“He will marry you, my dear,” Augusta said, dipping her spoon into her porridge. “He is merely sowing the wild oats he should have years ago. He will come around in time for the ball.”
“You think so?” Lady Helena asked, her eyes shining with hope. “Are you sure?”
“I said so, did I not?” Augusta curbed her irritation at the mindless twit, eating her porridge with enthusiasm. “Men must simply be led by the nose now and again. Take my Wilmot here.”
Wilmot’s head rose from his breakfast at the mention of his name, his eyes wild. The bruise showed stark on his eye and cheekbone, his eye swollen and red. “Mother?”
“Wilmot is a good boy,” Augusta said, smiling. “He is sweet and obedient and never fails to do what I ask. Do you, Wilmot?”
His face turned down again as he gazed into his porridge. “Yes, Mother.”
“A fine example of an aristocrat is my son Wilmot. He would never disgrace his family name by marrying beneath him, would you, Wilmot?”
“No, Mother.”
“A fine boy,” Earl Whitington said, nodding. “Fine boy.”
“My Wilmot will go far in this world, do you not think so? Why, I am searching for a suitable bride for him as we speak. Any well-bred woman would be honored to have my son as a husband.”
“I suppose it was too much for you to wait a few minutes?”
Augusta spun her head around, observing Maximilian standing in the doorway. He looked awful. Dark bruises splotched his face, and his left wrist had been wrapped in a white bandage. He appeared drawn and haggard, but his dark blue eyes burned with anger. Leaning on a walking stick, he limped into the hall, his gaze spearing Augusta where she sat. The three Whitingtons rose hastily to present their respects and did not return to their chairs.
“Why, Maximilian,” she began stumbling over her words. “I did not think –”
“No, of course not, Madam,” he said, his voice tight. “You thought me lying abed too grievously hurt to join our guests for breakfast.”
The butler pulled out his chair for him, and Maximilian sat in it with a sigh. The Whitingtons returned to their chairs at his nod, their eyes flicking between Augusta and him. He glanced at Wilmot, and a humorless smile crossed his features. “Ah, look, my brother and I are almost twins. Are we not a sight to behold?”
Augusta sniffed. “Why do you not tell our guests your tale, Maximilian? How you bounced down the stairs while intoxicated?”
“Of course, Duchess,” he said, still smiling that terrible smile. “I walked up the stairs toward my chambers while inebriated, and someone at the top pushed me back down them.”
Augusta scowled as the Whitingtons gasped in horror, and Lady Helena asked, “Did you see who pushed you?”
“That is disgraceful,” the Earl said, slapping his napkin down on the table. “Someone trying to kill our good host. I think you should call in the constables, Your Grace. Obtain a thorough investigation.”
“That is a very good idea, Lord Whitington,” Maximilian said, his tone now jovial. “Perhaps I will at that. And yes, Lady Helena, I did see the person. However, he was cloaked, and I could not see his face.”
“How distressing,” Countess Whitington said, fanning herself. “You must call in the authorities.”
Augusta glared at her stepson. “Now that you have disrupted our very polite breakfast with this nonsense, I expect you to apologize to our guests for telling fanciful tales. No one pushed you. You merely had an accident.”
“An accident.” Maximilian leaned back in his chair, gazing upward as though thinking. “Just as the carriage shafts being cut was an accident, an accident that killed my coachman, by the way. Just as someoneaccidentallylet a rogue stallion loose in my stable that nearly killed Miss Betham. And now I almost break my neck in a tumble down the stairs due to someoneaccidentallygiving me a hard shove. A rather large lot of coincidences, would you say?”
“Someonedeliberatelytried to kill Eugenia?” Lady Helena gasped. “I thought – I have not been in to see her because she has been asleep. Now you say someone wants her dead? Why?Why?”
“I will tell you the moment I have the answer, Lady Helena,” Maximilian said.
Augusta sniffed. “I believe we should all change the subject. My stepson’s runaway imagination should be discarded immediately. The ball is in less than two weeks. We should all start making our preparations. Countess, might you be willing to help me decide on a menu?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Lady Helena will join us, of course,” Augusta went on. “I am quite certain she will understand what young people like to eat these days.”
“I am certain it is not porridge,” Maximilian said, pushing his bowl away.
Augusta tried to smile. “We will hardly serve porridge at a ball, Maximilian. Now, we will need to plan entertainment, music, dancing. Oh, it has been too long since we have had a ball here at Bromenville. I am certain it will be the talk of the Season.”
