Beginning, Section II, Next Section
When he arrived home, Max found Michelle sifting through some papers on the desk in his bedroom. He was too astonished to say anything, and only stood there with his mouth hanging open. Michelle looked up guiltily and putting the papers back on the desk, stepped away and looked at her feet.
"Hello, Michelle," he finally said in his most polite voice.
"Hello, Max. Imillian," she corrected herself hastily.
Be calm, Max.
"I cannot tell you how surprised I am to find you here."
"You've been avoiding me," she accused, unconsciously raising her chin in a defiant posture.
"And this caused you to look through my desk?" he said.
"Did you draw those?" she changed the subject slightly and pointed to the papers strewn over the desk.
"No, it was Leanardo Da Vinci," he retorted. "Of course I drew them."
Michelle blinked, but did not remark on his ill humour.
"They are very good," she commented. "This one is particularly beautiful," she said, pointing. "Who is she?"
He looked and shrugged casually.
"That is a woman I saw perform Juliet last year."
"Harriet Beech?" she guessed. He nodded silently. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and picked up another piece of paper. "I believe this is the same person," she said. He nodded again and began an examination of fingernails. Having confirmed her thoughts, she again changed the subject.
"But these are not portraits," she said, bringing forth another group of sketches. Max's embarrassment grew and he tried to snatch them from her. Not wishing to cause him too much discomfort, she let them take them from her. "I have already seen them," she informed him. "They are wonderful! Breathtaking! Have you taken any steps towards having them built?" She looked at him expectantly, and it was obvious she was not teasing him.
Max blushed deeply and looked at the different designs he had sketched for buildings. He had kept his hobby secret for years, the creative perfectionist in him not wishing to give others the opportunity to criticize his work. He would not be ashamed if he thought his sketches were good, but he could not think them worthy of praise, and only kept drawing for his own pleasure. If he was every completely satisfied with one, he would allow someone to see it, but never would he put an inferior piece in public.
"Why are you in my room?" he asked, wishing very much to change the subject. She shrugged indifferently.
"A dog got loose in the house, and I chased him in here. One of the maids took him out, but these wonderful works of art distracted me. Are you looking for a way to make them public?"
"No," he said, putting them back on the desk.
"Why not?" she cried. "They are truly wonderful!" She surveyed them again. "Well," she amended, "all except this one. This is grotesque. But the others are terrific!"
"You don't mean it," he said, a smile beginning to form.
"Yes, I do. I'm sorry, but it is grotesque. Oh, I am sorry! You were not particularly fond of it, were you?"
"No. What I meant to say is, do you really think they are good?"
"I do," she said, stepping forward to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You have a real talent, Maximillian Callahan."
"Even this one?" he asked, picking one he thought was too Gothic in nature.
"Divine!" she uttered. He had to laugh.
"You are a flatterer, Miss Stanhope."
"I never flattered anybody in my life!" she protested. "I only speak what I feel." She took a pile of papers and scattered them over the bed, leaving a space for herself to sit down with her legs tucked under her.
"Let me see. If I were going to put together a portfolio to send to a designer, or whomever you would send these to, I would definitely not include these." She pushed them carelessly over the side of the bed. "Ah!" she sighed. "But this is a must. You see the balcony? It is so romantic. I love balconies."
"Then what about this one?" he asked, taking a place on the bed next to her. "I believe I stuffed a total of twelve balconies on this one."
She guffawed.
"Twelve?! Oh, no!"
"You're right," he amended. "It was fifteen." She laughed and pulled out another design.
"Oh," she breathed. "This is exactly the sort of place I would like to live. So simple, but so ... elegant! Not too big, either." She smiled and traced the lines with her finger.
"That is my favourite, too," Max confessed, reaching to take it from her. Their fingers brushed against each other, causing them both to blush. Max looked at her and smiled abashedly. Michelle looked at him wide-eyed as her heartbeat accelerated. The thought flitted across her brain that she had never before been kissed by a man other than her father, and she licked her lips nervously.
"Mr. Callahan!" came the scandalized cry of one of the maids. Max and Michelle jumped off the bed, Max landing on his back among the flying papers.
"What is it, Nellie?" said Michelle, quickly composing herself. She pulled Max up with one hand and turned to stare at the maid.
"F-f-forgive me, sir," the poor maid stammered. "Miss. I-I only wished to tell you, M-Miss S-Stanhope, that the dog has been recovered, and its owner is d-downstairs and wishes to speak to you."
Michelle nodded and followed the maid, both blushing furiously, to the parlor. Max rubbed the back of his head and began to pick up the various papers that were now scattered all over his room. Kesler entered the room some minutes later, to begin the process of putting his employer to bed.
"Your cousins visited today," he said casually.
"Which ones?"
"The Blakeneys."
"How do you know this?"
"I had it from Mary, the maid."
Max had nothing to say on the subject, much to Kesler's disappointment. Not one to be daunted, however, Kesler waited only a few minutes before saying,
"Mr. Blakeney mentioned that he had had to let his valet go."
"I wonder why," said Max contemplatively. Kesler shrugged.
"It does not signify. Have you mentioned to them that I am looking for a new position?"
"I will," Max smiled, finally realizing Kesler's motives for this conversation. "Do you think you could handle the son of the famous Sir Percy Blakeney?"
Kesler flushed red to his ears.
"I am capable, sir."
"Of course. But have you considered he might not grant you many holidays?"
"If it does not work out, I can always quit," said Kesler neutrally.
"True. And of course a Blakeney would have better connections than a Callahan, meaning you could find yourself an even better position."
"I would not say that, sir."
"I would," said Max. "That's why I said it."
"Of course, sir."
"Would you please stop calling me `sir'? You're older than I am!"
Kesler grinned.
"Yes, sir."
Max laughed ruefully.
"I will take you with me tomorrow, when we will dine with the Blakeneyes. Will that suit you?"
"Perfectly, s--certainly," the valet finished, still shaking his head at his employer's unintended pun.
The next evening, the Callahans, Miss Stanhope, and Kesler all arrived on the Blakeney doorstep at precisely six o'clock. The butler showed them into the drawing room, not realizing that the young man in their company was merely a valet. Sir Percy and his lady had removed to Richmond, with their daughters, leaving their son and his lady in charge of the house.
Also in attendance that night were Mrs. Blakeney's other cousin, Lord Cavendar, his fiancee, Miss Dashwood, and his daughter, Lady Jocelyn Fitzwilliam. They had arrived some time before the Callahan party, and were now occupied on the loveseat, looking lovingly at each other while the little girl danced on their laps.
Christopher and Georgiana entered the room, hand in hand, and greeted their guests. Kesler looked at his feet, somewhat embarrassed, until he was addressed thusly by Christopher:
"Who is this?"
Max flushed and pulled Christopher aside.
"I heard you were looking for a new valet. Well, he is a valet."
"You brought a valet to dinner?" Christopher was astounded. Max looked at his toes. Christopher looked at Kesler speculatively, then back at Max, and smiled. "What would I want with a new valet?"
"Well.... you don't mean you already have one?" Max stammered.
"Well, no, not entirely, but..." Christopher flushed. "I have not found one necessary, since I married, and indeed, before that. It was an unnecessary expense, one I happily rid myself of as soon as my parents left...."
"You have not turned frugal?" Max prodded. Christopher started.
"Most assuredly not!" he said in his most haughty voice.
"Then why not have one, then ... for propriety!" he added on a stroke of genius.
"I'm sorry, but I really don't...."
"Please," said Max. "We have found our personalities do not suit, and he is in desperate need of a job, to help his ailing mother."
"Ailing mother, hm?" said Christopher, frowning slightly. He did not like being cajoled. "Good God, Max, you are one of the most conciliating people I know. Whose personality could possibly clash with yours?"
