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The next few weeks worked wonders for Max and Michelle's common sense in the business of giving. They were still quite naive, however, and were very grateful, nearly three months later, when Max's cousins, the Darcys and the Blakeneys, joined them in their endeavour. Nearly every day saw Max, Michelle, Margaret Dashwood, Georgiana and Christopher Blakeney, and Andrew and Nellie Darcy at St. George's church.
On returning to London from Derbyshire, Christopher had been alarmed to find that Matthew, though recovered from his illness, had grown remarkably fond of Kesler. Thankfully, the valet did nothing else to indicate any sort of feelings toward Georgiana, and Christopher was able to tell himself he had imagined the whole thing.
A few weeks later, James Darcy showed up on Max's doorstep, claiming to be missing the knife he had given Max, and wanting it back. It did not take long for Max to find out the truth. James had grown weary of his wife's parents, and was desperate for an excuse to get out of Hertfordshire. Michelle suggested they try their hand at charity work, and James jumped at the chance to help. A week later, James and Kitty were in London and also helping out at St. George's.
The two Mrs. Darcys had the most practicality, with their husbands content to sit back and give their wives advice. Georgiana would have equaled the original three in passion, but her husband kept her firmly grounded, reminding her that she must not endanger herself or the baby. However, she still managed to do much more than most women in her condition normally did.
The number of poor who came regularly increased, and after only one week each of the households involved found the occupants making food, clothing, bandages, etc. at home for the next day's work.
One of the men who frequented their tables was a Mr. Laurel, who occasionally was accompanied by one of his children when he came to buy a "family set." (To get around the stubbornness of those too proud to take "charity," Mr. Blakeney had had the idea of selling the food for a farthing a meal, a price that most were able to come by. If they were not, they merely took the out-and-out charity.)
After a few visits, Max learned that Mr. Laurel's wife was currently expecting their third child, and was not expected to live through the ordeal. When he conveyed this news to the others, their sympathy was deeply felt. They liked Mr. Laurel, and knew he loved his wife deeply.
The next day, Max suggested that Mr. Laurel bring his wife to the church, where she could be taken care of. He refused at first, saying it would be much easier if they were to come to his house, but James volunteered to help him convey Mrs. Laurel to the church in his own carriage ("borrowed," of course, from his brother's stables), to which Mr. Laurel agreed.
Max decided he would accompany James to the Laurel residence. When they arrived there, however, they soon discovered that more would be coming back with them than just the very- pregnant Mrs. Laurel. There were the two small children, Joey and Robbie (a female), a dog (over the near-absence of which little Joey nearly howled in dismay) named Howie, several dolls for Robbie, and Mrs. Laurel's knitting - a large, ghastly blanket that only Max had the grace to look at and say it was very charming, indeed. When James and Max tried to get into the carriage together with the Laurels and their various belongings, they found it particularly troublesome, especially as neither of them had heeded Christopher's advice and worn older clothes.
"Howie, I beg you will not trample over me the entire trip," Max complained.
"He is a stupid dog, sir," said Mrs. Laurel apologetically. "Joey, maybe we should leave Howie at home."
Joey threw his arms around the dog's neck, scrunched up his own face, and began to wail. The dog's reaction was to whimper slightly and wriggle out of the boy's clasp, and lick James's face.
"Ahem," Max cleared his throat significantly as Robbie nestled into his arms, leaning her head on his shoulder and sucking her thumb. "Maybe.... uh, Jay-Jay, I have an idea."
"Yes, Max?" said James absently, craning his neck to try to find the driver.
"Maybe I should walk home...."
"What? Absolutely not!" James was adamant.
"Well," Max shifted his weight uncomfortably. "The blasted driver is nowhere in sight - begging your pardon, Mrs. Laurel - and it is terribly uncomfortable in here, and it would be significantly less so if I were to .... efface myself."
"It would be even more significantly less uncomfortable if I were to efface myself," said James. "And I shall not. We will make this trip together."
"But it cannot be good for Mrs. Laurel," said Max, then added, "And if I were to leave, we could put more blankets in here to act as a cushion, should the carriage lurch about too much..."
James smiled.
"If you are determined to escape, do not let me stop you."
Max flushed.
"I was trying to be considerate...."
"Yes, I know. And it is always best to be considerate when it brings much advantage to yourself."
Max did not wait to hear more, but quickly extricated himself from Robbie's grasp and hopped out of the carriage. Once out, he stretched his legs comfortably and gave a satisfied sigh.
"That's better."
James poked his head out the door.
"Could you find that driver for me? I seem to be stuck under these dolls, and this ... lovely ... blanket."
Max did so, and soon the Darcy carriage was off. Almost immediately after they left, Max realized he had put himself in an extremely awkward position. Looking around, he could see people staring at him, and becoming quickly embarrassed, put his head down, stuffed his hands in his fine pockets, and began the walk back to the church.
He walked in peace for half an hour. At this time, his feet began to be sore and he stopped to rest for a spell. Judging it best not to stay in one place too long, however, he quickly started moving again.
He began to be suspicious of people who passed him. As he became more wary, he reminded himself that he had been taking lessons with Gentleman Jackson for three months now, and should be able to defend himself tolerably well. It was the "tolerably" that worried him. He noticed three men who were slowly coming in closer to him, and as he looked at each of them, turning around as he did so, they seemed to be sizing him up for prey. Quite startled, he broke into a run before they could cut him off from the street. He almost thought he had been imagining things - which would have been mortifying, but less dangerous - when he realized they were running after him.
Max had never known he could run so fast. He saw with relief that he was gradually gaining ground, and hoped to completely lose them by turning as many corners as he could, making sure not to turn in the same direction every time, to prevent going in circles.
Suddenly, he hit something, and before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground. Bracing himself for blows he felt sure were to come, he closed his eyes tightly and struck out at the person. A familiar voice uttered a curse, and he opened his eyes as his assailant took firm hold of both his hands with only one of his own.
He was shocked to see, not a thug, but Christopher Blakeney.
"Blakeney?" he said, voice shaking from relief and fright.
"What on earth are you about, Max?" Christopher complained, pulling Max to a standing position. He still had hold of Max's wrists with one hand while he felt his mouth gingerly where Max had hit him. "Where did you learn to hit so hard?"
"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have done it," said Max somewhat stiffly. "What do you mean, sneaking up on me?"
"I didn't sneak up on you," Christopher snapped. "What just happened, Maxy boy, was a head-on collision." He looked him up and down. "And you've ruined your clothes. I told you not to wear those things."
"Well, I don't seem to have the resources you do for rags," said Max pettishly. "Will you let me go?" Christopher released his hands and stepped away, raising one hand in defense. "Where do you get those clothes, anyway?"
"Unimportant. The church is this way," Christopher answered curtly and began to walk in the direction from where Max had come. Max followed hesitantly, rubbing his wrists as he went.
"Speaking of the church, why aren't you there?"
"Jesse ... I mean, James ... arrived without you, Georgiana got worried and sent me to find you."
"Oh."
"It was very stupid, to try to walk that distance ... in those clothes, too."
"I did try," Max pouted, beginning to realize his error. "These are some of my oldest clothes."
Christopher turned and looked at Max, smiling faintly.
"I realize that, Max," he said, softening his tone. "But it doesn't do, in anything you might have. Your clothes, however old, are still obviously expensive." Max's embarrassment deepened and he looked away. He should have thought of that. Christopher frowned and resumed walking, more slowly this time. "The truth is, Max, I tried much the same thing when I first came to London."
"What happened?" asked Max curiously.
"Oh, nothing much, I only had the living tar beat out of me, that's all. Of course, I didn't have the sense to run."
"Oh. Then what happened?"
"What do you mean?" Christopher turned to raise an eyebrow at him. "Nothing happened. Life went on. It hurt a bit, of course..."
