As he expected, Eugenia laughed.
“But in the end,” he went on, “she was truly selfish and cold-hearted. She took my love, my heart, and married a man who offered her more.”
Eugenia stopped walking, staring up at him. “What could any man offer a woman that you cannot?”
“Freedom.”
“What do you mean?”
Maximilian tried a smile, which felt false to him and no doubt looked it to her. “She wished to be free to travel and wander where she will, to have a husband whose wealth financed her ambitions to leave him when she wanted. She married a man who did not care if he only saw her once or twice a year. She was free to be with anyone she chose.”
Eugenia gasped not with shock but with outrage. “That is just wrong. Marriage is a duty that lasts a lifetime, not something you pick up when convenient.”
“You and I know that,” Maximilian continued to walk with her hand in his. “One day she might also. But her fate or future are no longer my concern.”
“True,” she said. “I can now see why Lady Helena disturbs you so much.”
“She is not at all like Sophia,” Maximilian said. “But I cannot even glance at her without being reminded of the pain when Sophia left. I feel terrible for neglecting her, but I cannot seem to help it.”
“If I loved someone who treated me as badly as this person did you,” Eugenia said, “I would not be able to be near someone who looked like him, either. If Lady Helena were to be told of how she looks like Sophia, she –”
“Shhh.”
Eugenia fell silent as Maximilian tilted his head, listening. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.
Chapter 14
Eugenia tensed as she listened hard to whatever it was Maximilian heard. At first, she heard only the soft sough of the breeze over the heather, the rustling of some small creature deep within the shrubbery. Then she caught a noise that sounded like sobbing.
“It sounds like someone is crying,” she said, her voice hushed.
“It is coming from over there.”
His hand still fast in hers, Maximilian took her with him while he walked toward the source of the sound. As she drew closer, Eugenia definitely heard quiet crying, as though the person’s heart were breaking. She instantly thought it was Lady Helena, who had stumbled upon them walking hand in hand like lovers. Bracing herself, she peered with Maximilian around the hedgerow.
It was Lord Wilmot.
He sat on the ground, his arms over a bench and an empty bottle in his hand. Even from this distance, Eugenia smelled the overpowering odor of whiskey. He wept into his arms, sobbed uncontrollably, his face hidden.
Poor man. What could have reduced him to this?
Maximilian spoke softly, stepping around the hedge. “Willie? What is wrong, brother?”
Lord Wilmot raised his tear-streaked face and gazed around blearily until his eyes fastened upon the two of them. He tried to wipe his face on his sleeve but did not try to stand. “Max. I – I – ”
Maximilian at last let go of her hand, sat down on the bench beside his brother. This left Eugenia to stand quiet and watch. Lord Wilmot eyed her through red-rimmed eyes. “Who is that? The maid, right?”
Eugenia curtseyed, even if she suspected he would not care if she showed him proper respect or not.
“Yes, that is Miss Betham,” Maximilian said gently, bringing Lord Wilmot’s face around to him again. “What is wrong? Why are you out here, drinking?”
Lord Wilmot slumped further against the bench, dropping the empty bottle. “Mother,” he said.
“What about her?”
“I hate her.”
Maximilian glanced helplessly up at Eugenia, who knew she should not be a party to this conversation. She tried to signal, to mime that she would leave the two of them alone. But Maximilian shook his head, stopping her. “Please stay,” he murmured.