"At the moment, yours," said Max. Christopher's eyes lit up and he looked down to hide a grin. Max went on. "He is perfectly capable, I assure you. And he did almost specifically say he wanted to work for you."
Christopher looked up no, frowning somewhat suspiciously.
"Why?"
Max shrugged and suggested he ask him himself. Christopher looked again at Kesler, who was taking great care to not appear to notice the goings-on around him by staring blankly at the portrait of Sir Algernon Blakeney on the opposite wall. Why would a valet specifically want to work for him? His father still had something of a reputation as a dandy, but as for himself, he hoped he did not. It would probably be best to keep this person where he could see him.
He sighed heavily.
"Very well. He may work here. But I'm not promising to keep him. I don't know his mother."
Max grinned.
"That is enough. I'm sure you'll love each other."
Christopher smiled sarcastically and they went to join the rest of the party. Max whispered the news to Kesler, who shook him by the hand, thanked him, and went to wait in another room.
"What has taken you so long?" Georgiana asked when Christopher and Max rejoined them.
"Max's charities," said Christopher. "He wishes to embroil me in them."
Georgiana looked at Max and laughed.
"Surely you have no objection," she said to her husband.
"I'm afraid I am a sad charity case," said Lord Cavendar, smiling at his fiancee, who blushed. "But I will soon be put to rights, will I not?"
"And look at little Jocelyn," said Eleanor, welcoming the sociable girl into her arms. "I don't think Miss Dashwood could have done a better job on this particular charity job."
"The only fear I have," said Miss Dashwood, "is that I shall soon become bored, being a viscountess."
"Very boring, indeed!" said Michelle sincerely.
"I shall make it my first priority to see that my wife does not become bored," said David.
"Perhaps she needs another charity case," Max spoke up.
"What would you suggest?" asked Brian without the least hint of mockery in his face or voice. Max squirmed a little.
"Well, I was thinking..." he started. "The other day, I went for a walk, and I ended up in a decidedly ... colourful ... part of town. I was wondering, is there nothing to be done for the people who have to live there? I know I should hate to live there, and if it were not for the generosity of certain people who shall remain nameless, I would have to live there."
The room was very quiet when he finished. Miss Dashwood was leaning forward in her seat. Brian and Eleanor looked frankly amazed. Georgiana looked conscience-stricken, and Christopher was nodding his head slowly in agreement. Michelle smiled proudly.
"I don't know if that last part is true or not," she said. "I am sure I feel sorry for all the poor people who do have to live there, but a man of your many hidden talents, Maximillian, I feel need not fear anything of the sort."
"Hidden talents?" said Brian. "What hidden talents?"
"Talents that are so hidden," said Michelle, "that not even his dear brother knows about them. Am I right, Maximillian?"
Max blushed deeply. Brian looked at him, frowning in puzzlement. Michelle once again assumed her usual flippant air.
"Of course, I am not speaking of anything in particular, but" she winked at Max "a woman knows a man of hidden talents when she sees one."
"I dare say that is true," said Georgiana with a loving look at her own husband.
"That is an intriguing idea, Mr. Callahan," said Miss Dashwood, finally coming to herself after such an inspiring speech. "Pray, what are your ideas for correcting the conditions of the poor?"
"Ideas?" Max blanched. "I don't have any ideas."
"Well, that is perfectly all right," she smiled. "I shall have plenty before the night is out. More than enough, I dare say."
"I hope you will share them with us," said Michelle. "Even if the others are not interested, I am."
Miss Dashwood smiled brilliantly at the younger girl as she took a seat nearer to her.
"Of course I will apprise you, if you wish it."
"I do wish it," said Michelle gratefully. "And, if you please, I have already had an idea, which I would like to share with you at your earliest convenience."
"Certainly!" said Miss Dashwood, greatly pleased. Before the night was out, the two young ladies were great friends.
After dinner, the Blakeneys made the announcement (as they had the day before to the various Darcys) that they were expecting a new addition to their household. Max already knew of this, of course, but he gave his congratulations. The others in his party looked troubled, what reason Max knew not. But Eleanor looked as though she would cry, and Michelle was watching her cousin carefully while Brian kept a determined smile on his face.
"You are very blessed to be given another child," said Eleanor finally. Georgiana beamed and smiled at Christopher, failing to notice her cousins' distress. Eleanor blinked her eyes quickly to keep the tears back, but a reassuring squeeze of her hand by her husband did more to that effect.
"Do you have any preference as to the sex?" asked Max. Michelle kicked him under the table and directed his attention with her eyes to Eleanor's distressed countenance.
"No," said Georgiana.
"It will be a girl," said Christopher.
"How delightful!" said Miss Dashwood, nodding at Michelle's silent plea for help. "Will you be removing to Richmond, in the meantime?"
"Perhaps," said Georgiana. "I have not yet decided."
The conversation quickly drifted to safer topics, with the skilled help of David's feisty fiancee, and Max and Brian doing their utmost to appear to at least be attempting to be the life of the party.
When at last they went home, Max had almost convinced himself that all was well.
After the party had ended, Christopher walked out into the hall and found Kesler waiting on the bottom step, his chin resting disconsolately in his hands. Christopher smiled and, assuming a terrifyingly intimidating air, told the young man to stand. Kesler stood at attention as Christopher circled him. Finally, he stopped and grinned." No need to stand at attention, Kesler. I am not a general, and I cannot have you shot."
"Yes, sir," said Kesler, relaxing only minimally. His hands were clenched at his sides, Christopher knew not why, but accounted it to nervousness.
"I confess, I am flattered to know that I am an employer so much to be desired as to be requested by name," he said. Kesler looked at his toes as a faint flush crept up his face. Christopher changed his tack. "How old are you?"
"I am one and twenty, sir."
"So young! I have never had such a young valet. But then, I have not had a real valet in many years."
"Sir?"
"Never mind. Could you satisfy my curiosity, Kesler?" Kesler looked at him blankly. "Could you tell me why it is that I am so desirable an employer?"
Kesler seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Well, sir, your family moves in the best circles..."
"As does the Callahan tribe."
"And if you will allow me to say, sir, that you are the sort of person a valet likes to have the dressing of."
Christopher raised one eyebrow in amusement.
"Really? How so?"
Kesler flushed again, biting his lip and raising his eyes to the ceiling.
"You have a good sort of build, sir."
"As does Max Callahan."
"You are young."
"Max Callahan is younger still. And I do not see how youth is an advantage, unless you are looking for long-term employment. I am older than you, as well."
"Only just, sir," Kesler smiled.
"Well, you have not entirely satisfied my curiosity, but I suppose it will have to do," said Christopher. "I suppose whatever you received with the Callahans will be sufficient?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Your duties will actually be quite minimal. In truth, the only thing you will need to do is make sure the room is tidy, and once in a while..."
"Sir?" Kesler was puzzled. "I am not a maid. My duty is to be certain you are presentable."
"Yes, but I can very well handle that myself," said Christopher with a dismissive wave of his hand. He smiled faintly. "And when I do need help, it is not that of a valet."
Just then Georgiana came down the hall. Both men turned to look at her, thus each missed the smile on the other's face at the sight of Mrs. Blakeney. Kesler's faded somewhat when he spotted the little creature in the lady's arms.
"Christopher!" she panted. "Can you take him, please? Nanny has had a spill in the nursery, and I do not think he likes the sight. Oh, she is not badly hurt, only ... I think it frightened him. He is prodigiously fond of her, you know." She handed Matthew into her husband's arms.
"Certainly," he said, then, "Thomas Kesler, this is my wife, Georgiana Blakeney."
Georgiana nodded at him absently then said tremulously,
"I don't know what to do! Who do I call? The surgeon? She is not bleeding, but she is unconscious...."
"Certainly, call the surgeon, I suppose."