"A bit?" Max was astounded. "Wouldn't that hurt a bit more than a bit?"
Christopher laughed. Max smiled, his former embarrassment nearly forgotten.
"I suppose so. It's relative, I guess. There are things that hurt worse."
"But...you can fight now."
"Of course." Christopher shrugged, kicking at a few rocks. "After that experience, who wouldn't try to learn how to fight back?"
"Could you teach me?" asked Max. Christopher stopped short and looked him up and down again.
"Me?" he blinked.
"I really need it," said Max laughingly. Christopher was silent for a moment as he contemplated his would-be student.
"Seems to me you'd be better off by simply running."
"Well," Max stammered, taken aback, "there could be times when I wouldn't be able to run."
"True."
"And in any case, I shouldn't like to be thought a coward."
"Also true," Christopher conceded.
"If you like, I could beg," said Max, smiling persuasively.
"No!" Christopher exclaimed. "No begging! My constitution can't take it!"
Max grinned and looked at him with his best puppy-dog expression.
"Please?"
While Max and Christopher were discussing street smarts, the people at the church had their hands full with Mrs. Laurel and the two little Laurels. The ride in the Darcy carriage had more than jostled Mrs. Laurel's nerves: it had sent her into labor. Poor James had been the only one available when it started, and he had had his hand crushed helping her out of the carriage. From there Mr. Laurel and the two Mrs. Darcys had taken over, with Michelle and Georgiana doing whatever was in their power to help.
While everything was in an uproar, Kesler arrived with Matthew in tow. It had become the custom, when it grew to be dark, if the Blakeneys were still at the church, Kesler was to bring the little boy to join his parents until they could take him home, themselves. However, as Kesler looked around the large foyer, he did not spot a single Blakeney.
Matthew had grown accustomed to this new lifestyle, also, and he immediately found the place where Father Prescott had hidden his toys the last time he had left them at the church. Finding that the child was content, Kesler went in search of his parents. As he walked along the hall, the screams emanating from the tiny mouth of Mrs. Laurel grew louder, and soon he bumped into Georgiana, who was carrying a pile of linen into the little mother's room. Michelle hurried out of the room and bent to help the blushing valet retrieve the load.
Dazed and worn out, Georgiana put a hand to her forehead as she watched them pick up the mess. Herself nearing the sixth month of pregnancy, she was really in no condition to be working as hard as she did, but no amount of persuasion from any of her family and friends - even her husband - could stop her. She was determined to do her share.
When Michelle and Kesler stood up, Michelle noticed Georgiana's pallor and said,
"Are you well, Mrs. Blakeney?"
Georgiana nodded.
"Yes, I'm fine. Kesler, when did you get here?"
"Not five minutes ago, ma'am," Kesler replied. "Excuse my saying so, ma'am, but I think you should lie down. You look tired."
"Dear me," she said faintly, "I must really look a sight. Where is Matthew? Has Christopher returned yet?"
"I have not seen Mr. Blakeney yet, but Master Matthew is playing in one of the rooms downstairs."
Georgiana smiled and went to see her son. Michelle took Kesler aside and said,
"Go with her and make sure she does not come back up here to work. She needs to rest."
"Yes, miss," Kesler nodded, and followed Georgiana. He found her already in the small nursery, sitting in a chair and observing the toddler's play. She looked up when he entered and smiled wearily.
"Thank you for being such a great help," she said. "It's been a hectic few weeks, has it not?"
"You might say that," said Kesler. "But I am not paid to do nothing."
"I think I might ask Christopher to raise your wages," she murmured. "Matty seems to like you very well, indeed, and though he is an easy child to please, I don't think anybody could please him half as well as you do."
Kesler blushed.
"Well, as you said, ma'am, he is an easy child to please. It's really no chore at all to be with him."
Georgiana grinned.
"No. He is very much like his father, I think."
"Really?" said Kesler, surprised and not a little jealous. "To be sure, he has Mr. Blakeney's colouring, but..."
"No, it is more than just his hair," said Georgiana, reaching down to tousle Matthew's black curls. He giggled and brushed her hand away, just realizing she was there. He stood up and began to explain to her what he was doing with his toys. Georgiana listened delightedly, responding with an occasional "Is that so?" or "I didn't know that." or "That's wonderful!"
Kesler frowned contemplatively, tilting his head to one side the better to study his young charge.
"If it is not impertinent, I do think he favors you," he said. Georgiana frowned.
"No, he favors Christopher," she insisted. "Matthew, smile for Mama." Matthew looked up and grinned, displaying his set of tiny teeth - his parents had lost count of how many the child had already cut. Kesler had to admit the boy's smile was very much like his father's. But he pursued his own point, too. Picking a piece of paper on the floor with little fingerprints and ink blots on it, he said, in over- excited tones,
"Matthew, did you do this?"
Matthew put a finger in his mouth and smiled sheepishly, blushing to the roots of his hair. Kesler looked triumphantly at Georgiana, who also blushed.
"Matty, did you find the ink?" she changed the subject.
"It spilled!" he said defensively.
"All by itself?" said Georgiana, raising an eyebrow. "And all of the ink landed on the paper, too!"
Matthew nodded enthusiastically, glad his mama understood.
"Uh-huh!"
"And you say he is not like his father," said Georgiana, teasingly. Kesler shrugged.
"I merely said he is more like his mother."
"Well," said Georgiana, standing up, "I think I should go check on Mrs. Laurel."
"No, ma'am," said Kesler, also standing. "That is, Miss Stanhope said I was to make sure you rested."
"I have rested," Georgiana smiled. "Now it is time for me to be up again."
"But..." Kesler said, following Georgiana as she went out the door. Neither of them noticed Matthew following, carrying his ink-blotted paper with him. As they crossed the foyer, Max and Christopher came in. Christopher stopped to plant a kiss on Georgiana's cheek, then went on purposefully toward the center of the room and stopped, turning to face Max, who was shedding his coat.
"Christopher, is your mouth bleeding?" said Georgiana.
"It might be," he replied. "It was a few minutes ago. Are you ready, Max?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Max replied cheerfully. Georgiana and Kesler watched in astonishment as both men put their fists up.
"What are you doing?" Georgiana cried.
"Max needed a lesson, and I am giving it to him," said Christopher, grinning at Max, who was concentrating hard. Georgiana was confused. The words belied the expressions. They seemed friendly enough, except for the fact that their bodies were poised to attack. Her husband looked positively cheerful. But Max never fought with anybody. What could be the meaning of this?
"Papa!" Matthew scampered out from behind Georgiana's skirt and ran toward his father. Startled off his guard, Christopher looked down.
"Hallo, Matt," he said. "Go to Mama now."
Max took the opportunity to attack, but Christopher dodged just in time. Matthew pouted a little at the dismissal, but persisted stubbornly.
"Papa, look!" he held up his paper.
"Yes, I see," said Christopher hurriedly, and did a short double-take. "Where did you find the ink?"
Max tried again, and nearly stepped on Matthew, for which transgression Christopher cuffed him over the head lightly. Max narrowed his eyes and tried again.
"Don't be in such a hurry," Christopher scolded, stepping out of the way.
"Do you need time to attend to your son?" Max teased. "Because I can wait if you're not ready." Christopher narrowed his eyes and made his own attack. Max dodged under the blow and lunged at Christopher's midsection, tackling him to the ground. Christopher yelled in surprise, and they wrestled together for a few seconds before Max discovered that his opponent was ticklish.
Georgiana was doubled over in laughter as she watched her husband try to wriggle out of the way of Max's fingers. Max laughed, too, when Matthew decided to join in, coming to his father's defense with his own fingers.
"That's a good boy," said Christopher, finally freeing himself. Still seated on the floor, he grabbed the boy and blew a raspberry on his neck. Matthew giggled and squirmed. "He knows what side he's on," Christopher said proudly as he stood up.
