Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

C aroline stood in front of the looking glass in her bedchamber as the dinner gong sounded for a second time. She was ten minutes late, which went against all of the manners she had been raised with, but she did not want to be the first one seated at the dinner table. Rather, she did not want to seem too eager.

If it clangs a third time when I am already downstairs, it will be a lovely evening.

She smoothed down the periwinkle blue skirts and adjusted the choker of pearls and sapphires fastened around her neck. Not too formal, not too informal. Just right for what amounted to her wedding breakfast, considering they had not yet shared a meal as husband and wife.

"It is just dinner," she told her reflection, flushing with embarrassed heat as a young woman stepped into the room.

"Did you say something, Your Grace?" the woman, Lila Boskins, asked.

She had been promoted to the position of Caroline's lady's maid, but it was obvious she had never been anyone's lady's maid before. Caroline did not judge, teaching her patiently. After all, they were both learning how to be things they had never been before, and Caroline had to admit that she liked having a younger woman around.

"I was just deciding if I like this jewelry or I might prefer something simpler," Caroline fibbed.

Lila gasped. "Oh, but you must wear that, Your Grace! It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and the jewels are the same color as His Grace's eyes."

"Pardon?" Caroline froze, eyeing the lady's maid through the mirror. Her tone had been harsher than she had intended.

The young woman blushed furiously. "Did I speak out of turn, Your Grace?"

"No, I just… I cannot say I have noticed the exact color of my husband's eyes," Caroline replied, softening her voice. "It surprised me that you have."

Is that why he had no desire to seek a duchess?

Perhaps, he had not needed a wife because he had all the female attention he could want in his own manor.

She squashed the thought as quickly as it had appeared, for Max spent every available hour locked away in his study. It was not for show because she was there; Mrs. Whitlock had attested to it. Indeed, he was the very last man who would seek comfort from the women of his staff when he barely remembered to eat.

"I meant nothing by it, Your Grace," Lila hurried to say. "I pay attention to that sort of thing is all. I think that's why Mrs. Whitlock gave me this position as your lady's maid because I notice details."

Caroline smiled. "You are not in trouble, Lila. You do not have to explain yourself."

"Yes, Your Grace." The woman bowed her head, clearly still worried she had upset her new mistress.

"I agree about the jewelry," Caroline said, offering an olive branch. "It is the perfect accompaniment."

Lila raised her gaze. "Will you go down to the dining room now? Can I do anything else for you? I thought I might set out your nightclothes while you are dining, if I may?"

"That would be lovely," Caroline assured. "Thank you. And thank you for making me look so… duchess-like. I have always wanted my hair this way, but my old lady's maid could never do it."

She and her mother had shared a lady's maid, who had remained at Westyork. A kindly but quiet sort of woman who never liked to chatter while she prepared the two women for whatever they were doing. Lila was already wonderful in that regard, filling the silence with talk of everything and nothing.

Lila beamed with pleasure. "I'm so glad you like it, Your Grace! I practice all of the new styles on my sister. She hates it, but she won't be able to complain now."

"In that case, for her sacrifices, please thank your sister for me too." Caroline chuckled and, with one last look at her reflection, she headed out to meet her husband for their very first dinner together.

She was halfway down the stairs when the gong sounded for a third time.

What does that mean? It will be half a lovely evening and half not?

She supposed there was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the dining room, slipped through the partially open door, and stopped in her tracks at the sight before her. The long, oval table had been decorated beautifully, filled with velvety red and crisp white roses, sprays of wildflowers, and sweet bunches of dried lavender and fluffy reeds, sprouting from the top of narrow vases.

Soft candlelight flickered across the stunning scene, highlighting the two places that had been set for dinner… at opposite ends of the dinner-party-length table.

But it was the gentleman in all his finery that drew Caroline's eye. In a tailcoat of forest green, he stood by the drinks table at the farthest wall with his back to her. Even in the low light, she saw his golden hair curling at the nape of his neck, and those fantastically broad shoulders, straining the seam that ran up the center of the tailcoat.

"Apologies for being late," Caroline said, realizing he must not have heard her enter. "I… had some trouble deciding on a necklace."

Max turned, and as he did, he stole the breath from her lungs.

He looked like he had wandered out from one of the pages of the books that Anna kept trying to get her to read. She did read them, now and again, though she preferred books that could teach her something. Perhaps, she had been missing out on an entirely different sort of education, all this time.

In truth, when she was not with him, it was easy to forget just how unfairly handsome he was.

"You are not late," he told her in that deep, gravelly voice, his eyes flitting to her throat. "An excellent choice. Sapphires?"

Caroline nodded, speechless. Who was this sultry, casual gentleman, and what had he done with her harried, preoccupied, reluctant, sarcastic husband?

Husband… It still felt strange, both on her tongue and in her mind.

Max took two glasses off the drinks table, filled with something pale and sparkling, and made his way over to his wife. He passed her one of the glasses and held his own out, both clinking a greeting.

"You look very pretty tonight, Caroline," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

Caroline just stared at him, feeling a sudden prickle of heat across her skin that sank deep into her stomach. As if she had already taken a huge gulp of the drink he had put in her hand.

"Nonsense," she replied, recovering quickly. "I have had this gown for an age. I doubt it is even fashionable anymore."

Max went to the chair at the top of the table and pulled it back. "Fortunately, I do not trouble myself with fashions or what is popular." He gestured to the seat. "Shall we eat?"

"Of course," she mumbled, hurrying to take her place.

He pushed the chair in behind her as she sat and made his way back down to the bottom of the table. So far away, in fact, that when he sat down, she could barely see him through the veritable jungle of beautiful flowers that he had arranged for their dinner.

