Chapter 12

Twelve

T he orange frock coat lay discarded on the floor, and the lion head clips, and ruff were lying next it – the detritus of the previous night scattered across Maximilian's bedroom. He had only just woken up and had rolled onto his side, groaning at the memories of the previous evening. The ball had been just as Maximilian had feared – dull – and had done nothing to improve his reputation, even as Maximilian had made no attempt to use it to his advantage. The carriage ride home had passed in silence, and his parents had remained pursed lipped, even as Maximilian had tried to lighten the mood.

"Better to leave sober than drunk," he had said, but his father had merely scowled at him and shook his head.

Maximilian knew they were disappointed in him, but he was passed caring, and now his thoughts turned to the foolish girl he had kissed. What was her name?

"Amelia Fox, that's right – the son of Sir Christopher Fox. If she tells her father, he'll make a fuss," Maximilian said out loud, rolling out of bed onto the floor, and lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling and laughing.

It had all been a marvelous joke, and the thought of the look on Amelia's face after he had kissed her was priceless.

"What did she expect?" he said out loud, rising to his feet and inspecting the mess around his room.

He picked a few things up, shaking his head at the outrageously colored frock coat – ordered especially from a French merchant in Liverpool.

"What was I thinking?" he said out loud, just as a knock came at the door.

"I've brought your morning tea, my Lord," the voice of one of the maids called out.

"Leave it outside. I'm just getting dressed," Maximilian replied.

He opened the door a moment later, finding the steaming cup of tea on a tray, along with the morning's periodicals. There was The Lancaster Observer, The Northern Call, and the latest offering from The Broker Press . Maximilian always enjoyed reading the outlandish claims of Mr. Broker – conspiracies, plots, exposure of secret societies, the list went on, and The Broker Press specialized in the reporting of those things no respectable outlet would dream of printing, and it was always the first periodical Maximilian would open.

" Look at this, what nonsense – overthrowing the government, a popish plot here in Lancashire, the discovery of a well built by fairies? Oh…really," Maximilian said to himself, rolling his eyes, as he sipped his tea and flicked idly through the periodical.

But to his astonishment, a separate piece of paper fluttered from between the pages, its headline immediately grabbing his attention.

"Behind the columns with Lord Maximilian," Maximilian read.

He set down his cup, snatching up the paper and beginning to read. It was an account of the ball at the assembly rooms. It began innocuously enough, with a description of the setting, the colors of the dresses, and the music played. But when the guests had been listed, attention was turned to Maximilian himself, and what he read next astonished him.

"The heir to the dukedom took to his liking innocent woman, on the very day of her debut. She was easily led astray, caught up in his charms, and seduced by his promises. But this was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the kiss he gave her was the stealing of her innocence for his own carnality…." Maximilian read, his eyes growing wide at the details of the encounter between himself and Amelia, even as she herself was never named.

It was extraordinary, and Maximilian could hardly believe himself to be the subject of such a scandalous description.

It must be her – it must be Amelia Fox. Who else could've written it? he thought to himself, shaking his head in astonishment.

Despite his years of rakish behavior, Maximilian had never found himself the subject of such an account. His name had never found itself into the respectable periodicals of Lancaster, and even The Brooker Press had confined itself to far-fetched stories, rather than the proceeds of scandal. Maximilian was uncertain what to think, even as he knew what his father and mother would say when they discovered it.

I'll be the talk of the ton, he thought to himself, smiling, as he read through the text again.

It amused him to think of himself written about in this way – a prowling wolf, seeking to devour an innocent lamb. But Amelia Fox was a fool if she thought she would get away with it, and Maximilian now vowed to seek her out and make her pay for writing such things about him. He could write a scandal sheet of his own, replying to her accusations in kind, and now he ran his tongue over his lips, imagining what he might print in reply.

The little harlot, desperate for the attentions of the heir to the dukedom, flaunting herself – throwing herself – at me. What could I do against such an onslaught? I resisted her, and then she kissed me, before making it seem I was the one in the wrong. Oh…but wait…there's more. Her father has debts…. Yes, terrible debts, and so she attempts to hold me to ransom to save her family. But I refuse, noble to the last. I won't give in, and so she publishes these lies about me. Dreadful lies… he thought to himself, smiling, as he realized he could destroy Amelia's reputation, just as she was attempting to destroy his, too.

Having finished his tea, and examined the other periodicals briefly, Maximilian dressed and made his way downstairs. He planned to spend what was left of the morning in the rose garden, hardly caring about the contents of the scandal sheet, and wanting only to have fun with the foolish woman who had dared print such slander. But as he came to the bottom of the stairs, the door to his father's study opened, and the duke stood before him with an angry expression on his face.

"What's the meaning of this, Maximilian?" he said, holding up the scandal sheet, even as Maximilian waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, that? It's nothing. Just a lot of lies and silly talk. I never thought I'd see the like here. You hear of them in London, of course, but…" he said, as now his father advanced towards him.

"Don't laugh it off, Maximilian. I won't have it. I won't have this. You've gone too far this time," the duke exclaimed.

Maximilian rolled his eyes. It was hardly his fault – a silly, childish girl had printed something outlandish. The salons and drawing rooms of the county would digest it, then move on to something else. It hardly mattered, even as Maximilian had every intention of responding to it.