"Indeed," said Max, scowling at Matthew good-humoredly. "The side that feeds him."
"What happened to you?" asked Georgiana, turning Christopher's face to one side to inspect his cut lip.
"Oh, that," said Christopher. "That's nothing. Max thought I was a robber."
"Well, it was hardly my fault," said Max defensively. "He bumped into me."
"You were running at top speed, without looking where you were going," said Christopher.
"I was being chased!" said Max.
"You do realize, of course," said Christopher, "that a robber will hardly stand for being tickled."
"Well, it came in handy this time," said Max, blowing on his fingernails.
"But I am not a robber," Christopher pointed out. Michelle entered the room, and viewing the destruction the two had made on the floor, and Max just now replacing his coat on his shoulders, made an expression of wonderment, then turned to Georgiana.
"She is having a hard time. Kitty thinks we should send for a doctor."
"I will be right up," said Georgiana, preparing to go back upstairs.
"You will do no such thing," said Michelle sternly. "You need to rest." She looked at Christopher and Max critically. "And you two need to do something about those wrinkles in your clothing. You look as if you wrestled with a rosebush, the both of you."
"Yes, ma'am," said Max meekly. Michelle's lips twitched upwards and she burst into laughter.
"Oh, you are too much!" she cried, and fled the room.
"But ... what is going on here?" Max asked, finally realizing he did not understand the half of what Michelle had just said to Georgiana.
"Mrs. Laurel went into labor just before she arrived here," Georgiana explained. Max looked at Christopher, who was looking at his feet sheepishly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I forgot."
"You silly little gudgeon," said Georgiana, kissing his cheek and preparing to go upstairs. Christopher caught her by the arm.
"You are not going back up there. Miss Stanhope said you need to rest, and you will rest."
"Of course, darling," said Georgiana, smiling determinedly. "But first I must see if I can do anything for that woman up there. I am four years older than Miss Stanhope, besides being a mother already. I think I know what I can and cannot do, physically."
Christopher raised his eyebrows and looked at his valet.
"What do you think?"
Kesler flushed, embarrassed at being put on the spot.
"I think," he said slowly, "that Mrs. Blakeney should be careful, but I have faith in her judgment."
"How diplomatic," said Christopher sarcastically.
"I am determined," said Georgiana. "Let me go, Christopher."
He obeyed, but followed closely behind her, intent on bringing his point across. Finally, she turned to look at him. She was only three or four inches shorter than he was when they were both on the same level, but now that she was standing one step above him, she was able to look slightly downwards. He frowned and deliberately took one more step up, causing her to smile at him.
"I know you are concerned," she began.
"I have every right to be," he pointed out.
"Yes, but who can be a better judge of how I feel, than myself? I am perfectly fine, Christopher. If I thought I was putting myself or the baby in danger, I would not be doing this. You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course, but..."
"I promise, after today, I will take a vacation and spend some more time with you and Matty, all right? Perhaps we can even go back to Richmond and be with your parents and Josée."
Christopher sighed and relented.
"As long as you stop after today," he said. She nodded, squeezed his hand, and went back upstairs.
Max, Christopher and Mr. Laurel paced the hall for the next several minutes. As there were three of them and only two directions in which to pace, this caused many collisions until they finally decided to sit down. There was a small room across from the room in which Mrs. Laurel was situated, and here they waited for news. Mr. Laurel sat down quietly, already fearing the worst, and took Joey into his arms, rocking the boy until he fell asleep. Christopher and Max looked sympathetically at the man as he rested his chin on his son's head and watched the door across the hall intently.
"Is it always this difficult?" asked Max. Christopher shrugged.
"The only birth I've been present at was Matthew's, and yes, it was very difficult," he said flatly, obviously worried about the state Georgiana would be in when her ordeal was finished.
This disturbed Max, and he began searching the room for a piece of paper to distract himself. Luckily, this was the room where the tithe and offerings were counted after each service, so there was plenty of paper lying about, as the church treasurer more than often needed help with his sums, not being a particularly bright person. Max sat down and as he began to draw, he could feel the tension inside him loosening.
When Mr. Laurel had not moved after half an hour, Christopher decided something had to be done.
"Why don't we put the boy to bed, Laurel?" he said quietly. The man looked up at him.
"She stopped screaming. Why don't they come out?"
"Perhaps she is only resting. I'm sure they would tell you if anything had happened, good or bad. Let me have the boy, and you can go see her, hm?"
Mr. Laurel relented and Christopher carried the child into the next room, where a cot had been made ready earlier in the day. Max looked up and noticed that, though Mr. Laurel had stood, he was not moving.
"Something the matter?" he asked solicitously. Mr. Laurel shook his head and, instead of knocking on his wife's door, began to pace the room once again. He stopped just behind Max's shoulder.
"What's that you're drawing?" he asked.
"Ummm..." said Max, scrambling to cover it with something. "Nothing, just...."
"It looks like a hospital, or something," said Mr. Laurel, oddly fascinated. Overcoming his shyness, Max decided to let the man distract himself and handed him the paper.
"This is good," said Mr. Laurel, raising his eyebrows. Max smiled modestly.
"Thank you."
"No, really," said Mr. Laurel, pulling up a chair, and he proceeded to point out to Max all the various points on the design that showed real promise.
"You know architecture?" said Max, astonished.
"I should," he snorted. "I've only been building the things since I was fourteen."
Max's eyes bulged out of his head. This was quite a coincidence! He wondered if Michelle knew.... But it would be indelicate at this time to try to seize the opportunity, so he only said,
"In that case, I am all the more thankful for your praise."
Georgiana came out of the room at last, followed by Michelle, while Kitty remained behind to clean up.
"Is she all right?" Mr. Laurel asked, hurrying to greet them and nearly smothering them in the process. "She isn't...."
"No, she is not dead," said Georgiana, smiling wearily. "Nor is she likely to be. You have a son, Mr. Laurel. Another one, that is."
"You may go and see them, if you like," said Michelle. "Mrs. Laurel needs rest, but she did say she would like to see you."
They watched Mr. Laurel's face go from worry to relief to joy. He hugged each of them, taking an unsuspecting Christopher by surprise, as he came back from tucking Joey in, and ran into his wife's room.
Max stood and approached Michelle, who was looking very tired, he thought. It occurred to him that perhaps she should not have been allowed to help, being unmarried and very young, but she seemed to be in awe of what she had seen.
"That was amazing," she said, her voice low with wonder. "I cannot believe it.... They made a living thing!"
Max blushed and Michelle looked at her hands, realizing what she had said.
"I don't think..." he started to say, but she interrupted.
"I don't care if it is proper for a girl to talk of such things to a man. That was the most wonderful thing I ever saw! Not that I have any desire to experience it, myself, any time in the immediate future..." she stopped, noticing Max's increased blushes. "I'm sorry. I shall keep my mouth closed from henceforward. Oh, if only I kept a diary!"
Max smiled mischievously.
"Write about it to Aunt Agnes."
Michelle laughed heartily.
"Perhaps I shall!" She searched for a handkerchief, and being unable to find one, gratefully took the one Max offered. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm just a bit overcome..."
"That's understandable," he said, leading her by the elbow to a chair.
"I think I have just had an enormous lesson in life," she said. "Of course my father told me all about ... a man and a woman ... but he did not say anything about this."
Max choked, and could not seem to find his voice. Michelle was contrite.
"Oh, dear," she said. "I hope I have not said anything too shocking!"
"No," he gasped.
"You are too kind," she smiled. "Do you know, Max, I think your sensibilities are a little too ... sensitive. If you knew anything about my father, you would be at a loss to discover where I learned any semblance of manners."
"Was he really as wild as Aunt Agnes would have him to be?"