"Poor boy," said Georgiana, tracing her baby's face with one finger before she left. "These things affect him so; he hates it when people are hurt." Christopher shifted the boy's weight to his other side uncomfortably as Georgiana scuttled off. Kesler eyed the child almost disdainfully.
"Sir, is he fully ... housebroken?"
Christopher laughed.
"But of course. Kesler, will you please take him? I think I should go see what ails Nanny."
Before he had time to protest, Kesler was left standing there, holding Matthew at arm's length while Christopher headed down the hall.
"I'm not a nursemaid!" he said pettishly.
"Don't worry," Christopher threw back. "He won't do too much damage."
Kesler wrinkled his nose and looked at the boy who was looking at him somewhat tearfully.
"Come, now," he said bracingly. "There's no need to do that." He set the boy on the floor and stepped a few paces back. No sooner had he done so than the baby stuck his lower lip out and began to sniff.
"I .. want .. my .. Nanny!" he wailed. Kesler was alarmed.
"Um..." he said, bending to take the boy up again. "There, there. Oh, wonderful. I forget what your name is. No need to cry, now."
"Matty," the child sniffed.
"What?"
"Name Matty."
"Oh, that's right. Matthew. Well, no need to cry, Matthew. Your nanny will be just fine."
He patted his shoulders comfortingly and carried him in the direction his parents had gone. To Kesler's surprise, Matthew rested his head on his shoulder and held him tightly around his shoulders. Kesler could not resist smiling.
"I say, this is not so bad, after all," he murmured. Matthew sat up suddenly and pointed down the hall, and let loose a string of fast baby-language. Kesler stood still, completely stunned.
"I don't think I will ask you what you just said," he commented dryly. Matthew giggled and poked his new guardian in the nose, then rested once more on his shoulder with a thumb in his mouth.
When Christopher and Georgiana returned, they found their baby sleeping in the arms of the new valet, who had a delighted smile on his face.
Later, as they were getting ready for bed, Georgiana was commenting on her baby boy's temperament enthusiastically.
"He is very affectionate. I'm glad our next child will have such a sweet elder brother."
"He is only a baby," said Christopher, rolling over so that he was not speaking into his pillow. "My mother says I was very sweet when I was a baby."
"Oh, is that supposed to be a discouragement?" said Georgiana, bending to kiss him once.
"Perhaps," he grinned.
"I don't know that Kesler, or whatever his name is, has ever held a baby before," Georgiana commented.
"I don't think he will miss a chance again."
A few days went by, and Max was beginning to be jealous. Michelle was spending far too much time with that fiancee of Cavendar's. Every day they would meet, either at the Callahan or the Matlock house, and would talk for hours, Max knew not of what.
Brian joined him in the parlor, looking a bit drawn. Ever since the Blakeneys had announced their expectation of a new arrival, Eleanor had taken to her bed, severely depressed. Max had known that his brother and sister wanted children badly, but he had not known it had developed into this. Perhaps he did not blame Michelle quite so much for going off with Miss Dashwood. The atmosphere in the house had certainly grown oppressive.
The sky seemed to agree with him, for it had been threatening rain for the past two days. The tension in the house, combined with the humidity in the air, caused Max to feel quite sleepy and lethargic.
"Is Eleanor better today?" he asked, yawning slightly from his reclining position on the sopha. Brian did not seem to hear him, but Max was not in humour to take the trouble of repeating himself.
"Yes," said Brian abruptly. "Much better, I think. She usually is within a few days." He turned and said almost tearfully: "Dash it all, Max, I don't know what to do!" He sat heavily in a chair near the fireplace.
Max was frightened into sitting up quite quickly.
"Do?" He repeated. "About what? Why must you do anything?"
Brian shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know. It seems better than just wasting my time doing nothing. Eleanor wants a child so badly, and I have not been able to give it to her."
"It must be hard, too, not having an heir," said Max contemplatively. Brian glared at him.
"I ceased worrying about that long ago. In any case, there is always you to take on after me."
Max shook his head.
"I don't much like the sound of Sir Maximillian," he said.
"Well, I am sorry, but it looks as though you'll have to get used to it," Brian muttered. Max did not mind having his brother take his anger out on him, personally. But he did wish he had no cause to do it. He frowned, thinking, then said,
"Why don't you take her away?"
Brian snorted.
"Where, for instance?"
"It matters not. Take her home. Take her to Europe. Take her around the world. So long as you get her away from here, where she will only continue to wallow in her sorrows."
"That does sound like a good plan, Max, except for one thing. There is too much business to be taken care of at the moment for me to leave."
"What, for instance?" said Max incredulously. Brian searched for an answer.
"Michelle, for one thing."
"Good Lord!" said a voice from the doorway. "If I am to stand in the way of you taking my cousin on a much-needed holiday, I shall leave this instant!" Michelle came and put a comforting hand on Brian's arm. "I'm certain Maximillian and I can run the household tolerably well in your absence. And if we have any trouble, there are plenty of people we can call to help us. Now, I know for a fact that Eleanor has always wanted to visit Rome."
"Rome?" said Brian, grinning in spite of himself. Michelle nodded firmly.
"Yes, Rome. And when you are done with Rome, you can take her to Greece. I'm sure the ruins in Athens will be quite interesting to her. And if you are not careful, and leave this room at once, I shall talk myself into going." She smiled playfully. Brian took this as the warning it was, and quit the room. Max smiled gratefully at her.
"Thank you," he said. "He needed that."
"I know. But in all honesty, I only wanted to be alone with you."
Max raised his eyebrows, taking great care not to look as though he wanted to take this opportunity to romance her. He must remember his vow to not scare her away.
"Really?"
"Yes. Because you received an important letter in the mail today."
"Ah! And what does this letter say?"
"I don't know. What do you take me for, a person who reads other people's mail?" She handed the letter to him and stepped back a few paces. Max opened it and read. Michelle watched eagerly, biting her lip in anticipation. She was awfully disappointed to see his face go pale instead of break into a grin.
"What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.
"Who sent this?" he whispered hoarsely, clutching a piece of paper that had been sent with the letter. "Who sent him my designs?"
"I did," said Michelle. "I thought you needed some exposure. Is there anything wrong?"
"Wrong? Yes, I should say so!" he cried. "Michelle, those are my private belongings! Did I not tell you I had no desire for them to be made public?"
"Yes, but..." she stammered.
"Now, not only do I take part in a most improper hobby for a gentleman, I do it badly!" He sank into a chair and held his head in his hands.
"Let me see that letter," she grabbed it from his hand and read it, soon becoming furious. "How dare he say such things? This is a masterpiece! If I had the money, I would build it!"
"I realize you only want to assuage my feelings, but really, this is too much," he said. "`Sloppy,' `amateur,' `unrealistic,' that is what the letter says," he pointed out.
"Yes, but he contradicted himself," she pointed out. "He also said that it is `too plain and ordinary.' I think he is only uninterested either because you are not yet famous, or because he wants to see how much you really want it."
"It doesn't matter, because everything he said was true," Max said, looking critically at his `masterpiece.' "The halls are too narrow, the closets are almost as large as the bedrooms..."
"Some girls I know would find that appealing," she insisted. "I tell you, that is a breakthrough in modern architecture!" She blinked and smiled. "That is exactly what I will tell Mr. Gray when I call on him this afternoon." She turned abruptly and began to march out of the room. Max ran after her.
"Michelle," he said warningly, "I will not allow you to go down there and make a fool out of me."
"You will not be there, darling Maximillian," she dimpled. "How could I possibly make a fool out of you?"
He blinked at the endearment, but said in what he hoped was a dangerous tone,
"Give me that print. Now."
"I'm sorry, Max," she said, putting her hands behind her back and taking a few steps backwards. "But I cannot allow you to go without trying to gain something from your talent. It is not fair for you to keep it hidden away from the world, to not allow them to share it."
