so close, and they constantly touched one another. Every morning, her father would greet her mother at the breakfast table with a kiss, as if they hadn’t just left the same bedchamber. It was romantic, she supposed, and maybe one day she should like a husband with whom she could do the same, but she should never do so in front of their children. It really was completely unnecessary.
“Do you think they’ll kiss?” Davina said.
Charlotte made a rude noise. “Ugh, probably. They are forever doing that at home, I cannot think why they should not do it elsewhere.” She glanced at Holly slyly. “Much like the earl and the countess.”
Holly flushed. “Do not speak of my parents in that way.”
Davina laughed, and Charlotte grinned as she bowled the cricket ball at Holly.
They were in the midst of a rather invigorating innings of cricket when up the hill trudged her brother. James had found a branch from somewhere and employed it as a walking stick, stabbing it into the ground with every step. He wasn’t alone, though, and Charlotte got a strange catch in her chest as Nicholas met her gaze, his smile cheeky as he winked at her. Two years her senior, her brother’s best friend had always just been there. However, at some point over the summer, she had become intensely…aware of him, such she always knew when he had entered a room, and she stammered and acted like a bufflehead when he got near. For some reason, all had changed and now he made her breathless and tingly, and she would really rather it stop but, it seemed, it was only worsening with time. It was deuced annoying.
“You’ve gone red,” Davina
remarked.
“What? No, I haven’t. You’re red,” she said.
Davina’s brows almost shot off her face, and the most horrible smirk lit Holly’s features.
Ducking her head, Charlotte ignored them both, ignored James as he approached, and she definitely ignored Nicholas.
“I think you like him,” Holly whispered loudly.
“Shush,” she hissed. He hadn’t heard, had he? Oh goodness, please let it be he hadn’t heard. Her mother often said she’d known her father was the one for her, that they’d been friends their entire lives and had not been apart, except for when her father was lost. Her mother had said she’d looked at him upon his return and just known.
Charlotte had a horrible feeling she’d experienced the same thing.
“Hello, Charlotte,” Nicholas called, and the grin on his face made it so she knew, she knew, he had heard.
She swallowed, knowing her cheeks were flaming red. “Hello, Nicholas.”
He stopped before her, a lunatic grin on his face.
“How are you today?” she said politely.
“I am well,” he said. “Charlotte?”
“Yes?” She just wanted to sink into the ground. Right now.
“I’m going to marry you one day.”
She gaped like a fish. “I...Sorry...What?”
He kissed her cheek. “One day,” he said, and she shivered.
And, one day, after she’d made him work for it because she had some self-respect, he did.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderful family and amazing friends who have been so fantastically supportive on this journey. Thank you for taking the magnets when forced upon you, for listening to my moaning, and for letting me vent when I needed it.
Thank you, as always, to my phenomenal critique partner, editor and F4E, A. L. Darby. Cool new name, bro.
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