"Oh, Aunt Agnes does not know the half."
"Really?" he asked interestedly. She smiled.
"No, I'm not going to tell you any family secrets. At least, not yet."
"You don't trust me," he said, affecting a pout.
"Not in the least. Well, you see," she explained, "Mrs. Blakeney told me yesterday that you were the one who told Mr. Blakeney she was expecting...."
"Will I never live that down?" he moaned, hiding his face in his hand and peeping at her through the fingers.
"They will be married within a year," said Georgiana as she and Christopher observed the younger couple.
"Undoubtedly," he agreed. She yawned. "Let's go home," he said, taking her hand. She nodded sleepily.
"Where is Matthew?"
"Kesler is bringing him down." As he finished speaking, Kesler appeared around the door, carrying a sleeping Matthew in his arms. Christopher helped his wife to stand. She clasped his hands tightly as she swayed dizzily. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Do you need me to carry you?"
"No," she said, her pride vaguely wounded. "I can walk." She let go of his hands and walked resolutely out the door. Once outside, though, she swayed again. Christopher rushed to catch her as she fainted. As he struggled to keep balance and open the door, he saw Kesler hastening forward to offer his assistance, forgetting entirely about the child in his arms. His eyes narrowed.
"You tend to your burden; I'll tend to mine," he snapped, redirecting the valet's attention to the sleeping toddler on his own shoulder.
"Not a burden at all, sir," Kesler muttered. Christopher frowned down at Georgiana's pale, unconscious face, and felt the need to defend himself. This feeling was increased when he saw that James had already brought his own carriage around, and was waiting for Kitty to finish with Mrs. Laurel.
When James saw Christopher carrying his sister out of the church, he ran forward and immediately began shouting.
"What happened? What on earth were you thinking, keeping her here so late?"
Christopher winced, certain that Kesler was silently agreeing with every word James said. Who knew what a servant in love with his mistress would do to his master if he thought she had been mistreated?
"I'm sure we would have been at home, asleep, long ago, if she had not felt the need to stay here until Mrs. Laurel had delivered," he said, and sharply ordered his own carriage to be brought round.
"Take mine," said James quickly. "Who knows how long it will take to bring yours?"
"Thank you," said Christopher, glancing quickly at James as he placed Georgiana in said carriage. He looked around for Matthew, then remembered with a scowl that Kesler had him. He would much rather leave Kesler behind, but if he took Matthew from him now, the boy would very likely wake, and it would not do to let him see his mother in such a state.
In an effort to delay the decision, he looked around the carriage for smelling salts. Of course there were none, none of the Darcy family being subject to nervous fits or fainting spells.
So Kesler must come along. Very well. He could live with that. But he would not keep the valet another day. It was a foolish risk to keep the man for one more hour.
Kesler saw the decision in his eyes with a sinking heart. He had done a stupid thing, and now would pay for it. He had formed an attachment to a married lady of Quality, and had forced himself into her house. Not only that, but he had failed to hide his feelings from her husband.
At least she seemed to be unaware of it, as yet.
What would his mother say? Was his mother's life worth an infatuation with Georgiana Blakeney?
Needless to say, the ride to the Blakeney house was strained at best, the only two conscious passengers either unwilling or afraid to talk to the other.
Michelle's conversation directly following the birth of the Laurels' second son had left Max more in love with her than ever, and feeling incapable of being in the same house with her without embarrassing them both with a second proposal, he went to White's.
He had not been here in some weeks, as his duties at the church had become more demanding, and he was somewhat surprised to find it had not changed a bit. The same people as always, amusing themselves in the same way as always. It was almost sleep-inducing, and Max quickly smothered a yawn when the same bucks called to him with the same greeting as always.
"Callahan! Fancy seeing you here! Come here, we are in need of a fourth for this game."
Max recognized three of his closest friends - John Wilson, Charles Vechey and Edward Little - at their usual table, and headed over.
"What do you say, Maxy-boy? Join us in a game of piquet?" Little smiled up at him with a condescending smile and eyes glazed over from too much drink. Max winced at the name he used, realizing it was not as much from affection as from condescension. Georgiana's husband had used that term once, but it had not been so degrading when he had uttered it. Edward Little had that effect on people.
He was the only son of Sir George Little. He had attended Eton with Max, and though he was several years older, they had become friends. The fact that a wonderfully talented and popular boy such as Edward Little had deigned to be friends with him, the useless second son of Sir Dennis Callahan, had struck Max quite forcefully, and he had always looked up to Little almost as a dog looks up to his master. For some reason, he had not noticed until recently his "friend's" immensely superior attitude.
Max smiled somewhat sourly and replied,
"No, I don't think so. I'm not here to gamble."
"Don't tell me your brother has tightened your allowance?" Wilson gasped in horror. He was the youngest of five sons, and lived in fear of his brother's stinginess.
"No, I simply do not want to gamble tonight."
"Poor Maxy," said Little, shaking his head and shuffling the cards. "Those beggars he's been consorting with have bled him dry. When have we refused to take your vowels, Max? I can assure you we'll be generous."
"Believe me," Max bristled, much to his own astonishment, "I am aware of your - I may say, eagerness - to be possessed of my vowels."
Little looked up to observe the person who had talked to him in that manner. His eyebrows rose in frank astonishment.
"Well, Maxy-boy, I am impressed. I didn't know you had it in you. But now that you have shown us you can stand up for yourself, why don't you sit down, and play a couple hands?"
"Actually, I only wanted to have a couple drinks," said Max, turning on his heel to go to the other side of the club. Little pushed back his chair and took Max by the arm.
"Max, sit down," he said quietly. Max obeyed out of habit, and took a chair. Little smiled. "That's better," he said, taking his own seat and dealing the cards. Vechey had Max's glass promptly filled while Wilson watched Little warily.
"It's been awhile since you were here, Callahan," said Wilson. "What have you been doing with yourself?"
"Oh, haven't you heard?" said Little, his voice deceptively sweet. "Max here has taken to slumming."
"What?" Vechey was puzzled.
"I'm not slumming," said Max, taking a fortifying sip of brandy.
"Then what have you been doing?" asked Little, exasperated with his puppy. He did not like it when the people he was so good as to support socially rebelled against him. Publicly contradicting him was the worst anyone could do, short of pummeling. "Wasn't that you I saw outside St. George's the other day, talking to a passel of beggars?"
"It might have been me," Max conceded. "But I was not slumming, I was helping. And they were not beggars, only people who accepted our humble offerings."
There are some people in the world who, when they hear of someone doing good, are either offended that they are not the good person being talked of, or conscience-stricken that they have not done more. Which of these concerns touched Edward Little's heart is hard to say, but that he was one of these people is certain.
"Oh, how touching," he said sarcastically. "Really, Max, you inspire me. You are my new hero. Tell me, are you here to recruit new `helpers,' as you call them?"
"I think..." Wilson started, trying to defend his friend, but a look from Edward Little quelled his tongue.
"That is a generous offer, Edward," said Max, smiling slightly, "but I don't think we need the sort of help you would want to give."
Vechey snickered, being the one at the table least afraid of Little's temper. Wilson might have laughed, too, except he did not understand the joke. Little sat back in his chair, frowning deeply at Max.
"Max, why do you bring that up? I don't want to hurt you."
"Oh, neither do I," said Max innocently. "But I am all seriousness. You see, Edward, there are very few female types at St. George's when I am there, and the ones who are there do not need ... well, you know."
Max was as astounded as anybody there that he had the audacity to talk to the man that way, and watched with a concealed nervousness as Little's frown deepened even more. Suddenly, Little's countenance seemed to lighten, and he laughed.
"All true, I dare say. Come, let's play."