"They don't want it," he said grimly. "You read what Mr. Gray thought about it."
"Well, my father always told me that you cannot get anywhere in this world without a little bit of rejection. If you try often enough, sooner or later you are bound to succeed."
"If I wanted to do anything with my talent, as you call it, I would."
"No, you would not. You said yourself you are too afraid people will not like it, and laugh at you."
"Is it not a genuine fear?" he retorted defensively.
"Certainly," she replied cheerfully. "But it is not practical. Everybody has to suffer rejection once in a while. If you do not go out into the world and brave the consequences, you are little better than an ostrich!"
She turned on her heel and swept toward the stable. Max followed her.
"Michelle, give it to me! You have no right to do this!"
"Perhaps not, but somebody has to do it," she replied.
"Please," he said, bending over to catch his breath. Panic was about to set in, and he could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate. She looked back at him, alarmed.
"Max?" she said tentatively, touching his shoulder worriedly. "Are you all right?"
"No," he said on a gasp. "You are making free with my property, exposing me to ridicule and embarrassment, while the worst that could possibly happen to you is ... nothing."
"Let me get you some water," she said quickly, and did so. He took the cup gratefully and swallowed the warm liquid.
"I didn't realize it meant that much to you," she said apologetically. "I know it's hard for you to have somebody criticize your heart's work, but Max, what else are you going to do with it?"
"It is only a hobby," he said softly. "I don't draw things because I want to be known as a wonderful artist. I draw because it clears my mind. It helps me think. It makes me happy," he tried to explain.
"And you love it," she said. He nodded. "You pour your heart into it, and it hurts you deeply when somebody finds fault with it. Particularly when it is somebody who should have a good understanding of the subject. Well, I understand that, to some extent," she confessed. "My deepest wish when I was a girl was to be a famous equestrienne at Astley's."
"Don't make fun," he pleaded.
"I'm not," she insisted. "I am perfectly serious. However, my father did not think it a fitting career for his daughter, and lost no chance of telling me so. But does that mean I should not be an equestrienne?"
"Yes!" he answered fervently.
"No!" she cried. "Maximillian Callahan, you...! What I am saying is, how was my father to know whether I was a capable horsewoman or not? I cannot even say I should have been famous. Perhaps I would have been only mediocre, but I really don't know. I think people would have liked my performance. But I am digressing. Max, you cannot judge the public's reaction by one critic. And you most certainly are not the best judge of your own work. Of course you will not think your art is great. I would think significantly less of you if you did. And of course you will also be blind to some of the faults in your work. That is one of the unfortunate uses of critics such as Mr. Gray. Now I say this is a work of art." She held up the design in one hand. "If there was such a house in existence, I would snap it up in an instant. And I am sure there are many people who would feel the same way, if they ever got the chance to look at it."
Max smiled tentatively, taking the papers as she handed them to him.
"Perhaps, if I made a few minor changes..."
"Yes. Address the issues Mr. Gray attacked, and try again. That is a good approach," she praised.
"Thank you, Michelle," he said warmly as they stood up together.
"You are very welcome, Maximillian."
Eleanor was easily convinced to take a holiday to the Continent. Sir Brian and Lady Callahan left several days later, and for the next couple weeks, Max and Michelle got together quietly at the house in London. Miss Dashwood visited regularly, to confer with Michelle about their plans, and one day Max's curiosity got the better of him. He came into the room where they were talking seriously together and said casually,
"What's afoot?"
They looked up sharply and, exchanging glances, admitted him reluctantly into their confidence.
"You'll remember, Maximillian, that conversation we had at the Blakeneys' dinner, about the poor, and how we should concern ourselves more with charitable works, to improve their conditions?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yes, I remember something like that."
"Well, Margaret and I have come up with a few ideas on how to do just that, but we cannot begin to think how we shall bring them about."
"Well," Max faltered a bit, then brightened when his mind produced something. He pointed to a section of their plans. "If you are going to do all this, you need a place from which to work. You cannot simply go and do this. You need a sort of an anchor."
"What a very dashing way to put it," Miss Dashwood smiled. "That is a very good idea, do you not think so, Michelle?"
"Indeed, I do, Margaret," said Michelle with an approving smile at Max, who dug his toes into the carpet with an embarrassed smile. "It is genius. I am glad Maximillian thought of it, for I never should have!"
"Nor I," Margaret agreed.
"Well," said Max, slightly abashed, "It stands to reason, if you want to get anything done, such as giving food to the poor, you have to have a place to store said food."
"Very true!" said Michelle. She threw herself into a chair and began to think hard, making a steeple of her hands. "Do either of you know of anybody who is willing to let their building out for charitable work?"
Max and Margaret shook their heads in the negative. Michelle ran a hand through her hair.
"Perhaps a church... Yes! I'm sure any good church would be more than willing to rent out space to a charitable institution. Perhaps even that very big one, what's it called?"
"St. George's," Margaret supplied excitedly.
"Yes! We can ask the priest at St. Luke's if we could use his church on days he is not using it."
"How will we pay for it, though?" asked Margaret.
"Simple," said Max. "I'll pay for it."
"Oh, will you?" Michelle's eyes lit up and she beamed at him. "Thank you so very much! Margaret, I believe our plans are about to come to fruition!"
Margaret could not help clapping her hands in glee.
The next day, Max and Michelle were to dine with the Darcys. When they arrived, they were surprised to find the Duke of Carrington had made an impromptu visit. When Mr. Callahan and Miss Stanhope were shown into the drawing room, they found Mr. and Mrs. Darcy sitting in a stunned silence while their sons played together at their feet. Elizabeth jumped up as soon as she saw her guests had arrived, and put forth an effort to be a good hostess.
"Who are these?" His Grace raised a monocle and eyed the newcomers.
"This is my cousin, Max Callahan, and Miss Stanhope," said Darcy absently. Max and Michelle exchanged glances, wondering what had happened to make their hosts so listless.
"What relation are you to me?" The Duke addressed Max.
Max's eyes widened and he could only shrug.
"I ... I don't know, sir. Your Grace." Carrington grinned at this lapse and looked to Darcy.
"I suppose, since you are first cousins, you would be the same relation to me as Darcy, here. Second cousins."
"Sixth cousins, Your Grace." Darcy corrected. "Max is on the other side of my family."
"Yes, the wrong side," said Max, winking at Elizabeth. "I am pleased to meet you, Your Grace."
"Call me Uncle Michael, boy. There's no reason to Your Grace your cousin."
"Sixth cousin," Michelle corrected with a saucy smile.
"Quite right, wench," he said with a short laugh. Elizabeth came to herself suddenly and said,
"But are you certain, Your Grace, that ... that Fitzwilliam is your heir?" She could not bring herself to call her husband `Will' before such a dominating personage as the duke.
"Quite. I have had my lawyers on it ever since Michael died. Must have an heir, you know. Can't have the title go to waste. If you like, I can show you the lines."
"No need," said Darcy. "I don't suppose you'd allow it to go to someone who was not your legal heir." He broke off, staring at Alex and Kit as they laughed and shouted with each other on the carpet.
"Well, this is awkward, is it not?" said Carrington, rising. "I did not mean to burst in right before a dinner party. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance," he said to them all, and left.
"Well," said Max, "that was a ... diversion."
"Indeed," said Darcy, making an effort not to think about such an unsettling prospect.
"Was that the duke who has been terrorizing Margaret because she wants to marry Lord Cavendar?" asked Michelle.
"He is not terrorizing her," said Max. "He is only concerned because David's first wife - who was Carrington's daughter - has been dead for little over a year, and now David wants to remarry."