"I think you might need a smaller table for less formal occasions," she practically shouted down to him. "This does not exactly encourage conversation unless I wish to have a sore throat tomorrow."

He got up again without a word, and as he appeared around the flower arrangements, she noticed he had his cutlery and glass gripped in one hand. Balanced expertly on his other hand was the over-large silver charger that the dinner plates would be served on.

Within half a minute, he was positioned at her side, his place set. He did not seem to mind that he was not at the head of the table. Indeed, he seemed perfectly at ease to her left, leaning back in his chair.

"I suspect moving is easier than purchasing an entirely new table," he said, taking another sip of his champagne. There was a note of humor in his voice, but any smile he might have offered was hidden behind the lip of the glass.

Caroline shrugged. "Less bold though, do you not think?"

"I suppose that depends on your perspective," he replied, eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "In many circles, nothing could be bolder than getting up and moving to sit beside a beautiful young lady. Why, in society these days, that is practically a proposal."

Is he… jesting with me?

Caroline could not be certain, for he appeared to have the most irksome ability to keep a completely blank face while amusement weaved through his words.

She cleared her dry throat. "Then it is lucky for us that we are alone and already married."

"Lucky?" Max's lips turned up in a half smile. "I was under the impression that you considered it to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you."

She blinked, bewildered by the stranger sitting beside her. He certainly was not the Max she had spent days diligently and creatively pestering, sawing away at his patience bit by bit. That Max would not have teased her about something so… raw and sensitive. Nor would she have felt the increasing urge to laugh at his brazen jest, enjoying the more sarcastic humor.

"My quarrel is with society," she replied, gathering herself. "I aimed my anger at you, I do not deny it, but that is because I cannot aim my anger at society as a whole. It would not be nearly as effective when split between so many—a feeble breath of disapproval instead of a tempest of fury."

He definitely smiled this time, the warmth of it disarming. "Society is rather like this manor," he said. "No matter what alterations or improvements you make, parts will always be ancient and crooked, parts will always be in need of greater improvement, and there will always be a rather unpleasant smell that you cannot find the origin of. Indeed, most of the time, you wonder if you ought to knock it all down and start again."

"An interesting metaphor." Caroline shyly took a sip of her drink, the bubbles fizzing up into her nose. "Interesting and accurate. That smell, in particular—I would place the responsibility for that on the gossipmongers who are so bored with their lives that they cannot survive without scandal to nourish them."

He nodded, his eyes so enchanting that she could not look away. "What of the ancient and crooked parts?"

"Ah, well, that is less simple," Caroline replied, unable to deny that she was starting to enjoy herself. "The ancient part would be this ridiculous notion that ladies and gentlemen cannot be friends. The crooked part would be… the part where gentlemen can be utter scoundrels and face few consequences, while ladies are reviled and cast out for even the smallest indiscretion."

She had spent enough years in Matilda's company to have picked up a thing or two about the unfairness of society's opinion of men and women, even before she was thrown into her own ridiculous scandal.

Max observed her with an intensity that made her shift in her chair, willing the footmen or Mrs. Whitlock to come in and begin serving dinner if only to make him break that powerful gaze. It was as if he was looking right through her, seeing everything she might be trying to hide, peeling away the layers of who she was and who she presented herself to be.

"Have you truly never had any sort of affection for Dickie?" he asked suddenly.

Caroline gulped. "Pardon?"

"An unusual question," he admitted, "but I have always wondered what possessed you to try and visit him in the middle of the night."

Caroline reached for her champagne and took another, larger sip. "The same thing that makes even the sanest person just a little bit mad." She turned her gaze toward a spray of lavender and dried reeds, eager to escape the heat of Max's attention. "Love."

"But you did not love my brother?"

She shook her head. "That is why I had to speak with him, there and then. I had been stewing over the fact that I did not feel anything for him, not in that way, for hours and I knew I would not sleep unless I heard his opinion." She paused. "Did you know that Anna suggested that he and I would be a good match?"

"As a diversion, yes."

"Then, can you understand why it perplexed me?"

Max tucked his fingers into the top edge of his collar, pulling to loosen it. "In truth, no."

"The Matchmaker had no failures, at that time," Caroline explained, struggling to ignore the cords of his neck that appeared as the top button came undone. "Every couple she paired together fell hopelessly in love. So, when my letter came, suggesting Dickie, I waited for that love to hit me. When it did not, I thought something might be wrong with me, and I ruminated myself into a sort of insanity. That is why I went to visit Dickie and got the wrong room—for answers. If not for love, then for the sake of being able to sleep."

Max nodded in thought, his fingertips unfastening his cravat absently, as if out of habit. "Well, I may not understand your obsession with love, but I can understand how… devastating it is to not get what you have longed for, your entire life. I can understand the disappointment you feel, at least."

Her gaze returned to him, intrigued by his phrasing. They were not the words of someone who was trying to humor her, but the words of someone who had experienced their own disappointment.

"Did… someone break your heart, Maximilian?" she asked boldly, hoping to put a piece of the puzzle of him into place.

If he smiles at me, I am right.

He met her eyes and in the low light, something akin to pain moved across his handsome features. In her face, was he seeing a woman who had betrayed him? Did he look at her and miss another? Was that why he had stepped in to marry her for duty's sake because it truly did not matter when his heart already belonged to someone else, someone that could never be his?

The dining room door burst open at that moment, startling Caroline out of her skin. The footmen swept in, bearing the first course and dashing any hope she might have had of hearing what Max had to say about the matters of his heart.