Max decided to go along with the game, to appease his friend's temper. Halfway through the game, however, he realized that must have been why Edward had seemed to disregard the veiled insult. They needed a fourth player. As soon as the game was over, and Vechey had picked up the deck to deal again, Max stood and announced his desire to leave. Little, who had become even more drunk since Max first entered the establishment, stopped him.
"Stay, Max. I would like to talk to you."
"What about?" asked Max warily.
"St. George's." Max waited for him to continue. "You see, Maxy-boy, it is really not the thing for someone of our class to associate with people like ... them," he said this last word contemptuously, and Max felt his fists clench. "It could ruin your career."
Max flushed, looked down, and bit his tongue before he could say anything extremely rash. He certainly did not want to get on Little's drunken bad side.
"As you know, Edward, I have no career. And if I have to make a choice between their kind and your kind, I infinitely prefer their kind."
Max blinked, once again surprised at himself. Little frowned and calmly downed the rest of his drink. Rising, he looked down at Max.
"Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me, Max?" he asked quietly. Max would have preferred if he had lost his temper. This calm anger was quite unnerving. He felt as if all the wind had been taken out of his sails, and he could not remember what had made him so impatient with Little to begin with.
Little smiled slightly at Max's hesitation. He had been accomplished at intimidation ever since he was a boy, and knew when he was about to gain a small victory.
"Of course I don't want to fight with you, Edward," said Max, looking past his old friend at his other two friends, who were watching somewhat nervously. He straightened his shoulders nervously, determined he would not be afraid of Edward, and looked him in the eye. "However, it is rather difficult to be peaceable when you insult me and my friends. The only difference in our situations, is the order in which we were born. You are no better than me."
Edward smiled disbelievingly. Max went on.
"And I don't think it is possible for you to say you had a better education in society than I did, for all that you are an only son. I know what I'm doing."
Little was smart enough to know when his target was too stubborn to break. He smiled and clapped Max on the shoulder.
"Very well, then, Maxy. You don't have to convince me. If you think you can persist in this ..." he cleared his throat "...business, who am I to say you cannot?" He took a seat again. "Now, how about another game, hm, Maxy-boy?"
Max clenched his teeth. There was that sickened feeling in his stomach again. Little's superior attitude was overwhelming, and he knew he had no way of coming out on top if he were to dive into an all-out argument with him, merely on the fact that he could not stand the name "Maxy-boy" any longer.
"Not tonight, thank you," he said civilly. "I must be getting home."
"Of course," Little laughed. "You probably have to rise early in the morning to be able to beat those beggars of yours to the church."
"They are not beggars," said Max firmly.
"Of course not," said Little as if humoring a child. "Good night," he seemed to hesitate deliberately before saying "Maxy-boy."
Max turned on his heel and left before he was provoked into fisticuffs. It would never do to be involved in a brawl at White's.
As soon as they had arrived home from St. George's, Christopher had summoned a doctor to see Georgiana. Now, as Dr. Foster examined his patient, and Christopher waited impatiently just outside the door, Kesler was in his room, preparing to leave. He meant to be gone as soon as possible. Being dismissed from a position was not a good way to start one's career. It would be infinitely better to leave of his own accord.
He heard the sound of a young woman clearing her throat just outside his door, and he went to investigate. He found Susannah waiting, her eyes round with worry.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"You know better than I do," she said. "Why has the doctor been called?"
"Mrs. Blakeney fainted. I suppose he wants to be certain nothing is wrong with the baby."
"I see." She peeked inside the door to his room. "You're leaving?" she exclaimed, severely shocked. He cleared his throat.
"It has become necessary for me to seek a position elsewhere."
"You mean..." her eyes widened even more "...Mr. Blakeney knows that you..." She stopped when she noticed Kesler was glaring at her. "Well, you must admit, Thomas, you are very transparent. I'd be surprised if a single servant in this house does not know of your tendre for our mistress. Have you been sacked?"
"Not yet." He sighed and went back into his room. She stayed outside.
"Do you know, Thomas, you make it very difficult for a girl to talk to you by constantly walking off in the middle of a conversation?"
"You may come in, if you want to," he said. "There's nothing in here you haven't seen before."
"Why did Mrs. Blakeney faint? You did not force yourself onto her, did you?"
"I'm not that stupid."
"Really? I would not have held it past you. You have behaved rather stupidly since you first came here."
"I know."
"Are you really in love with her?" she asked bluntly. He stopped throwing things into his sack for a minute and sighed.
"No, I don't think so."
"Stupid thing to get sacked for," she commented. "Behaving like a besotted fool when you really weren't besotted at all. Though I can understand why you would think you were besotted. She is very beautiful."
"Yes, she is."
"Stop smiling like that. It's embarrassing. Especially since I know I am nowhere near as beautiful as Mrs. Blakeney."
"Yes, you are," he said immediately, as a reflex. "I mean, you may not be what an artist would call beautiful, but you are pretty enough."
"Am I?" she smiled sourly.
"Yes," he insisted. She smiled genuinely now and pushed her hair behind her ears. Then she seemed to change the subject.
"Have you told Mr. Blakeney in plain terms about your feelings for Mrs. Blakeney?"
"No, but he knows." He smiled ruefully. "I am rather transparent, aren't I?"
"Rather," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "But you say he has only guessed?"
"Yes."
"You poor thing," she said sympathetically. He eyed her warily, expecting to be mocked. "I'm sure it must be hard to lose your job under these circumstances."
"It will make it a touch more difficult to find a new job, but I cannot think of anything else to be done."
"I can."
"You can?"
"Certainly. I have been thinking about this ever since your attachment to Mrs. Blakeney became clear to me, and that was the first day you came here. I have come to the conclusion that you must not, under any circumstances, confess the truth to Mr. Blakeney."
"No?"
"No. If you want to keep your job, you must make it clear to him that you feel no affection whatsoever for his wife, except that of a servant for his mistress. In short, you must marry someone else."
"Oh." Kesler looked at her blankly. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"I do."
"Who?"
Susannah smiled, looking coyly at the ceiling, and patted her hair to make sure it was in place. Then she cleared her throat, gave an affected little giggle, and sat demurely on his bed.
"I always find it so romantic to hear of a man proposing on bended knee," she hinted broadly.
Kesler blinked. Marry Susannah? The thought had never entered his mind. He looked her up and down, trying to deduce his feelings for her. Certainly he was not repulsed by her offer. And of course she would not offer if she did not really want to marry him. He had not noticed any extraordinary kindness or generosity in her in the months they had been working together. No, this was not merely an offer to help him out of the mess with the Blakeneys. But he had been behaving so stupidly, how could anyone love him? He shrugged it off. Why should he convince her he was unworthy if she already thought he was?
Without another moment's thought, he dropped to his knees. She looked at him, frowning slightly, and wiggled the fingers of her left hand as a signal for him to take them in his own. He did so obediently.
"Susannah .... what is your surname?"
"Carter," she prompted.
"Susannah Carter, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly in feigned shock.
"Why, Thomas! I cannot tell you how surprised I am!"
"But..." he said, starting to rise indignantly. She grasped his fingers tightly, keeping him down.
"Yes, I will marry you," she whispered, and embraced him tightly.
Dr. Barnes was taking too much time with Georgiana, Christopher thought. She had been revived from her faint almost as soon as they had arrived home from the church. She had insisted there was nothing wrong with her, in fact. The doctor had been called merely for security. So why on earth was he taking so long?
When he finally emerged from his patient's room, he informed Christopher that he had had a long discussion with Mrs. Blakeney about the wisdom of doing too much while pregnant.
"I could not believe my ears when she told me she had been allowed to run to Derbyshire and back in less than a week, shortly before taking up this business at St. George's. How much do you think a lady in her condition can stand?"
"How much do you think a lady in her condition will stand?" Christopher retorted defensively. "I am not in the habit of forcing my wife to do things she does not wish to do."