"Oh," said Michelle, considering it. "But that does not give him the right to make Margaret so terrified of him! She loves Lord Cavendar very much, and besides, his daughter needs a mother!"
That was where she was bound to stay in her argument, and the subject was dropped. Darcy and Elizabeth found it in themselves to host a tolerable dinner for the young couple, but neither were very interested in it, after the unexpected news, and Max and Michelle left early, feeling as though their presence had been dreadfully unnecessary that evening.
The next day, the charitable trio went to apply to the priest at St. George's for the use of his building. Father Prescott was an amiable man in his early sixties, and he welcomed the enthusiastic young people heartily.
It was settled quickly. They were free to use the building on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and had only to ask Mr. Vence, the alderman, to let them in. This last was a minor setback, Margaret murmured, but Michelle thought optimistically that perhaps, in time, they would be given a key of their own.
Georgiana heard her brother's news the next morning, by note. She uttered an exclamation and ran to find her husband, who was trying to avoid Kesler's attempts to help him into his coat.
"Christopher!" she said. "You will not believe it! What do you think the Duke of Carrington has been to see my brother about?"
"La! Georgiana, I don't know. Stop that, Kesler! Which brother?"
"Madam," said Kesler, in a miff, "will you please make him see reason?"
"Let him help you, Christopher," said Georgiana obligingly. "Fitzwilliam. Well, you know my cousin Michael died several years ago, so my uncle has been searching for an heir, as he had no brothers of his own. As it turns out, the heir to the dukedom is Fitzwilliam!"
"You don't say." Georgiana was, understandably, disappointed with this response.
"Is that all you have to say?" she pouted. "Is it not somewhat fantastic? Who could have thought it?"
"What should I say? Will this change your name to Lady Georgiana?"
"I had not thought of that," she said contemplatively. "No, I don't think so. I am not the daughter of a duke, after all."
"Very true."
Kesler smiled.
"If I may, I'd like to say that I think Lady Georgiana preferable to Mrs. Blakeney. Or Lady Blakeney, when that day comes, knock on wood."
Christopher looked at him sharply and Kesler dropped his eyes. This was an unwise move, for it started Christopher's suspicions. Fortunately, Georgiana did not notice anything strange about Kesler's remark.
"Well, I like being called Mrs. Blakeney," she smiled cheekily.
"I should hope so," Christopher remarked. "I don't think my father would take kindly to me changing my name. Did you wish to visit your brother, cherie?" He now noticed Kesler's wince at the endearment.
"No," she said after some thought. "That is, not because of this development. What else is there to say to it?"
"Nothing," he agreed. "What else have you been doing all morning?" Kesler tried once more with the coat and Christopher dodged again.
"Christopher, please," she said, slightly exasperated for the poor valet's sake. "Let him put your coat on. He is not likely to give it up unless he can do it himself." When he complied, Georgiana answered his question. "I have been thinking of names," she said. "I have not come up with any that really sound right to me, though."
"May I see the list?" asked Christopher. "Perhaps I can come up with something."
"Certainly, it is still on my desk," she said. "The best I can come up with is William for a boy, which I can tell you don't like, by the look on your face, or Margaret for a girl, which I know you like, but I don't."
Kesler gaped for just a moment as his mind grasped the import of her words. He had not been present for the family announcement the other night, and although some of the maids had been gossiping - Susannah in particular - he had not wanted to believe it. He felt the tears pricking, and quickly looking down, mumbled the first excuse that came to his head.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "I ... I have to use the necessities."
"Certainly," said Christopher obligingly. Kesler hurried out of the room, certain he was either going to cry or vomit. As soon as he was downstairs, he leaned his head against a wall and breathed deeply. The maid Susannah happened by and looking at him once, said,
"I told you so."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"The mistress is expecting," she said triumphantly, then became serious and said, "She is happily married, Thomas Kesler. Don't you go ruining that."
"I don't plan on ruining anything," he retorted.
"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "You're a fool, Kesler. A downright fool. You can't even see what's right in front of you." Her smile was mocking, but her eyes were sad. Kesler did not notice this, however, as he suddenly realized he had left his employer without his boots on. Slapping a hand to his forehead and muttering an oath, he hurried back upstairs.
Georgiana had gone by the time he returned, but he found Christopher waiting for him with a rather dark countenance. It was with difficulty that Christopher reminded himself he had only suspicions, and these flimsy ones. He cocked his head and regarded his valet, whose gaze faltered almost readily.
"S-sir," Kesler stammered. "I see you did not need my help with your boots."
"No," Christopher drawled, still sizing up the man in front of him. Kesler was about half a head taller, but Christopher supposed he could exact some punishment if the need arose. Not that he thought it might arise, but one never knew. "You never did satisfy me about your desire to work with me," he said suddenly. Kesler started. He was taken aback to find himself being questioned again, but fortunately, he had prepared an answer.
"I had heard you had let your former valet go, and Mr. Callahan and I had just decided we could not get on together. It seemed a reasonable solution."
"Indeed." Christopher's voice had a faint sarcastic edge to it. Kesler thought he recognized it, but looking at his employer again, he could detect nothing in his face. Christopher shrugged suddenly and left the room, leaving Kesler in a state of confusion. The valet jumped as the door slammed loudly.
Excited at the prospect before them, Max escorted Michelle and Margaret to the theatre. Tomorrow was to be their first attempt at their new project, and their young spirits were jubilantly confident that they would succeed.
Unfortunately, the play was `Lovers' Vows,' and though the performance was quite good, Max sensed that Miss Dashwood did not entirely approve of the content. Michelle seemed to enjoy it fairly enough, though making disapproving sounds every now and then, herself, though whether she was disapproving of the play or the performance, Max could not tell. He, as always, lost himself in the general performance more than the actual play.
Afterward, Michelle expressed a desire to congratulate a certain actress who had played Agatha that night - Harriet Beech. Max was a trifle reluctant, and was almost relieved when Miss Dashwood said that her feet were being pinched dreadfully, and under no circumstance would she consent to such a scheme. However, his discomfort began again most acutely when Margaret, perceiving one of her sisters also in the theatre, went to greet her happily, though painfully, and leaving Max with no alternative but to escort Michelle backstage.
They waited outside the door as one of the theatre lackeys informed them that Miss Beech was still dressing. Michelle gazed in rapt wonder at their surroundings, drab as they were, and Max became quite distracted.
A young man he knew by the name of Wilson happened by, and recognizing young Mr. Callahan, engaged him in trivial conversation.
"This must be the infamous Miss Stanhope," he said after a few short moments.
"Infamous?" Michelle dimpled. "How so?"
Wilson blushed.
"Forgive me, I should not have said that. What I mean is, I have heard much about you."
Michelle looked at Max with an accusing smile, but he only shrugged. He had not seen Mr. Wilson since before Michelle had come to London, and he did not know how he could have heard of her.
"Well," she said, holding out her hand to him, "I hope the reports have not prejudiced you against me."
"On the contrary," he said, kissing her hand while eyeing her appreciatively. Max scowled. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."
The door to Miss Beech's room opened, and Max and Michelle stepped in.
"Max!" Harriet exclaimed happily, and swiveled in her chair to greet him, when she noticed Michelle. "Oh! You must be Miss Stanhope!"
"Yes," said Michelle, surprised. "How did you guess?"
"Oh, Max has described you to me most accurately, I assure you!" said Harriet. "Come, come. Well, what have you come to see me about?" she asked once they were seated.
"I thought you were wonderful tonight!" Michelle gushed for appearance's sake. "And I knew Max had an acquaintance with you, so I asked him to introduce me."
"Really?" Harriet raised an eyebrow. "You knew about that, did you?" She glanced at Max out of the corner of her eye. He blushed, and when somebody knocked on the door, he made good with the opportunity, and fled the scene.
Now alone, the two women eyed each other warily.