"Have I? And do you believe everything you read in The Broker Press ? Last month, that old fool was telling everyone we'd soon be sending messages across the Atlantic – he called it a telegram. Did you believe that?" Maximilian asked.

His father's eyes narrowed.

"I don't like our name being dragged through the mud, Maximilian. It worries me. What else will they write about you?" he asked.

Maximilian shrugged. He did not know what else there was to write about him. The story was always the same, and any number of women could offer their grievances if they wished. The matter would soon blow over, even as Maximilian had no intention of forgetting what Amelia had done.

"They can write what they like. No one reads those things, anyway," Maximilian said, waving his hand dismissively.

But even as he spoke, two of the maids appeared from the drawing room, carrying coal scuttles. They were whispering to one another and had not seen Maximilian and his father standing by the study door.

"And when Mr. Gregson read out the bit about him kissing her behind the columns. I nearly shrieked with laughter. It was the way it was described – calling him a letch and a womanizer. He is though, isn't he?" one of them said.

The other was about to respond when Maximilian cleared his throat, and the two maids looked up in horror.

"You were saying?" his father asked, looking pointedly at Maximilian, even as the two maids began apologizing profusely.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord. We were just…it's not…" she stammered.

Maximilian sighed.

"You were just repeating what Mr. Gregson read to you. Yes, I'm sure," Maximilian replied, and the two maids hurried off, red in the face with embarrassment.

The duke shook his head.

"You humiliated us last night, Maximilian. I'm the Duke of Lancaster. I'm expected to behave in a certain way, and my family is, too. You made a fool of me, and you shamed your poor mother. And now this. Am I to read of my son's exploits on a weekly basis at the courtesy of Mr. Broker? It doesn't matter if it's true or not, the point is, he publishes it. That's all that matters. Was it the girl who wrote it? Who is she?" he asked.

"Amelia Fox, Sir Christopher Fox's daughter. Yes, she wrote it – I'm certain of it. No one else could've known the details," he said.

The duke pondered for a moment.

"I wonder…perhaps there's a way to have her retract her words. It won't be easy, though. I just can't believe… oh, I wish you'd be…" he began, but Maximilian finished the sentence for him.

"More like William? Yes, I know that's what you think. William doesn't have scandal sheets printed about him. He's not subject to the gossip pages, is he? Well, I'm sorry, Father. But I am, and there's nothing to be done about it, is there? It's printed in black and white – whether truth or lies," Maximilian said, shaking his head.

He had heard enough. His father's reaction was entirely predictable, and Maximilian was tired of repeating the same things over and over again.

"There's something very clear to be done about it, Maximilian. Put a stop to it. Don't allow yourself to be the subject or reason of it. If there's no scandal, there's no scandal sheet," the duke said, and tossing the offending article aside, he retreated to his study, slamming the door behind him as he went.

Maximilian sighed, shaking his head as he picked up the sheet and read through it again. The words were damning, and there was no doubting their ruinous intention. The writer had spared no detail of the scandal, and Maximilian could deny the accuracy of the words.

I did kiss her, and she rebuked me. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried again, but…most women don't mind, he thought to himself, thinking back to past conquests.

But Amelia had minded, and now she had written her objections for all to see. She had called him a rake and a womanizer, a man with low morals, arrogant in his own position and self-assurance. It was what so many others thought – Maximilian knew that – but to see it written in black and white for all to see…

It's pretty damning, isn't it? he thought to himself, as he made his way out into the rose garden, where the perfumed scent of the blooms hung on the warm afternoon breeze.

He had promised to show Amelia the rose garden, but now he would be glad if no woman – except perhaps his mother and Anne – ever set eyes on such beauty. They were not worthy of it, and as he retreated into the refuge of the rose garden, he wondered if perhaps his time had run out.

I suppose it was to be expected, he thought to himself, as he began to prune a large rose bush growing on the wall at the back of the garden.

It had peach colored flowers, and a heady scent, sweet and intoxicating.

Like the allure of so many women , Maximilian thought to himself.

He did not know why he behaved as he did. Such rakish behavior did not come naturally to him, or rather, it was not the way he had been raised. But Maximilian was rebellious, and there was something about his actions he found pleasing – his father's anger notwithstanding. He enjoyed the exhilaration of the act, the filtration, the possibility of the kiss. Women were alluringly attractive, and Maximilian knew he would not so easily change his ways.

And what comes next? William, with his moralizing. My mother, with her look of disappointment. Another scandal sheet? he wondered.

The thought came to him suddenly, causing his stomach to churn. If one woman could write such damning things about him, why not all the rest? There would be other women who would see the printed words and remember their own experiences at Maximilian's hands. Emily… Susan… Rebecca… Charlotte… Louisa… The names rolled off his tongue, even as the details were obscured. A kiss, an embrace, a brief liaison in the dark corner of a ballroom or salon – it was all there, waiting to be exposed. Maximilian sighed.

"Then we await the onslaught," he told himself, even as he felt tired of forever being thought of as a rake.

But to change his ways would not be easy, and even if he did, would anyone believe he had done so? Maximilian could change. He could deny himself those pleasures he had long since indulged in, but would it really make any difference to his reputation?

"Not one bit," he said to himself, as he continued with his pruning.