"You must be firm on this issue," the doctor insisted. "She is not to exert herself."
Christopher made a face.
"Bedrest?"
"Not quite that. She may get out of bed and be sociable. She may even take walks, as long as she does not go too far. But she must not endanger herself or the baby. We came very close to a tragedy tonight, Mr. Blakeney."
Christopher did not think Georgiana would take this news well. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to go into her room to give her the news, if the doctor had not done so already, then gratefully remembered he had another task to dread.
Doing an about-face, he sent for Kesler to be sent to his office. As unpleasant as dismissing his valet would be, it was not nearly so unpleasant as ordering his wife to do something that was distasteful to both of them.
It was the first time he had conducted any sort of business in his father's office, and in order to hide his own intimidation, he would have to appear cockier than ever. It was to this effect that he rested his boots on the magnificent desk in front of him. However, it was somewhat disconcerting when Kesler entered looking almost ... cheerful!
"You sent for me, sir," Kesler said woodenly, then added somewhat thoughtfully, "I should have thought a valet would have been summoned to the bedroom."
"A valet would, yes," said Christopher. "But there is something else I wished to discuss with you, Kesler."
"Yes, sir?" Kesler looked innocently at him, astonishing both of them at once.
"I don't know why you were so eager to be in my company, really," Christopher commented. "I suppose you thought it was the only way you could gain constant access to this house ... and other things. At first, I thought I might have been imagining things..."
"Sir?" Kesler furrowed his brow and sat on his hands.
"Well, you see," Christopher stood and began pacing somewhat nervously. "You have put me in a very awkward position."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Kesler with a contrite expression. "I did not mean to cause awkwardness."
"Well, you have." Christopher realized he could not maintain the proper superiority if he was the one who was appearing to be nervous, and sat down again with his feet on the desk.
"This makes it all the more awkward for me," Kesler put in boldly. Christopher raised both his eyebrows in astonishment and stared at the man.
"Sink me!" he said. "I don't suppose it's half as awkward for you, as it is for me."
Kesler raised a hand to scratch his ear and made a face.
"A man does like to wait for the perfect opportunity to ask for permission to marry."
Christopher was surprised into a full sitting position, his boots coming loudly to the floor.
"Marry? What the..."
"And now I've made a bungle of it," said Kesler mournfully. "Oh, Susie won't like this."
"Susie?" Christopher blinked to make sure he had the right man sitting in front of him.
"You don't mind if I call her so, do you?" said Kesler. "I haven't dared to call her that to her face... I don't suppose she would stand for it. Petite women very often don't like to be given names to match their height."
Christopher was confused. Georgiana was not petite, and in any case, her name could not be turned into `Susie.'
"You want to marry ... Susie?" he repeated.
"With your permission, sir. I would need some time off, you see."
Christopher was certain his jaw must be on the ground, but he could not feel anything. He blinked again.
"Certainly!" he said, finally, propping his feet on the desk again. "By all means, marry this Susie. Do I know her? When is the wedding?"
Kesler grinned.
"She works in this very house, sir. We have not yet set the date; we were waiting for your permission."
"Oh." Christopher frowned, then realization hit him. "Susannah! Of course. Well, I must say I am surprised, but..." his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Was this another ploy to stay near Georgiana? "Then you sought a position here for the sole purpose of..."
"Courting Susannah," said Kesler, making an admirable sheepish expression. Christopher smiled, realizing the sudden switch, but decided he would accept the excuse.
"Of course," he said, grinning and coming around the desk to see the man out. "Best wishes and felicitations and all that. Really, I am delighted for both of you!"
"I thought you might be, sir," said Kesler as the door closed. Christopher did not like the sound of this last statement very much, but in keeping with his former determination to accept Kesler's excuse, he shrugged it off. His suspicions were not gone, but he was willing to overlook them if Kesler would keep to himself.
That had gone remarkably well! Maybe Georgiana would comply gracefully with virtual bedrest, after all.
Georgiana sat straight up in her bed.
"But I don't want to rest all the time!" she said in what was nearly a wail.
Then again, maybe not.
Max was surprised two days later when Edward Little showed up at St. George's. It had begun to rain not ten minutes earlier, and they were all still taking inventory as to what had been saved, when he came into the foyer, casually shaking raindrops off his umbrella. Max was so surprised, in fact, that he dropped the basket of tomatoes on the floor.
"Max!" Nellie Darcy scolded. Max blushed, apologized quickly, and made his way to greet his friend.
"Little!" he said. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Yes, well," Little murmured, checking his appearance in the shine of his watch. "I thought I should come and check on you. After all, your brother is abroad, and young people need guidance, etc. etc." He sounded almost bored, as if it was his duty to be here.
"Really unnecessary," said Max, trying to shield the others from Little's view. The Blakeneys were not here, and Max was thankful, for though he had the highest opinion of their affection for each other, not many ladies were able to withstand Edward Little's charm and looks, and though Nellie and Kitty were married, he would still rather they did not meet him. And then there was Michelle.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, Michelle came up to him, her bare feet pattering on the hard surface of the floor. Both Darcy couples had accustomed themselves quickly to her habit of going around barefoot, but Max was certain he saw Edward's eyes bulge out of his head as those roving features assessed Michelle's figure.
"Maximillian," she said, glancing and nodding perfunctorily at Little. "I was able to save almost all the oats, but the bread is sodden."
"Charming," said Edward with a half-smile. "Maxy, do the honors, will you?"
Max grudgingly made introductions, watching jealously as Michelle took in Little's dashing figure. He reached one hand up unconsciously to touch his own red hair, wishing for all the world he could trade it for Edward's glossy blond locks.
"Perfectly lovely," said Little smoothly, taking Michelle's hand and brushing his lips against her fingertips. She giggled while Max seethed.
"Soaked is a better word, I'm afraid," she said, brushing two wet curls behind one ear. "Are you a new recruit? We can use all the help we can get."
"Oh, you can count on it," he said, winking at Max. "Anybody will tell you Edward Little is always the first in line to help somebody, particularly those less fortunate than myself." His eyes traveled over her again, and he smiled appreciatively. She frowned uncomfortably, wishing that she had left her shoes on for once.
"Well, this is a sudden change," Max remarked. "However, we do need someone to watch Joey and Robbie while we finish inventory."
"Joey and Robbie?" Little echoed, taken aback.
"The most charming children," Michelle explained, smiling at Max in full understanding. Little blanched. Then he sighed and motioned to his apparel.
"You find me sadly unprepared to deal with children."
It was Max's turn to smirk.
"Really, Edward. If you set out to work, you should not do so in your best clothes."
"Oh, these are not my best clothes," said Little, colouring and glancing at Michelle. "It is only that..."
"Besides," said Michelle, taking his arm in a friendly manner and leading him towards the stairs. "They are really the best-behaved children I ever met. Why, they hardly get into any mischief at all."
"Really, Miss Stanhope, I don't think I am capable of dealing with children," he said. "I am not, after all, a father, not being married..."
She laughed.
"If that was a hint, sir, it was a clumsy one."
"I beg your pardon," he said stiffly.
"Oh, no need, I assure you." He turned a cool gaze on her and she bit her lip. He really was most intimidatingly good-looking. He seemed to realize this, for he smiled his most charming smile and looked down in feigned timidity.
"I suppose I should think more before I speak. It is not often I find myself in the company of such a captivating female."
"Very smooth," she said approvingly. "You could very well have said `a female brazen enough to go around in mixed company with naked feet.' I'm sure you would have been just as charming if you were blunt."
"You are very blunt," he said, laughing softly. She sighed in agreement.