"Well," said Harriet, finally. "I'm very glad you enjoyed the play. I hope you will come back another time, and tell people you know about it."
Michelle stood up and began to walk about the room, noting the different odds and ends Harriet had scattered about.
"I believe you and I have something in common," said Harriet after a long, uncomfortable pause. Michelle turned around and smiled faintly.
"Yes, I believe we do," she replied. "I am very glad to finally have met you. Of course, I could not be satisfied until I had. It was very fortunate of Maximillian to choose this play to come to tonight."
"I admit, I was curious about you, too," said Harriet.
"I had been thinking that Maximillian must have deplorable taste, to be pining for an actress, but I see you are not of the usual cut," said Michelle in a tone that made it difficult for Harriet to interpret her meaning.
"I like to think I am unusual," she said slowly. "It helps in my business to be noticeable from the others."
Michelle grunted and began to walk about the room again. Harriet watched the girl in dawning amusement. The chit was jealous, obviously. Well, she could not deny that she was also a trifle jealous, Finley or no Finley. It had hurt her pride to think that someone could have gotten over her so quickly.
"Miss Beech," said Michelle abruptly. Harriet smiled disarmingly.
"Please, call me Harriet, sweet one. I feel as though I have known you for ages." Michelle blinked.
"Goodness, I hardly know what to say to you. You are so unexpected," she said frankly.
"Well," Harriet chuckled, "that is another asset that is handy in my profession."
"Believe me," said Michelle dryly, "I do not think you are entirely without all the necessary ... assets."
Harriet laughed heartily.
"I like you, girl! Now, is there something you wanted to know about Max, which you think I could tell you?" she said. "Come and sit down. You can speak frankly to me. I am not missish."
"Well," said Michelle contemplatively, "there was something, though I hardly know the correct way to ask it. I do not really know what it is I want to know, only that there was a certain curiosity about you. Did you know," she blurted suddenly, "I once had a desire to be an actress?"
"Really?" said Harriet, highly amused. "I am sure you would have made a delightful one."
"Do you really think so?" asked Michelle doubtfully. "I do not say I would have, even if I did think I could have, but ... do you really think so?"
"Of course," Harriet lied smoothly. This girl was entirely too artless to be an actress.
"Harriet," said Michelle suddenly, "did Maximillian ever ... I mean, exactly how close were you to Maximillian?"
Harriet grinned, understanding the question perfectly.
"He would send me flowers after each performance he attended, and we would spend about an hour talking, afterward." She smiled, arching an eyebrow. "Does that answer your question?"
"Yes," said Michelle, flashing a smile. "I'm glad you understand me so easily."
"I'm sure we should have been great friends, in other circumstances," said Harriet, rising to take her leave of the girl.
"I'm so glad you said that!" said Michelle enthusiastically, eyes sparkling mischievously as Max entered the room. "I was almost afraid to ask you, but now that I know you feel the same way as I do, would you be terribly adverse to giving me a few lessons in acting, perhaps on the weekends?"
Max's mouth dropped open.
"I say," he attempted. "I believe we have kept Miss Dashwood waiting long enough."
"Nonsense," said Michelle soundly. "If I had a sister, I would spend hours talking to her, especially after being separated for so long! Well, Harriet, what do you say?"
Max was entirely bemused to see the two on such friendly terms. Harriet recovered herself quickly, and, with an equally mischievous sparkle and a calculating glance at Max, agreed to Michelle's scheme.
Michelle woke Max early the next morning, causing much embarrassment for that young man as he pulled the covers up to his chin. She laughed, and left him to get dressed. When he finally appeared downstairs, she began giving him orders on what to do to get ready to go to the church for the beginning of their charitable business.
Soon after Margaret arrived, they all left.
Somehow, Max had expected that the needy would somehow automatically guess that they were setting up a new charity, and come flocking. However, this was not the case, as he soon discovered.
Sometime around noon, Father Prescott came to check on his little enthusiasts, and found them sitting quite dejectedly in one of the church offices. Mr. Callahan was drawing something while Miss Stanhope tried to watch inconspicuously, and Miss Dashwood was pacing and biting her nails.
"I was under the impression, children, that this was to be a place for the poor and homeless to come for food and shelter," he said, taking a seat next to Max. Max quickly crumpled up his paper before the priest could get a glance at it and cleared his throat.
"It is," he said. "But nobody is coming for our help. Maybe they don't want such young helpers," he added modestly.
"Nonsense," said Father Prescott. "They are willing to take help. That is, if they are not too proud to take it from anyone, they will certainly take it from you. But what makes you think they know what you are about here?"
"Maybe we should put up a sign," Margaret suggested. Max shook his head.
"Most of them probably can't read."
"I forgot," Margaret's shoulders slumped. Michelle stamped her foot, highly agitated, both at such a fruitless attempt at charity, and at the fact that Max had thrown his drawing in a wastebasket full of similar papers, and there was little chance of her getting it back.
"Why don't we simply go to them, and tell them we are here to help, if they want us," she suggested.
"They would lock us up in Bedlam," Max said, smiling slightly. "And we would deserve it." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk.
"Why do you say that?" asked Michelle. "I see nothing wrong with that idea."
"Because, my dear," said Max, twisting a piece of paper into a tight rope and aiming at her with one eye closed. "If we were to go to where they live and announce the fact that we have enough money to give away, we would soon be set upon by frauds and robbers. And that would not be pleasant." He sent the paper flying, and it caught in her hair.
"I did not come here because it would be pleasant," she retorted, twisting her mouth at the paper and throwing it back at Max.
"I did not come here to get my throat cut," he returned, dodging the missile.
"You must be willing to take risks if you are serious with this endeavour," said Father Prescott gently. "Surely you did not assume it would be easy to come here and give things away. Of course, there is the possibility that you will be deceived and ridiculed, but there is also the reward of knowing you have done good to people who deserve it."
"And what of those who don't deserve it?" asked Max.
"Help them, too," Father Prescott shrugged.
"Did you not bring several baskets of food?" Margaret asked. Max nodded. "Well, then, let us set up a sort of buffet outside, and let people come and get what they want."
Max and Michelle looked at each other.
"It won't last long," said Max.
"That doesn't matter," said Margaret. "At least we will have done something. Come."
Max and Michelle took the baskets she held out to them, and followed her outside where, under the stares of all the people walking in that street that day, they proceeded to set up a table. Before they had taken their places behind it, several people had already come and helped themselves.
"It's working," Michelle clapped her hands in glee.
"Of course it is," Margaret replied, beaming. She paused to serve a man who wanted beans. "This is exactly what I had in mind."
"It is?" Max and Michelle asked together, astonished.
"Pardon me," said the man, coming around the table to talk to them, so as not to hold up the line that had quickly formed. "But what're you all doin' 'ere?"
"We want to help people," said Michelle simply. The man looked at them skeptically.
"Slummin'?" he asked. Max and Michelle looked at each other in bewilderment. He waved the question aside. "Never mind. I s'pose, after today, you'll go back to your posh 'ouses, an' feel good about yerselves, b'cause you fed people like me fer a day."
"I had thought to come back tomorrow," said Margaret, still dishing out beans, completely oblivious to the man's tone.
"With more food?" he said, eyeing the treats on the table.
"Of course," said Margaret, turning to smile at him.
"Say," he said suddenly, "I got a cold what's been pest'rin' me fer weeks. What do ye say ta that?"
"I'd say get some cough syrup," said Max.
"Where d'ye think I'd get that?" asked the man, exasperated. Max was stumped, and blinked. Michelle stepped between them.
"Sir, if you'd like treatment for your cold, perhaps you could follow me, and I'll see what I can do."
"Very good!" he said approvingly. "I'm startin' to think you kids are ser'us 'bout this business."
"Come with me," said Michelle, and started to walk back into the church.
