Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

" Y ou have quite the wife, Maximilian."

Max sipped his drink and glanced at his old friend from Eton, James Forster. "She is a revelation," he replied, his throat thick as he realized that he meant it.

"I doubt I have ever seen a lady more radiant, nor so readily accepted back into society. She seems to be irresistible to all who meet her." James grinned. "Why, you would never know there had been a scandal at all."

"No one can stay angry at love for very long," Max replied tightly.

He watched his wife as she laughed and chattered with Phoebe and her younger sister, Ellen, who had been unexpected arrivals to the Assembly Rooms that night. There was no sign, however, of Ellen's twin, Joanna, who had been absent from society for a while.

Caroline had hoped that Daniel would be with them, so she might see her brother again, but it was not to be—apparently, he was in Scotland, tending to some business.

Still, it was obvious that the disappointment had not lasted. Max had never seen his wife more radiant than she was in the company of her friends. Her voice, her beauty, and her animated conversations drew the attention of anyone who happened to be nearby, and the looks they gave her were fond and envious in equal measure.

And though Max would have liked to join in with the cheerful scene, he was determined to keep himself to the periphery. After a week of endless promenades and parties and dinners and balls and calling on acquaintances, he needed some distance from her.

Her act of being wholly, utterly, and madly in love with him had become too convincing and much too dangerous.

"You would not mind if I were to ask her to dance, would you?" James asked with a sly smile.

Max shrugged. "Please do, though I would be surprised if she accepted."

"It is… unseemly for a wife to only dance with her husband," James protested. "It is not normal. For so many ladies, the entire point of marriage is to have the freedom to dance with others."

"Is that what your wife told you?" Max replied. "Where is dear Josephine tonight?"

James sniffed. "Heaven knows. We rarely spend the winter months together. She ventures off to her sister's or her mother's, and I come to London to pretend I do not have a wife at all. It suits us." He downed the contents of his port glass. "You are making us all look bad, Maximilian."

There was no satisfaction in knowing the truth—that in due course, Max and Caroline's marriage would likely have a similar foundation of separation. He had spoken with Albert about the possible countryside residence just that morning, and the conversation had been promising, though he had not yet asked Caroline when she might like to visit.

Why have I not? He had had ample opportunity, but no moment had felt right. They had endured a luncheon with other peers which had tipped over into a visit to the gallery, which had become afternoon tea with Lord and Lady Pocklington, then dinner at the Marquess of Sudbury's residence. All the while, Caroline had played her part of doting, adoring wife much too well. So much so that he had not been able to bring up the matter of her moving elsewhere, far from him.

"Excuse me," Max said to his friend, deciding that there would be no better time than a dance to ask when she wanted to see the house.

He weaved through the crowd of people, ignoring the whispers that trailed him as he made his way to his wife. It seemed strange that had they married under different, happier circumstances, he might have considered himself to be the luckiest man in England. Instead, he just felt like a fraud, heeding a plan that no longer sat well with him.

"My love!" Caroline cried as she saw him, hurrying to close the gap between them. She took hold of his hands and beamed up at him, so adoring that he could not bear it. How could she be such a gifted thespian?

Phoebe offered a suspicious smile. "Well, I am pleased to discover that the two of you have settled happily into your marriage. The honeymoon must have served you both very well indeed."

"It was the happiest month of my life," Caroline said with a sigh, nestling into Max's side, one hand resting casually on his stomach. As if she had done it a thousand times before. "Oh, Phoebe, I know I had my doubts, I know that Max and I had strange beginnings, but I am grateful for the day I went into that church. I am grateful that the love of my life was waiting at the altar for me."

It is too much… It is too compelling… It is too believable…

Max's head whirled, twisting with the turmoil of the unusual feelings that had begun to creep upon him over the past week. Perhaps earlier than that, if he was being honest.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow, lowering her voice as she asked, "With all due respect, Caro, is this real?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Caroline smiled, eyes alight with so much life and vibrancy that Max wondered if this was what it felt like to be a moth, forever drawn to a flame. "Of course it is real! What a thing to say."

"It is only that… well, I thought that this was a ruse," Phoebe whispered. "Anna mentioned that letters were sent, with gossiping instructions about how things ‘actually' happened that day."

Caroline looked up at Max. "Letters? What letters? Do you know anything about this, my love?"

My love… She said it as if she meant it, increasing the pressure that throbbed in Max's skull. Why was she keeping up the pretense among people who knew the truth? Was she trying to tease him? Toy with him? Punish him in some way?

"Caro, you know—" Max began to say, desperately needing to remind her of the scheme that he had put in place to save everyone's reputation.

She cut him off, fluttering her eyelashes, "I know that I adore you. I know that I am eager to dance and that you have not yet asked me this evening. I promise that my feet are quite recovered enough for a country dance or a quadrille. Why, I would even be prepared for a waltz, though perhaps it would be best to save that for our Friday afternoons."

"Your Friday afternoons? What happens on Friday afternoons?" Ellen jumped on the remark, clasping her hands together the way Anna used to do whenever someone spoke of her favorite romantic novels.

Caroline grasped Max's lapel. "We dance where no one can see us or judge us. We waltz and then we have tea in the gardens if the weather is fine enough, and I look forward to it with all my heart."

He blinked down at her, uncertain of what made him more uneasy—that she could be so convincing or that she had used his story about his mother to her own ends.

"Truly, I do not know that I would be able to smile at all if it had been Dickie," Caroline added, resting her head on Max's shoulder. "I pity the poor woman who ends up marrying him ."

Ellen tilted her head to one side. "I thought you and Dickie were great friends. Indeed, when I saw him on Wednesday, he told me as much—he asked me how you were faring but, as I had not seen you, I could not tell him how blissful the two of you seem to be."