"I have been told so. But you see, Mr. Little, you have been quite mistaken in my character if you think I have taken you away from the others for any ... motives of my own." She smiled crookedly and opened a door. "Since you were so good as to volunteer, I think you will do very well with our youngest members. Mr. Joseph and Miss Roberta Laurel, meet your new companion, Mr. Edward Little."
Little gaped at the toddlers as Michelle laughingly closed the door behind them. As she started down the hall, she could hear the chaos already ensuing in that room. Really, those children could make the largest messes in the smallest amount of time.
As they rode home that evening, Michelle said to Max,
"Maximillian, do you think my ankles are terribly seductive?"
"I have told you before you have lovely feet," he said. "The first day we met, as a matter of fact."
"Yes, I know, but..." she frowned, eyeing her feet. "When I take my shoes off, it is not to attract attention from men."
"But of course it will," Max said reasonably. "You hear all the time how a man admired a woman's ankle, or some such thing."
Michelle pouted and crossed her arms over her chest.
"But I don't like it. I don't like being ogled."
"Well, there's no helping that," said Max, turning his head to look out the window. "But this cannot be the first time you've encountered it."
"No.. I mean, yes... I mean, well, I'm not used to seeing men outside my own family."
Max raised his eyebrows.
"You have no qualms going around barefoot with me."
"I suppose there's nothing to be done," she sighed resignedly. "I don't like being ogled, but I hate wearing shoes." She shrugged elegantly. "It must be the lesser of the two evils, I suppose. I can ignore men's stares, but I can't ignore pinched toes."
"I suppose that's true." Max smiled and turned back to the window.
"Max," she said suddenly, then hastily amended, "I mean, Maximillian..."
"Hm?" he blinked at her. "What?"
"How long have you been friends with Mr. Little?"
"Since we were boys," he said with a frown which she found perplexing.
"You must be very close, then," she said in a non-committal tone.
"We used to be," he said contemplatively. "That is, I think we were. He probably thinks we still are, but..."
"But what?" She sounded strangely urgent.
"Oh, nothing. I suppose I'm in a mood. It is only that lately I have found his company strangely ... oppressive."
"He calls you Maxy," she said distastefully.
"I know," he said dismally. "I thought nothing of it before, but now it..."
"Rankles," she agreed. "I know. So why don't you drop his society?"
"Well, that's complicated. He is almost like a brother to me. I mean, not the way Brian is my brother, but... Well, he used to take great care of me. Especially when I was just out of school and Brian was courting Eleanor and had no time for me."
She furrowed her brow.
"But weren't you still in school when they married?"
"Yes. I was speaking of two different times."
"Oh." She was silent the rest of the way home. She did not like this friend of Max's. He had struck her from the first as being completely dishonorable. But she could not tell Max that. If his loyalty to Little was as strong as she thought it might be, it would be futile. Even if he did listen to her, it would crush him. Then there was the chance she was wrong, in which case Max would unjustly cut his friend. But she always trusted her instincts, and this was a strong instinct.
When they arrived home, they found a letter waiting for them. It was actually addressed to both of them, which meant it must be from Brian and Eleanor. Max ripped it open as the former lackey who had been promoted to valet divested him of his coat, and read it aloud.
"Dear Max and Michelle..."
"Hmph," he interrupted himself. "Couldn't he have bothered writing out my name?"
"Go on with the letter," Michelle prodded. He obeyed.
Will try to make this brief, as we are in a hurry to board the next boat.
"Couldn't they have waited for a more opportune time?" Michelle complained. "I don't like brief letters."
Have recently completed a tour of Italy, which Eleanor found stimulating and I actually found interesting, myself. We almost got into severe trouble, however, when we saw some very appetizing fruit hanging over a wall, and helped ourselves. Well, what were we to do, I ask you? It was just hanging there. How were we to know that particular vineyard belonged to the chief of the police in Naples? I forget his official title, despite the fact that he was very proud of it and repeated it at regular intervals until my head ached and Eleanor grew queasy from the recitation. Thankfully he was not impervious to a very considerable bribe. He did, however, have one positive effect on me: he made me feel like a very young boy again. It may be amusing in retrospect, and I know you are laughing now, but it was humiliating during the event.
"Eleanor was queasy?" Michelle interrupted. "She did not take seriously ill, did she?"
"I'm sure Brian would have said so if she had," Max assured her and went on.
We were going to visit Germany next, but an unexpected thing has happened. It seems Eleanor and I are finally to be blessed with a new addition, so our next stop will instead be in England. In short, be prepared to be an uncle, Max. Perhaps Michelle will be an aunt (though Eleanor informs me that at present the child will be Michelle's second cousin. Of course, Eleanor would know that.
"How wonderful!" said Michelle, clapping her hands then throwing her arms around Max's neck. "At last!"
"Leave it to Brian to save that news for the end of the letter," Max muttered, grinning all the while
"When will they be back?"
"Four days to a week."
"I'm going to be an aunt!" Michelle exclaimed joyfully. Max's eyes widened, wondering if the implication was intended or if she had merely forgotten her actual relation to the child. Modesty required him to assume the latter explanation, but hope insisted he accept the former.
Unfortunately for Max's patience, Edward Little soon became a fixture at St. George's, though the care of Joey and Robbie was once again relegated to their mother. With nothing useful to do, he made a habit of following Michelle around the church, trying to strike up a flirtation. It annoyed her so much, she decided to wear her shoes one afternoon to see if that would make him stop. It did not.
"That man is a vain, selfish, egotistical peacock popinjay," she said to Max one day, five days after Little's arrival. "Why won't he leave me alone?"
"You just told me why," Max said, smiling. Michelle pursed her lips.
"Well, that is no excuse." She nodded firmly, sealing her point, and spotting Little coming towards them, quickly flounced away. Once he was standing by Max's side, Little sighed in frustration.
"I don't understand her at all," he said.
"I know," said Max.
"Maybe she thinks her resistance makes her more attractive."
Max burst into laughter. Little scowled.
"What is so amusing?" he asked stiffly.
"You are," Max gasped. "Michelle is not the type to play hard-to-get."
"There is another thing. She allows you to call her Michelle, but every time I try to do the same she rebuffs me."
Max had not thought of that.
"Well.... I am her cousin's brother-in-law," he said. Little snorted.
"And I am her cousin's brother-in-law's friend. That should give me some rights."
"Perhaps, but not the rights you speak of."
"Come off it, Max. Where did you get the impression I was out to seduce the girl?"
"It's what you do." Little smiled guiltily.
"Well, I can't say she's not... that is, I can't say it's not tempting. I was very disappointed, though, that she put her shoes on today."
Max was, too, but he would not admit it. The thought made him blush. Little noticed and grinned, punching Max playfully on the shoulder.
"You see? Even you agree with me."
"Stop that." said Max, moving out of the way.
"No need to be embarrassed," said Little. "And it's not as if you have had no experience with women. Last year alone..."
He was cut off by Michelle's appearance at Max's elbow. She glanced at each of them momentarily, making sure they were finished with their conversation, then spoke to Max.
"Maximillian, I have to be at the theatre in an hour. Could you take over for me?"
"Certainly," he agreed quickly, taking the opportunity to dash away from Edward's reminiscings. Whatever Michelle had been doing was preferable to talking with Edward about women. Unfortunately, Edward followed him.
"Why does she go to the theatre so often?"
"That is none of your business." He stopped Kitty to ask what Michelle had been doing. His face dropped when he learned that she had been busy washing dishes. Edward laughed.
"Never volunteer to do something unless you know what it is," he advised. Max shrugged, resigned.
"Well, let's go outside and get the used plates, then."
Edward seemed taken aback that he had been volunteered. He followed Max, but soon became distracted when a group of young men that he knew crossed the street. He hailed them and hurried over to chat for a few minutes while Max cleared the tables.