"Naw, I ain't got a cold," said the man. "I just wanted to see what you'd do. B'sides, wouldn't be fittin' fer you ta go in there with me by yourself." He shook his head. "Pretty little thing like you, no indeed. Thanks for the food."
And he left behind three stunned youths.
An hour later, all the food was gone (they had packed more than they originally thought), and Max and Michelle were cleaning up the mess while Margaret rested inside the church, completely worn out.
"That was wonderful," Michelle sighed, pausing to rest her chin on the broom with which she was sweeping. Max grunted in agreement and kept wiping the table. "Did you see all those children?" she persisted. "They were so amazed to see that much food all in one place." She shook her head. "It's astonishing, really."
"What is?"
"That they could be more than satisfied with so little," she explained. Max smiled and nodded his agreement, at a loss for words after such a tiring day. When he finished wiping the table, he stood up straighter and stretched his back out. That is when he noticed Christopher Blakeney leaning against the church wall, watching him.
"Hallo, Blakeney," he greeted him, waving at him to come over with one hand. He looked him up and down. "What on earth are you dressed as?"
Christopher looked down at himself, then at Max, and smirked.
"Unlike some people, I have the sense to dress down somewhat when going.... what are you doing?"
Max motioned wearily to the mess around him.
"I am cleaning."
"Evidently. But what are you cleaning?"
"A table. I tell you, Blakeney, Michelle and Miss Dashwood and I had the most wonderful time today. If you could have seen the looks on their faces...."
"Michelle's and Miss Dashwood's?" asked Christopher, feeling he had missed part of the story.
"No, the people. We fed them. They were hungry, and now they are not, because we did something about it."
"Oh, I see," said Christopher, nodding his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You've gone slumming. You didn't dress for the part, though. Perhaps it was wrong of me to take Kesler away from you before you had a replacement." He glanced at Max, who looked puzzled.
"You have tired of him already? I was certain the two of you would get along famously."
"Hm," Christopher grunted, kicking at some rocks. "Max, why did you decide to ... dispense with Kesler's services?"
"I thought he was taking too much time off. Has he gone to visit his mother since I left him with you?"
"No. He has not spoken of leaving once."
Once Michelle and Margaret discovered that Mr. Blakeney was here, they came out to greet him.
"Have you come to help?" asked Margaret.
"You should have been here earlier!" said Michelle. "It was exhilarating!"
"How many people came?" asked Christopher. The girls looked at each other.
"Fifty?"
"A hundred?"
"A hundred fifty?"
They shrugged.
"We don't know."
"We're going to do it again Saturday," said Max. "Would you like to help us?"
"You are going to pack up a bunch of food, bring it here, and set it out again?" asked Christopher.
"Yes."
Christopher looked around to see exactly which neighbourhood they were in. It was obvious none of them knew exactly what danger there was here.
"What time do you suppose you'll be done?"
"I don't know," said Michelle. "It really depends on what happens that day."
"Will you be finished before dark, though?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Then I don't suppose I'm needed," he smiled. "But do be careful to be finished before dark. I know the people who live here. They are proud; they do not take kindly to charity."
Max laughed.
"You are paranoid, Blakeney. They were all very humble today, more than willing to take our offerings."
"They will take what you will give them," Christopher agreed. "But they will despise you for giving it."
"Why should anybody be so base as that?" asked Michelle, dumbfounded. "The hypocritical, two- faced ideas...."
"Don't blame me," said Christopher, holding up his hands in defense. "If they don't despise you for wanting to give, they will despise you for not giving more."
"I don't believe you," said Michelle. "They may not be rich, but they are still people, and they know the difference between right and wrong."
Christopher shrugged.
"I hope I'm wrong. Just be careful, that's all I'm saying."
"We will be," she said stiffly, turning to go back into the church.
When Christopher arrived home, Georgiana flew at him at once.
"Christopher! We must go to Pemberley! At once! Come, we must fly!"
"Why?" he asked, calmly kissing her cheek and removing her arms from around his neck.
"Because there is an emergency! Fitzwilliam writes that James has resigned his commission!"
Christopher's eyebrows rose.
"Really? And what does he propose to do now?"
"I don't know, that is why we must go to Pemberley."
Christopher's eyes danced.
"He had the audacity to go to Pemberley after daring to cross Darcy?" He whistled. "Poor James. But I didn't realize Darcy and Elizabeth had removed to Pemberley."
"Yes, they went just two days ago, and found James and Kitty there, quite comfortable. But you confuse me when you call my brother Darcy," she pouted. "I have already packed. We leave at once."
He did as he was told until she informed him that Matthew must be left in London.
"Who will watch him? Nanny is still recovering.... And I don't see why he can't come with us."
"I was planning on taking him with us," she opened the door to the nursery, where Christopher found Kesler sitting by the boy's bedside as he slept. "But he got sick."
Kesler stood nervously as the boy's parents entered, and averted his eyes to the ground.
"Sick? How, sick?" Christopher was alarmed to see his son so pale.
"Not very sick," Georgiana assured him. "And of course I would rather he could come with us, but it is impossible at present, and I really must be at Pemberley. You know how my brothers always fight when in each other's company. It is almost as if they did not grow up separately, and have known each other all their lives - like you and Josee - and I think James will have a better time of it, if I am there."
"You could be right about that," Christopher mused. Georgiana had not taken time to think since she had read her brother's letter, and now she wondered if she was doing the right thing. It gratified her to hear her husband approving her reasoning, if not her plan.
"Is it right of me to go?" she asked softly. He switched his gaze from the little boy in the bed to smile down at her and said,
"Are you feeling up to it? I wouldn't want anything to endanger you or the baby."
"I am feeling fine, really," she insisted.
"Perhaps you could go, and I could stay here with Matthew," he suggested tentatively. Georgiana fired up.
"You shall not stay here! I shall never have the courage to face Fitzwilliam if you are not there! I'm sure Kesler will do a fine job, will you not, Kesler?"
"I shall try, madam," said Kesler, eyeing Christopher warily as that man began to scowl.
"Please, Christopher," said Georgiana, putting a hand on his arm gently. "I know he has not been with us long, but I don't think he will allow any harm to come to Matty while we are gone."
"It had better not," said Christopher darkly, making Kesler wince. He had a sudden thought of inspiration. "But what about me?" he asked, turning to Georgiana to affect a pout. "Kesler is my valet."
Georgiana giggled.
"But remember, I will be there, darling. Am I not better than any valet?"
Christopher could not help grinning, any more than he could help consenting to Georgiana's scheme. An hour later, they were gone.
When they arrived at Pemberley late the next afternoon, Kitty ran out to meet them.
"Georgiana!" she cried, embracing the young woman. "You look so lovely! Have you really been traveling all day? Where is Matthew? Come and meet my son."
"Of course, I should love to meet my newest nephew," said Georgiana, and she went with Kitty to make the acquaintance of the infant Ian George Darcy.
Nearly a half hour later, Georgiana stopped cooing at the baby and said,
"But where are my brothers? Why did only you greet me? Not that I am disappointed to see you, Kitty, but ... I was expecting the entire family to be here."
Kitty lowered her eyes.
"Well, Fitz and Lizzy are somewhere. I dare say they don't know you are here. And of course Alex and Kit are napping."
"But what about James?"
"Where is Matthew?" Kitty changed the subject.
"He was sick, so he had to stay home. Where is my brother?"
"Fitz would not let him in the house. He is staying in an inn in Lambton."
Georgiana was confused and aghast, and looked at Christopher, who could only shrug.
"But you are expecting!" Kitty cried suddenly. "Are you certain it is safe for you to travel?"
"Quite safe. Excuse me, I must find my brother." She stood and went to look for Fitzwilliam, whom she found in discussion with Elizabeth.