"You saw Dickie?" All the fog of Caroline's antics was whipped away from Max's mind, leaving behind sharp clarity. "In London or elsewhere?"

Ellen chuckled. "In London, of course. Where else would he be?"

"Where did you see him?" Max pressed.

"At Lord Debenham's tea party," Ellen replied, her tone less assured. "Did I say something I should not have done? He said he was going to visit you straight after the party, so I assumed you had seen him too."

Phoebe put a protective arm around her sister's shoulders. "Of course you have not said anything wrong," she insisted, shooting a pointed look at Max. "Between the wedding and the honeymoon and so many society events, I imagine that Max here has had little time to see his brother. Is that not right, Max?"

"Quite right," he replied flatly, his mind racing.

Of course, he had suspected that his brother was in London, hiding away from the consequences of his actions. But, surely, he had read the scandal sheets? Surely, he knew there was no longer any reason for him to keep his distance when it would serve everyone far better to smooth everything out?

After all I have done for you, Dickie, do I not at least deserve an apology?

It stung, more than Max cared to admit.

"That is a relief!" Ellen said, though she did not look relieved at all. More worried, in truth. "Sister, I thought I might pay a visit to the powder room. Would you accompany me?"

Phoebe smiled. "Certainly." She looked at Caroline and Max. "There is to be a party at our Mayfair residence at the end of next week. Invitations will be arriving in due course, but there is no harm in letting you know now. All of the Spinsters' Club will be there."

"As will we!" Caroline said hurriedly, still holding onto Max's arm.

Phoebe bowed her head. "Well then, I look forward to it."

The two sisters walked away, though Max's gaze followed them for a while, wondering if they knew more about Dickie's whereabouts than they were letting on. Indeed, he was so fixated on considering where Dickie might be hiding that he did not feel the tug on his arm until it had become an aggressive pull.

"You said it yourself, Max—Dickie will not be found unless he wants to be found." She spoke quietly, her eyes worried as they searched his face. "So, if you are thinking of searching the entire city for him tonight, do not."

He met his wife's gaze. "Can you imagine how you would feel if you heard from someone else that Daniel was in London, but had not bothered to pay a visit?" He shook his head, realizing he had said more than he wanted to, revealing a side of him that he wanted to keep hidden. "I am tired, that is all."

"You wish to leave?" Caroline asked, her hand moving up his arm until it paused in a gentle caress at his neck.

He sighed, considering it rather ironic that Dickie could cause trouble even without being present. "No, there is no need for us to leave just yet. You are in your element, you are gaining admiration; I would not be the reason we depart early." He hesitated. "Besides, it might be the last gathering we attend for a few days."

"Oh? Why is that?" She grinned. "Have I exhausted you already?"

Max took her hand from his neck and held it for a moment. "We have permission to visit the property that Albert wishes to sell. I thought we might venture there tomorrow or the day after." He released her hand. "Of course, we will return in time for your brother's ball, so do not concern yourself with that."

"Tomorrow?" Her voice wavered. "Very good. That sounds… excellent. But, if I may, how are we going to explain the purchase when we are trying to convince everyone that we are hopelessly in love? Or, rather, when I am trying to convince society of that."

Max folded his arms behind his back to further avoid temptation. "We will use a ruse of it being our summer house. As I rarely spend so much time in society anyway, no one will know that we are not together. If they ask, you tell them that I am ‘tending to business.' That excuse always seems to work."

"I see." She nodded slowly. "You have certainly put a great deal of thought into it."

He could not tell if she was happy about the news or if it concerned her. Nor did he know if the news made him happy. Indeed, he should have been elated that everything was going so smoothly, but where a burden should have been lifted, it only felt heavier.

"You know that I am a gentleman who likes to prepare well," he replied, cursing himself for missing the sparkle in her eyes. It was all gone now, the performance ended.

"Not interrupting, am I?" a voice suddenly said, very much interrupting.

Max turned to find James Forster approaching him with a smug grin on his face, knowing full well what James was about to do. The seed had already been sown and even when they were young boys at Eton, James had never liked to see someone else have what he did not.

It might be good for Caro. Good for us to not be stuck to one another's side all the time.

"Your Grace." James bowed his head to Caroline. "I wondered if I might have the pleasure of dancing the next set with you?"

Max could feel Caroline's eyes on him, but he avoided her gaze, choosing to look over at the dance floor instead. He would not be the kind of husband who told her what she could and could not do. If she wished to dance with James, so be it; Max would simply stand by and enjoy the distance, hoping it might encourage Caroline to envision a more separate future.

Because that is how it must be. That is what we agreed, he told himself, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.

"I have no argument," Caroline replied, her voice returning to its former sweetness. "Why, my darling husband was just complaining of tired feet, but I have some vigor left. I doubt he shall mind if I have one little dance with a friend of his."

Max knew she was asking for either his permission or his refusal, but he could not look into her eyes. If he did, he feared that he would mind a great deal more than he could ever admit.

"You do not mind at all, Maximilian, do you?" James chimed in.

Max flashed a thin smile at his old friend. "Of course not. Enjoy yourselves. I shall be here, resting my weary legs. I might not be old yet, but the beginning of the London Season has assuredly sapped my usual strength."

"It is to be expected," James said with wry sympathy. "You did not have a wife before, and there is nothing a wife loves more than society events."

Caroline chuckled, but it echoed false. "Quite right, Mr. Forster. I simply cannot help myself, though I suspect that, by next year, the novelty will have worn off somewhat."

"I hope not." James offered his arm.

With a confused look back at Max, Caroline took James' arm and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, while Max retreated further to the periphery, wondering what on earth was wrong with his chest.