by Merry Farmer
Lady Bardess clearly didn’t know how to respond to the mix of command and acquiescence. “Well, I suppose we could just start the concert,” she huffed. She turned and glanced across the room to a man Max recognized as her butler. “Chambers.” She snapped her fingers at the man. “Begin the concert.”
The butler nodded to Lady Bardess, then proceeded to the dais at the front of the room. “My lords and ladies,” he announced in a booming voice. “If you would kindly take your seats, the concert will begin.”
Max watched as the buzzing room of aristocrats broke off their conversations and rushed to get the best seats. He had an easy time predicting which of the society mavens would rush to sit at the front, which would hide at the back, making eyes at their illicit lovers, and who would nestle in the middle so that they could fall asleep without being noticed. What surprised him was the way George sauntered to an aisle seat near the very front. George noticed Max, but failed to acknowledge him in any way whatsoever.
Max stayed right where he was, a few feet from Stephen’s side, watching the whole thing like an outsider. He should have been in the thick of the crowd with the guests by right of birth, but in his heart, he knew he didn’t belong there. He was something other, something not quite suitable for fine society. He hadn’t fit with their lot for years.
With a warm flash of shock, he realized that he did belong somewhere after all. He belonged right where he was, standing against the wall beside a ramshackle group of orphan girls. He belonged by Stephen’s side, regardless of title or wealth or any of the external trappings of birth that had been thrust upon him. He was so certain of his place that he didn’t even mind the curious looks darted his way by old school chums or friends of his siblings. The world of the people sitting in the chairs in front of him should have been his own, but it wasn’t. He’d always been on the outside, but with Stephen by his side, the outside felt right.
“We have a new addition to our yearly concert this year,” Lady Bardess was in the middle of saying from the dais, where she’d quickly taken over from her butler. “Please give a warm welcome to the girls of the Briar Street Orphanage.”
Lady Bardess held out a hand to Stephen’s girls as her guests applauded. Stephen, Mrs. Ross, and Annie quickly shuffled the girls to the dais, where Annie took a seat at the piano, her eyes going wide at the magnificence of the instrument. Across the room, Sister Constance stared daggers at Stephen, likely for what she would consider stealing the prime spot in the concert’s order.
The girls sang magnificently, much to Max’s relief. Far better than they had at his father’s house. Even George seemed more interested, though the way he studied the girls with a look of appraisal set Max’s teeth on edge. Stephen beamed with pride at the girls through the entire concert. Max watched him rather than the girls, unabashedly nursing the affection he had for the man. He found himself in serious danger of unmanning himself at one point during a quaint, old love song when Stephen peeked in his direction and met his eyes. The electricity that passed between them was so potent that Max had to force himself not to look in Stephen’s direction for the remainder of the concert in order to protect both of their reputations.
As soon as the girls were done singing, the two footmen from the hall ushered them off the stage and into the hall while Mr. Chambers, the butler, escorted Stephen and Mrs. Ross back to the side of the room where Max stood. For a moment, Stephen looked as though he would follow his girls, but the butler wouldn’t allow it. He twisted and turned to watch them as they left while Sister Constance’s choir was introduced and took to the stage. Max was certain that the only thing preventing Stephen from charging off after the girls was the fact that Annie slipped out to the parlor with them.
“Don’t worry too much,” Max whispered to Stephen once they were standing side-by-side again, as Sister Constance led her choir in a series of hymns. “Annie will keep them from stealing everything in the room and tearing down the wallpaper.”
Stephen managed a weak smile for the quip, but Max could tell he was on edge.
That edginess stayed with him, like an aura Max could sense, as Sister Constance’s children finished their performance and were whisked out of the room, the same as Stephen’s girls had been. And similarly to Stephen, Mr. Chambers made certain that Sister Constance and her nuns stayed in the conservatory.
“Now,” Lady Bardess said, taking the stage again and smiling at her guests. “I’m sure you would all like to approach the leaders of these lovely choirs with questions about their dear, dear orphanages and ways to donate money to them. Off you go.”
