“It does?” Dickie canted his head.
“He always has such a… righteous air about him, as if he is superior to everyone else,” she muttered, her tongue loosened by the privacy of the room. “He is not like you, Dickie. He is cold and… so aloof that it is no wonderhehas not found a bride yet. But what I dislike most is how keenly he appears to judge my friendship with Anna and the rest of the Spinsters’ Club and, I suppose, you. As if I am doing something appalling, or that I do not belong.”
Dickie choked on his brandy. “My brother—cold and distant? We surely are not talking of the same man.”
“It is the only version of him thatIhave ever seen,” she shot back, a little embarrassed that she had spoken so forthrightly toMax’s brother. She had forgotten, for a moment, who she was in the room with.
Dickie chuckled and came over to put a friendly arm around her shoulders. “There, there, dear Caro. It is a truth you must face in life that not everyone is going to like you, no matter how lovable you are. The entire world will not adore you as your family and your friends do.” He paused. “Although, I do not believe that Max actually has any quarrel with you. He has no quarrel with anyone.”
“He ought to tell his face that when he is near me,” Caroline insisted. “Truly, he dislikes me, and I have not the faintest notion of why. Yes, I have spilled a few things on him by accident, and I did ruin that handkerchief of his, but you would think I had spat in his face or stolen his prize hound!”
Dickie patted her on the shoulder. “Let us find him and get to the bottom of this.”
“Absolutely not. I am having a pleasant evening; I do not wish to sour it with?—”
A strangled yelp went up from the gardens behind them, a terrifying face illuminated by moonlight, wild eyes peering in through the glass panes of the French doors. Caroline screamed back, her heart leaping into her throat, her eyes as wide and wild as those that had seen the pair.
Lady Joan, it seemed, had gone searching for Dickie, and she had found them in a most compromising position.
Before Dickie or Caroline could say anything, or even reach the doors to explain, Lady Joan had taken off, no doubt to spread the word of what she had witnessed. Misunderstanding entirely.
But when had society gossip ever cared about a misunderstanding, when they could have a scandal instead?
CHAPTER TWO
Max Dennis liked nothing more than to be the first in the breakfast room after a ball, reveling in the peace before other guests came down or came in from a morning walk in various states of disrepair. But it felt strange on that particular morning, being in the house where he grew up, which was no longer his own. Familiar and yet foreign, all at once.
“Coffee, Your Grace?” the lone footman asked.
Max smiled at the man. “I can pour it myself. Do not fuss, Cooper.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The footman retreated to the periphery of the room, standing a touch awkwardly as the post-dawn light crept in through the windows. It appeared that none of the staff at Greenfield House quite knew how to behave around their former Earl, who nowhad the title of ‘Duke’ and a different residence, far from the home of his youth.
“Actually, I do not suppose the papers have arrived yet?” Max said, duly pouring his own cup of weak coffee.
The footman hesitated. “I will look at once.”
Alone for at least a short while, Max got up from his seat and wandered to the windows, looking out at the exquisite grounds he cherished so much. From his viewing spot, he could see the gate that led into the ornamental gardens, and the walled gardens beside it that contained the most beautiful roses in the summer. Off to the right, was a great oak tree, missing its greenery as the colder weather drew in.
“Your Grace!” a strained voice made him turn, half expecting to find Cooper there, apologizing profusely that the papers had not yet arrived.
Instead, the housekeeper stood in the doorway, wringing her blue-veined and liver-spotted hands. Mrs. Pollock had been at Greenfield House for as long as he could remember, her gray hair scraped back in a severe bun, her appearance austere, belying the heart of gold that lay beneath.
Max had been sorry not to be able to take Mrs. Pollock to Harewood Court with him when he moved into his new residence, but there had already been a complement of staff in situ, and he had not wanted to ruffle any feathers by replacing them with too many of his own servants.
“I’m glad to have caught you before anyone else comes down to breakfast,” the housekeeper said, closing the door behind her. She stood in front of it like she meant to hold off a horde with just her chatelaine and her wits. “You retired early last night, didn’t you?”
Max frowned. “I did.”
“There was a… mishap an hour or so after you took to your chamber,” Mrs. Pollock said haltingly. “Master Richard—I mean, His Lordship, didn’t want you to be woken, and I did my best to obey his wishes, but I can’t stay silent on the matter. Everyone will be speaking of it at breakfast, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing.”
Max’s frown deepened, as he wet his dry throat with a sip of coffee. “Not knowingwhatexactly? What manner of mishap?”
Dickie… Dickie has made a fool of himself in some way.It would not have been the first time nor, to Max’s dismay, the last. He had hoped that being given the earldom would teach his brother some responsibility, but a change in title did not mean a change in character.
“A scandal, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pollock replied, voice trembling. “He was seen… He was caught in your old study with Lady Caroline. Another lady witnessed it, and she went off into the ballroom, wagging her tongue about it, telling all who’d hear. It’ll be in the scandal sheets this morning, tomorrow at the latest; I know it will. All of the worst gossips of society were here last night—there’s no possible way it won’t be known.”
