Knocking on the solid door to Lady Helena’s chambers, Maximilian called out, “It is me. It’s is safe to open up.”
He listened as the bar was thrown back, and the wide oak door opened. Eugenia smiled at the sight of them, her dark hair already in its neat braid and hanging over her shoulder to her waist. Maximilian could not help but wonder how her hair would look and feel as it flowed like a silken river through his hands.
Eugenia curtseyed. “Thank you for coming, Your Grace. Is it your plan to escort Lady Helena to breakfast?”
“Why not?” he replied, and shot her a grin. “Is she ready?”
“Yes, she is.”
Lady Helena joined Eugenia at the door, her auburn hair in a tidy coiffure and wearing a satin gown of pale yellow that accented her wide green eyes. She, too, curtseyed and found a smile for him. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Shall we?”
He knew he should have slipped her arm through his, but he did not and merely gestured for her to accompany him. Eugenia and Nigel fell in behind as they walked down the corridor. He longed to walk beside Eugenia rather than her mistress. Despite his current association with Lady Helena, when he looked at her, he was still reminded of Sophia.
Helena made light conversation as they headed down the stairs. “The Duke and Duchess of Dentonshire should arrive today,” she said gaily. “I am most eager to see them again.”
As usual, she bored him with her chatter of the kingdom’s higher society and felt grateful when they arrived at the dining hall. He glanced at Eugenia, who grinned, and curtseyed as she and Nigel headed toward the kitchen. Ushering Lady Helena in, he found his stepmother, his brother, and the Whitingtons already there.Late again.Taking his place at the head of the table, he ignored Augusta’s disapproving eyes.
“I do so hope you might arrive to meals on time once the Duke and Duchess are here,” she said in a low, bitter voice. “I fear our guests, the Whitingtons, have become inured to your lack of proper manners.”
Maximilian glanced at the said guests and found them talking in low tones to their daughter. He shrugged and permitted his voice to convey no little insolence. “My table. My castle. My guests. I pray you do not forget that, Madam.”
Augusta sniffed in disdain but kept her voice for his ears alone. “You are a disgrace to our family name, Maximilian. I pray you will not one day regret your behavior.”
“What I do or do not regret,” he said in an undertone, “is none of your concern. Now. You will cease your criticism for the sake of our guests.”
Had Maximilian not grown a thick skin against her icy glares, he might have blanched at the one he received now. As it was, he shrugged, a gesture that he knew would irritate her further and glanced down the table to the Whitingtons. They still spoke with Lady Helena and had not heard their exchange. Wilmot, however, had.
His brother’s eyes flicked between the two of them, a small, secretive smile on his thick lips. He seemed to enjoy the verbal sparring between his mother and his half-brother, his eyelids half shut, concealing his thoughts and emotions. Maximilian found that display odd, for Wilmot always shunted his face away when he argued with his stepmother.
“How have you been, Willie?” he asked, his voice bantering. “Have you found a new partner to play cards with?”
Wilmot, startled at the question, fumbled over an answer. “Ah, no, not really. Mother does not like me to.”
“That has not stopped you before.”
“It has now.” Augusta glared at her son. “He is busy learning other skills that will aid him in his future. Things that would hardly concern you, Maximilian.”
“What would those be?” Maximilian’s light-hearted question seemed to baffle his brother.
“I, ah, am trying to learn a trade,” Wilmot stammered. “You know, as I am the second son. I must make my way in the world. Someday.”
Maximilian tapped his fingers on the table. Something seemed off about what Wilmot said, and his manner screamed he was lying. Yet, at the same time, he told the truth, from Wilmot’s point of view. “What sort of trade?” he asked finally.
“That is not something to discuss at table,” Augusta announced. “Why, what would the Whitingtons think of us?”
As the Whitingtons now paid attention to the conversation, Maximilian decided to drop the subject for the time being. He eyed his brother, who now stared at his plate, and said lightly, “So, the Dentonshires will arrive today? How. . .wonderful.”
Countess Whitington patted her hands together in genteel applause. “I cannot wait. Their letters stated they hoped to be here by mid-afternoon. Your Grace, you will simplyadorethem. Such good people.”
Maximilian smiled, liking the uncomplicated and good-hearted Countess. “I am certain I will, Countess Whitington.”
“I have ordered a special supper tonight in their honor,” Augusta trilled. “Turtle soup to start, then smoked salmon with watercress, grilled pheasant in plum sauce, broiled mutton and steamed cabbage and a fruit salad. For dessert –”
Maximilian tuned out the rest of the evening’s menu and ate his breakfast, his thoughts, as ever, turning to Eugenia. He could not help but admire her courage, her desire to protect him at all costs – at the cost of even her own life. He knew that meant love, love at its most basic, its most primeval, a love beyond all others on this earth.
Would I offer up my own life for hers? Yes. Yes, I would.