The room erupted into chattering conversation as soon as Lady Bardess ended the official entertainment. Within seconds, Stephen and Mrs. Ross at one side of the room and Sister Constance and the nuns at the other side of the room were inundated with curious and questioning noblewomen. The men didn’t seem particularly interested in charity of any kind. Max even spotted a few, like George, Lord Chisolm, and Lord Martindale, leaving the room entirely.
“I’ll mingle and put in a good word for you,” Max told Stephen before stepping away, intent on making his way through the crowd to drum up donations from some of his old school chums.
“I was hoping to catch you, Lord Hillsboro,” Lady Bardess said, grabbing Max’s arm and dragging him to the front of the room before he could get far.
“Lady Bardess,” Max greeted her, trying not to wince. “Your concert has been a triumph.”
“Yes, of course,” she sighed. Her face pinched into a sour expression. “I detest having so many people crawling through my home, though. And do not get me started on my reservations about having children running through the halls.” She spoke of the children as though speaking about an infestation of rats.
Max frowned, even though he was forced to do the gentlemanly thing and offer his arm to escort her on a turn around the room. “Why do you host the concert every year if you like neither children nor company?”
Lady Bardess made a noncommittal sound and shrugged. “My father, Lord Chisolm, enjoys them.”
Suspicion crawled down Max’s back. “I’d forgotten Lord Chisolm was your father.” He paused, then went on with, “Strange that he rushed out of the concert so quickly, considering how much you say he enjoys them.”
“I believe he and my brother, Lord Burbage, have some sort of business to attend to.” She brushed off Max’s implied question, stopping and turning to him with a fetching grin when they reached the corner of the room. “I’m more surprised to find you still keeping company with the orphans, Lord Hillsboro. Didn’t I hear that your father was about to be invested with a new title for service to the queen in the orient?” Her eyes sparkled with avarice.
“You know more than I do, apparently,” Max said. “I haven’t spent significant time with my family for months now. My interests lie in a more charitable direction than my father tends to be capable of.”
Lady Bardess laughed and slapped his arm as though he’d deliberately told a joke. “You are droll, Lord Hillsboro. I am eternally shocked that some fine lady hasn’t snatched you up.” Her eyes continued to glitter.
Max was so used to being hunted for sport by women seeking titles and connections that he shrugged her flirting off. “Few women are interested in a fourth son,” he said, attempting to be charming. “You should see the way they throw themselves at my brother Charles, though, after poor Elizabeth passed away last year.” In fact, he found the way the dozens of salivating noblewomen threw themselves at his still-grieving brother to be disgusting.
“Do not discount yourself as a prize, Lord Hillsboro,” Lady Bardess continued to flirt. “You are a man with charms of his own.” She traced her fingertips down the length of his sleeve, biting her lip as she did. Max couldn’t work out whether the woman truly was ignorant of how little interest he had in her or whether she was teasing him in an attempt to get him to admit his secrets.
A commotion near the door that the children had been escorted out throug
h drew Max’s attention, saving him from having to come up with a way to flirt with Lady Bardess. One of the footmen who had taken them out pushed his way through the crowd in an attempt to get to Stephen. Max watched as the man leaned in to whisper something in Stephen’s ear. A moment later, Stephen broke away from the women he was speaking to and hurried to follow the footman out of the room.
“Excuse me, Lady Bardess,” Max said, breaking away from her and dodging his way through the crowd.
By the time he arrived in the parlor, all hell had broken loose.
“Stop that at once, you little tart,” Sister Constance was yelling at Beatrice.
All Beatrice was doing was attempting to pry one of Stephen’s younger girls off of one of Sister Constance’s charges. The two girls were going at each other with fists and feet, kicking, punching, and even biting. They weren’t the only ones. The entire room was a sea of screaming, tussling, fighting children. Max could barely tell where Stephen’s girls ended and Sister Constance’s orphans began.
“He bit me!” one of the girls yelled.
“She tried to take my rock,” a boy from Sister Constance’s orphanage screamed in return.