Max looked up after a few minutes and, though upset with Edward for his unwillingness to help, decided that he could also spare a few minutes for his friends. However, his friends did not seem so enthusiastic about the idea. They looked disdainfully at him and two of them actually turned away from the hand he had meant for them to shake. Little looked at the ground, apparently unwilling to defend Max. A trifle shaken but willing to give them another chance, Max smiled and said,
"Would you like something to drink? It's unseasonably warm today."
"No, thank you," said Wilson faintly. Vechey pulled on his arm and the two of them hurried away from the scene.
"Are you coming, Edward?" Wilson called.
Max looked, dumbfounded, at Edward.
"Uh, no," said Little. "I have some unfinished business to take care of."
The two men laughed and looked knowingly at each other, then disappeared around the corner.
"I say," said Max. "They must've been in a hurry."
"Yes," said Little. "Devilish."
"Wilson's brother very likely summoned him home."
"Perhaps," Little conceded.
"It was very odd, all the same."
"I did warn you, Maxy-boy." Little reminded him, putting one arm around his shoulders. "Didn't I tell you it would be bad for your career?"
Max pulled himself away forcefully and glared at Little.
"I don't have a career," he said and walked back towards the church. Little would have followed him, but he spotted a pretty young girl at one of the tables, and took it upon himself to help her find what she needed. Max watched in disgust and, picking up the plates he had left on the table, went inside to wash the dishes as he had been told.
It rankled, knowing his friends objected to the work that meant so much to him. At least Edward had stayed. But as he wiped each dish, one by one, he remembered Little's parting words to Wilson and Vechey. Unfinished business? What had he been talking of? Work? Edward did as little around the church as possible. In fact, Max was surprised he had not left as soon as Michelle had gone to her acting lessons.
He looked up from his work suddenly and frowned. Was Michelle the unfinished business?
As he thought of Michelle and Little together, he could not repress a shudder. It was not only jealousy: Little had a certain reputation with women that Max did not normally like to think about. It was somehow different when it involved a girl he knew, though. Particularly the girl he loved.
His eye suddenly caught the time on the clock in the corner and he realized with a start that Michelle's lesson would be over soon, and under no circumstances should she be forced to walk home. Throwing down his towel, he hurried to get the carriage ready to pick her up.
"Where are you going in such a hurry, Maxy-boy?" Little drawled from his perch on the porch. Max informed him briefly. He was stunned when Little decided to tag along.
"What exactly does our Miss Stanhope do at the theatre?" he asked. Max did not answer, and Little was left to make assumptions.
Edward Little deduced quickly enough that Michelle's business at the theatre was that of a student. When Max led him around the building to the back door that led to the actors' rooms, he ventured a guess.
"Is that actress you were involved with months ago giving your fiancée acting lessons?"
"Fiancée?" Max blushed. "I don't have one of those. But Miss Beech has been kind enough to give Michelle lessons for several weeks now."
The door opened and Harriet Beech's eyes widened at the sight of one dandy and one vagrant on her doorstep. She was even more surprised to find that the vagrant was Max Callahan.
"Is Miss Stanhope ready to go home?" Max asked.
"Not quite!" Michelle called from inside. Max and Little shouldered their way past Harriet and were struck dumb to find Michelle hurriedly wiping paint off her face. She looked up guiltily and began to explain.
"Harriet was showing me how much a costume can make you feel as though you are the character."
"Delightful!" said Little, applauding. "I am convinced already. If you were to read me a bill of laundry right now, I would be at your feet."
"Max, you have not introduced me to your friend," said Harriet. Max realized his mistake and, colouring slightly, did the honours.
"Enchantee, mademoiselle." Edward raised her fingers to his lips. Michelle rolled her eyes at Max while Harriet pretended to blush.
"Soon to be madame, actually," she corrected, swatting his hand with a fan that appeared as if by magic into her hand.
"Is that so? You must introduce me to this fortunate being. Who is he?"
"Would you mind very much if we left now? I'm sure you can get cleaned up once we are at home," said Max to Michelle.
"Absolutely not," she said. "I cannot go to Berkeley Square looking like this!" She rubbed vigorously at the red stuff on her cheeks. Max waited impatiently while she cleaned herself up and watched Harriet and Edward flirt. He came to the conclusion in the next ten minutes that Edward simply could not help himself. If he saw a female, he had to flirt. He sighed fatalistically. However, his acceptance of and resignation to his friend's malady did not mean he had to watch him in action. He left the room rather abruptly and began to walk towards the carriage, which they had left with the groom in front of the theatre. Fortunately, it did not take long for Michelle to finish and catch up with him.
"Are they still..." he left the question open. Michelle nodded, eyes dancing.
"Yes, they are, and quite shamelessly, too."
"I didn't mean to bring him," Max apologized. "But he would come."
"I understand," she said. "By the way, Mr. Little told me what happened with your friends this afternoon." She glanced sideways at him and noticed his frown as he remembered the snub. "I'm very proud of you, you know."
"Why?" he asked interestedly.
"Not many people would continue doing something they knew their friends disapproved of. It is very ... refreshing, to find someone who is willing to do something, even when it means they will lose ground in the popularity war."
"It seems I have gained one good friend in the place of two mediocre, then," he smiled. She followed with a tentative smile of her own. Did he realize her hint or would she have to be more blunt? She decided to take a risk.
"It is a quality I admire very much in a man," she said and this time looked directly at him.
He seemed to understand this time and gazed at her with such a look of hope, she thought she might have to make a further fool of herself and kiss him there in the public street. Meanwhile, poor Max just stood there, barely believing what he had heard. He could only open and close his mouth, and finally clamped it shut in an attempt to keep himself from looking very much like a fish, as he supposed he did. Michelle grinned at his self-consciousness.
"Well," he finally stammered. "It wasn't easy..."
"Of course not," she said soothingly.
"They are my best friends..."
"I understand completely." She inched closer to him and took his hand.
"Maxy!"
Max and Michelle jumped and quickly moved away from each other, embarrassed to have been interrupted just at this point in their conversation. Little ran up to them, his face brightened by what he thought to be another conquest.
"You weren't going to leave me here all by myself, were you?" he said, slapping Max's back.
"Of course not," said Max somewhat guiltily. He had forgotten all about Edward Little's presence. Edward only uttered a laugh that was very near to a giggle.
"That woman," he said, referring to Harriet, "is not nearly as worldly as she likes to think."
"No?" Michelle's voice showed genuine surprise.
"No. Can you imagine? She actually believes Finley plans to marry her."
"What makes you think he doesn't?" said Michelle, who had seen the giant ring on Harriet's left hand. Little snorted.
"He's an earl, m'dear," he said. "Earls don't marry actresses."
"Of all the..." Michelle started angrily, but Edward held a hand up to stop her.
"Oh, he may have wanted to at first. I don't deny that. But he has been at his estate for months now. He has spoken to his mother about it."
"His mother?" said Michelle. "What has that to do with it." Max, however, understood what Little was saying.
"Finley never disobeys his mother," he explained. "It's common knowledge."
"How unfortunate, then, that I did not know it," said Michelle sardonically.
"Well, it is common enough," said Little.
"But not so common that Harriet knows it," said Max, feeling sudden compassion for the woman. "I hope she has not already given her notice at the theatre."
"So, what were you two talking about earlier that had you so engrossed you were startled to see me?" asked Little. Max and Michelle looked at each other in some embarrassment, each with conflicting thoughts. Max was disconcerted by the ease with which Michelle had changed to another subject as soon as Little had appeared. Perhaps she had been a little too relieved for a change in subject. Meanwhile, Michelle was worried about Max's use of Miss Beech's first name. Surely he did not still cherish feelings for that woman. Of course he did not. But Michelle could not get it out of her head.
"Nothing," they both finally said together. Max looked down, crushed. Michelle averted her gaze to Edward.
"It was nothing," she repeated.