"Georgiana!" they cried simultaneously.
"Hello," she said coolly, and went to finger some things on the shelves. Her brother and sister stared at each other in bewilderment.
"Brother," said Georgiana, turning to face them, her hands gripping the shelf behind her, "why has James been banished from his ancestral home?"
Darcy frowned.
"He has been completely reckless, Georgiana. He needs to learn responsibility."
"Oh, certainly, I agree with that," she said. "But if you'll remember, he never wanted to be a soldier to begin with. Perhaps he needs only to find what he likes."
"Are you suggesting he goes back to the business of highwayman?" Darcy raised one eyebrow. Georgiana flushed.
"Well, certainly it is not fair to separate him from his wife and child," she protested. Elizabeth looked at her husband more intently after this remark, indicating her warm approval of this statement. Georgiana continued. "I'm not speaking only for James. I have just spent half an hour with Kitty, and she is miserable."
"Then she can go to Lambton with the child, and they can all be together again."
"But Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana cried. "He is our brother! Perhaps it cost you a great deal to buy him that commission...."
"It did," Darcy agreed.
"But he did not ask for it. He did not want it."
"He needs to do something. When he decides what he will do, he may come back, and welcome. But I will not let him think he can come here and live off of me forever."
Georgiana saw her brother was immovable on this point, and left the room. She did not understand how one of her brothers could be so adverse to the other. They were brothers, for Heaven's sake! Pursing her lips tightly together, she marched into the parlour, where Kitty was playing with Ian. She glanced at Christopher, who was looking rather bored, then back at Kitty, and said,
"Catherine Darcy, let us go to Lambton."
Kitty's eyes lit up.
"That would be splendid! Yes, let's go!"
The two women began to get ready. Christopher opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and shifted his weight awkwardly.
"Georgiana," he said. "I don't want to go to Lambton."
"Then stay here. And please, be as irritating to my brother's nerves as you possibly can."
Christopher's eyebrows rose, and he grinned wickedly.
"Whatever you say, dear."
James Darcy, formerly known as Jesse Matthews, had been justifiably angry when his brother had told him to either find an occupation or get off Pemberley grounds. He had immediately stormed off, nearly forgetting his wife and child in the process. When he had arrived in Lambton, the anger had changed to a deep sense of loneliness, and he had found a room in an inn and kept himself there with a few bottles of whiskey.
He had been very surprised when he woke to find his father-in-law standing over him with a disapproving frown. Mr. Bennet had cleaned the younger man up, and listened to his story patiently. His one question had been,
"You mean you left Kitty there, with the child?"
Jesse had nodded glumly, hardly expecting his father-in-law to take his part. The old man had pursed his lips, and declared that they would both go to Pemberley at once to retrieve both his daughters, and retire to Hertfordshire.
And it was in this state that Georgiana and Kitty came upon them. The ladies were walking up the stairs of the inn to Jay-Jay's room, Kitty clutching her baby tightly. When she saw her husband, she hurriedly gave the child to Georgiana and ran to throw her arms around his neck.
Georgiana had not met Mr. Bennet often enough to really make his acquaintance, but now they perfectly understood each other, and made polite conversation while James and Kitty gushed to each other in their own catty manner.
"Where is your husband?" asked Mr. Bennet.
"I left him at Pemberley."
"Oh. Is he great friends with your brother?"
"Almost the opposite." Georgiana smiled a smile which was as close to a cheeky grin that she could come with a nearly-total stranger like Mr. Bennet. The old man laughed and winked at her.
"I see," was all he said. They all made their way back to Jesse's room, where Kitty asked the practical question of where they would go next.
"I don't want to go back to Pemberley, if you cannot come with me."
"I can go anywhere I want," said James Darcy darkly. "It is only a matter of how I get there, and under what conditions."
"I don't recommend making a fight with my other son-in-law," said Mr. Bennet dryly. "He has much to offer, and you, dear boy, have much to lose."
James blinked, realizing the truth of this statement. Kitty took up her husband's case.
"It was an unreasonable career for Jay-Jay to enter into. He cannot even shoot a gun. What sort of soldier can't shoot a gun?"
Georgiana was confused.
"What sort of highwayman can't shoot a gun?"
"One who uses a knife," said James, tracing the outline of the tablecloth with one finger.
"Well," Georgiana continued, "I do not blame you for being angry with Fitzwilliam..."
"Son of a..." James started.
"His mother was your mother, too," Georgiana pointed out quickly. James flushed and looked down.
"Sorry. Force of habit."
"I've been trying to break him of it," Kitty apologized, frowning at her husband. "Stubborn mule."
"Speaking of which, our mule died on the way here."
"But as I was saying," Georgiana went on, "I do not blame you for being angry with Fitzwilliam, but I do see his reasoning."
"I beg your pardon?" said James, turning his head to look coldly at her.
"Well, yes. I would not want my sister-in-law to live with us our entire lives. I love Josee, but it would be too constricting on my and Christopher's lives, regardless of how useful she is with Matthew and such things."
"Yes," said Mr. Bennet. "A permanent house guest can be instrumental in keeping a married couple apart. I say, Kitty, James, why don't you come and stay at Longbourn with your mother and me?"
Georgiana stared at him open-mouthed. Kitty giggled and James grinned. Mr. Bennet went on.
"I dare say your mother will be delighted to show the baby off to the neighbours, and of course, you know my reasons for wanting you."
"I think I like that idea," said James. Kitty blinked.
"Are you still drunk?" she asked.
"No," he scowled. "We would not have to live there forever..."
"I'm beginning to wish you would," said Mr. Bennet.
"And it would be better than you living at Pemberley, with Ian, and me living here." He gestured to the room they were now in. Kitty nodded.
"Point taken."
Georgiana smiled.
"I'm glad that is all settled, then. Although I still almost want to hit Fitzwilliam!"
"You really are outraged!" said Kitty, agog at the idea of Georgiana hitting anyone out of anger.
They all went back to Pemberley, to Darcy's surprising relief - he had had no idea that husband of Georgiana's could be so annoyingly stupid. However, he stiffened considerably at sight of his brother.
"Hello, Fitz." James smiled cheekily. Darcy's eyes widened, but he refrained from saying anything. "Don't worry. I am here only to collect my wife's things, and we will be on our way. Hello, Blakeney." He shook Christopher's hand politely.
"Hello... sink me, I hardly know whether to call you James, Jesse or Darcy." He smiled lazily. Darcy rolled his eyes.
"My cousins call me Jay-Jay," James grinned.
"Jay-Jay," Christopher repeated. "Jay-Jay. La! It does have a ring to it. How it rolls off my tongue! Jay-Jay," he repeated again, grinning almost stupidly into Darcy's face. Georgiana had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, but Darcy was not amused by half.
"Blakeney, pray stop behaving like an idiot."
"An idiot? Zounds! And I thought I was copying my father's behaviour exactly! How am I supposed to take that remark, Georgie? It sounded almost like an insult. Idiot, you say?"
"I do."
Christopher's face broke into his usual grin.
"I suppose I'd have to agree with you there. Od's fish! - there's another good one for you, Darcy - I'm sleepy! Or rather, `demmed fatigued.' Where's the nearest bed?"
Darcy pointed the way. James and Kitty exchanged highly amused glances with Mr. Bennet and each other. Christopher smiled and clicked his heels together sharply, then turned to his wife.
"Are you coming with, Georgie?"
She choked on a gasp.
"N-not at this moment, darling," she managed to say. He nodded and nearly pranced out of the room. When the door had closed beside him, one of the passing servants had the privilege of seeing the young and handsome Mr. Blakeney doubled over in laughter. The occupants of the parlour were doing much the same thing, except for Darcy, who did not appreciate the spectacle one bit, and Mr. Bennet, who was not inclined to double over for any amount of amusement.