“Someone pinched me,” another girl wailed.
Within seconds, half of the children were screaming and crying while the other half did their best to give each other black eyes and bloody noses.
Max charged across the room to Stephen, pulling fighting children apart as he did. “Looks like we should probably get them all out of here and into the carriages as fast as possible,” he said, not sure whether to laugh or turn into the disciplinarian he knew he wasn’t.
“Agreed,” Stephen said with the most ominous look Max had ever seen from him. “Make sure the carriages are by the front door and I’ll wrestle this lot into them.”
Max nodded, stepping away. He cast a look over the writhing sea of hot, angry, belligerent children, marveling at how a pack of little girls could go from sweetness and light to little hellions so quickly. He supposed that was just what children did sometimes. It was madness, but as he jerked and dodged his way through the melee to the door, racing down the hall to make sure the carriages were ready, his heart felt light. He would take a tiny battle of naughty children over the stiff and stolid arrogance of the upper classes any day.
Chapter 9
Max never would have imagined it would take so much time and effort to convince a wild pack of little girls to settle down long enough to pile into carriages and head home.
“Six to a carriage,” Stephen called over the screaming, struggling mass of girls as they ran this way and that in front of Bardess Mansion. “Hurry along, now. The quicker we settle down, the faster we’ll get home.” He shoved a hand through his hair and adjusted his spectacles, obviously at his wit’s end. “Max, fetch Ursula from the flower garden over there and get her into a carriage.”
Max nodded and leapt into action. He didn’t mind Stephen ordering him about, even though he was a viscount and Stephen was a humble orphanage headmaster. In fact, he rather liked it in ways that were best not to think about with two dozen young girls running amok all around him.
It didn’t help that Sister Constance ushered her own rabble out to the street before all of Stephen’s girls were secure in the carriages. Whatever argument had caused them to fight in the first place renewed, only outside, the children were armed with rocks and handfuls of dirt to throw at each other.
“Ivy, Lori!” Stephen shouted, managing to still appear kind and fatherly, even though he was clearly irritated. “Get away from that shrub! All of you, into the carriages.”
“I should expect nothing less from a pack of undisciplined scallywags,” Sister Constance growled as she pushed, shoved, and swatted her own orphans into another set of carriages.
“I would be happy to debate methods of childrearing with you later, Sister Constance, but not now,” Stephen told her.
Mrs. Ross wasn’t as polite. “Shut your gob, Connie. You always were an old windbag.”
“Why, I never!” Sister Constance clapped a hand to her chest, but Max was certain she was about to retaliate with equally strong words, or even a tight slap.
He didn’t get a chance to see it, though. He was too busy collecting Ursula from the flower beds by scooping her up around the waist and hoisting her under one arm like a rugby ball. He plucked Ginny from the other side of the flowers and carried her under his other arm to the lead carriage, handing them to Beatrice inside.
“Has anyone seen Jane?” he asked, striding toward Stephen, but taking a detour to catch one of Sister Constance’s boys and carry him to his own carriage.
“She’s in here,” one of the girls yelled from the middle of the line of carriages.
“As long as she hasn’t found a pair of scissors,” Max muttered.
“Quickly,” Stephen said once Max returned from delivering the boy to Sister Constance. “I think they’re all tucked inside. We should escape while we can.” The flash of mischief Max loved so much had returned to his eyes.
Max nodded to him and raced for one of the carriages, hopping inside. The ride back to Briar Street felt rather like being trapped in a sardine can filled with live sardines. The girls were restless and overexcited from the afternoon. Max was elbowed, kneed, poked, and groped so many times that he swore he would be covered in bruises. And he had never been happier.
There was another bout of frantic activity when the carriages dropped the girls off at the orphanage. The orphanage of the Sisters of Perpetual Sorrow was just up the street, and several of Stephen’s girls attempted to renew their battle by racing toward Sister Constance’s carriages as her young ones climbed down. Stephen and Max had their hands full catching them and wrestling them back into the orphanage.
“Who needs a gymnasium when they have a pack of wild little girls?” Max panted as he and Stephen managed to get the last of the girls inside and into the great hall.
“Now you know how I stay so fit,” Stephen laughed in return.
Max met the comment by raking him up and down with an appreciative gaze. “Thank God for wild orphans.”
Stephen blushed pink, his eyes dancing with desire for a moment.
“You need to feed this lot before there’s another mutiny,” Mrs. Ross said as she passed the two of them, escorting Fanny into the great hall. “Save your flirting for later.”
The woman’s frank statement was enough to sober Max. He made a horrified face at Stephen. Stephen answered with an expression that made him look like a naughty schoolboy who had just been chastised—a look that stirred Max’s blood and stiffened his cock.
“You can help me serve the stew,” Annie said, marching past them and out to the hall. Surprisingly, she glanced to Max, not Stephen. “It’s been simmering all afternoon. And I baked rolls early this morning, so those will be ready to serve too.”
Stephen nodded to Max to go with Annie. As the two of them headed down the hall to the kitchen, Max cleared his throat and shook his shoulders out, and did everything he could think of to tamp down his hunger for Stephen.
“Are you going to marry Lady Bardess?” Annie asked the second they reached the kitchen. She didn’t stop moving, heading for the large, fragrant cauldron sitting on the most massive stove Max had ever seen, but she glanced over her shoulder to him with a suspicious look.
The question caught Max off-guard. “Er…um…no, I’m not,” he answered, perplexed at how self-conscious Annie’s stare made him feel.
“It’s just that I heard someone at the concert saying that you would most definitely marry Lady Bardess, and that it would be a perfect match of wealth, position, and convenience.”
Uneasiness prickled down Max’s spine. Wealth and position were harmless words, but convenience implied far too many other things. “I’m not inclined to marry,” he said, gathering up a tray full of wooden soup bowls as Annie pointed across the room to it.
“I’m going to marry Mr. Siddel,” she said without looking at
him.
Awkward prickles inched down Max’s spine. “Are you?” he asked, uncertain whether he should encourage her fantasy or dissuade her from it. The possibility that Stephen had arranged something between the two of them for convenience’s sake also crossed his mind, bunching his shoulders and filling his gut with acid.
“Yes.” She was smiling when he brought the tray full of bowls over to her. “We’ve been intended for each other these many years now. I’m more than ready to say yes to his proposal, whenever he chooses to make it.” She sighed, lowering her shoulders. “I do wish he’d hurry.”
It was all Max could do not to visibly sigh with relief. Stephen hadn’t promised the poor girl anything. “Stephen might not be the marrying kind either,” he said carefully, loath to hurt Annie’s feelings. She was sweet, after all, and he liked her.
“Oh, he is,” Annie reassured him, her smile growing wider. “Mr. Siddel is the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever met. But I can see in his eyes that he longs for a wife.”
“Can you?” Max’s insides heated and quivered at the thought, not of a wife, but of a lifelong partner.
Annie nodded bashfully. “He is so strong on his own, but sometimes you can just tell that a man needs a mate to be perfectly happy. Mr. Siddel gives so much love to others, but I can tell that what he truly wants is for all that love to be returned to him.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Max said, losing himself in an indulgent smile. Mad as it was, considering the mountain of circumstances surrounding them, he wanted to fill that role in every way possible.
“That’s why I don’t think it will be long before he proposes,” Annie went on, ladling stew into the bowls as Max laid them out on the tray. “There’s been something different about him these last few weeks. I can’t quite put a finger on it, but he seems….” She glanced up at the stove’s chimney for a moment. “Primed,” she finished at last. “He seems ready at last.”
Max couldn’t help but interpret her words carnally. He, too, had a strong feeling Stephen was primed and ready, like a man deep in the throes of passion, just on the verge of orgasm. The comparison and the imagination of Stephen’s impassioned expression when he came had Max hard as a rock in no time. It took everything in him to concentrate and shove aside his desire to focus on serving supper.