“What do you plan to do about Max Valland?” Oliver said softly, and held her away, his handsome face somber as he gazed down at her. “Has he asked you to marry you?”
“Yes, he’s asked me. And he’s asked me to go to Cornwall with him,” she admitted, “but I’ve told him no. He knows I can’t, he knows I have other plans and that I won’t let my heart be broken again.”
Oliver shook his head at her. “But ’Etta,” he said gently, “you can’t guard your heart. It’s impossible. And if you do…well, you will never be properly alive if you don’t love. I know you’ve been hurt but you can’t go into hiding because of it. Your heart will shrivel and die if you don’t give it a chance to love again.”
“You just heard what Max’s father said,” she wailed. “He won’t let me marry Max anyway, I’m not good enough, so I’m right to refuse. I’m right to protect myself from being wounded all over again.”
Marietta turned and fled, following Vivianna up the stairs and slamming her door.
Max looked at his father and said nothing. The duke had arrived half an hour ago, and Max had kept him waiting while he finished the letter he was writing to the estate manager in Cornwall, explaining that he would be arriving in the not-too-distant future to take up permanent residence. That done, he had joined his father in the upstairs drawing room, where Pomeroy had served a tray of his wife’s excellent tea and scones.
“Come to see if I have vacated the townhouse yet?” he asked, sitting down, as if they had not been estranged for months.
The duke cast him a droll look, and sipped his tea. “As a matter of fact I have just been to see your…Miss Greentree.”
Max wondered if he looked as angry as he felt. Perhaps he did, because his father stopped sipping and set his cup down as if he feared it might end up in his lap.
“You’re interfering in my private business, sir.”
“You are my son.”
“I am not your son, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”
Barwon cleared his throat, and suddenly he looked old and tired—a different man from the bitter and blindly furious one Max remembered. He asked himself what his father was doing here, prodding at the wounds. Was it possible…could it be that he was having regrets? If so it was too late and this was madness, painful madness, and it wasn’t doing either of them any good.
“I…I want to make you an allowance, Max. Of course Harold and Susannah must have the lion’s share of the estate, that’s only just, but I want you to remain a part of the family. I am going to formally adopt you as my son. There will be some legal details to sort out, but…well, soon everything will be settled, and…You’ll be my son again.”
He was smiling, looking pleased with himself, as if he thought that was all that needed to be said. It was unbelievable! Max was speechless and shaking with hurt and anger. Worse still, the duke seemed to take his silence for compliance, and reached out to grasp Max’s arm.
Max jerked back as if from a striking snake. Slowly, stiffly, he rose to his feet, looking every bit as formidable as the duke.
“I will not take anything from you, sir. I will not have anything of yours. Please leave.”
Barwon appeared shaken. “You don’t understand,” he said, and his voice had lost all its former arrogant certainty. “When I read your mother’s letter it was as if I had sustained a fatal wound. When she died, at least I could mourn her, but then I lost her again and this time I could only hate.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Max said quietly.
“No,” the duke nodded his head slowly, like an old man. He looked like an old man, the lines scouring his cheeks, his shoulders bent. “No, it wasn’t your fault, Max. When it happened I couldn’t think clearly. I wanted to hit out at someone and there was only you left. I-I lost my temper.”
“Do you expect me to forgive you?”
“I regret deeply what has been done! I want to make amends, Max. Let me make amends.”
Max looked at him bleakly. Where did he begin to explain that the relationship between them could never be the same again, no matter how much money the duke threw at him? Couldn’t his father see that? Was he so deluded that he did not realize that it would never be what it was?
“Have you told Harold and Susannah about this plan of yours?”
“It has nothing to do with Harold or Susannah, but I will inform them. I wanted to talk to you first, Max. Besides, Harold will do as he’s told.”
Max looked at him with dislike. “I see.”
“I want to put all this unpleasantness behind us.”
At that moment Max felt his anger soar to new levels. He did not think he had ever been this furious before in life, but neither had he felt so free to express it. Being disinherited was more liberating than he could have imagined.
“Do you know, father, I don’t care what you want. I don’t even care about Valland House. I’m quite content with mother’s house in Cornwall. I’m looking forward to it—I have plans for the old mine. You’d probably scoff at them as paltry, and I would have agreed with you, once. But I don’t have to think about the estate any more. I don’t have to remember I’m a duke’s son and I must behave accordingly, that I have duties and responsibilities, and my life is structured around them. I am simply Max Valland and I am free to do whatever I want to. So I’m going to Cornwall to live…with Marietta if she’ll have me.” He paused, and now his voice dripped ice. “And if you’ve hurt her, Father, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“For God’s sake, Max! Right now you probably don’t believe you’re worthy of a respectable woman, but stop and think! When I’ve sorted matters out you’ll be able to have your pick again and—” The duke’s voice rose and took on a desperate note. “Max! Max, come back!”
But Max had walked out. He could hear his father’s voice behind him, one moment angry and the next pleading, but he didn’t listen. He walked downstairs and out the front door, ignoring the twittering of Mrs. Pomeroy and Pomeroy’s anxious questions. He walked along Bedford Square and into Bloomsbury Street and he kept walking. And for the first time in his life he didn’t give a damn if he never saw the Valland townhouse, or his father, again.
Francesca was patting her sister’s back, murmuring comforting noises. The door opened and she looked up, her voice anxious as she said, “She won’t stop crying.” The bed shifted beneath the weight of another person, and Vivianna’s gentle hand smoothed aside Marietta’s tangled hair so that she could see her flushed, damp cheek and swollen eyes.
“Marietta,” she whispered, “my dear. I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I do not care if you insult the duke, insult him all you like. I do not care if you insult the whole of London society and poke your tongue out at the queen…Well, perhaps not the queen,” she added cautiously. “But the rest of them don’t matter a jot to me. You are what is important and I think, for a moment there, I forgot that. Forgive me or I will never be able to bear it.”
Marietta turned her face and saw that Vivianna was crying too. With a wail she flung herself into her sister’s arms, and found that Francesca had joined her.
“We need to be together,” Vivianna said, trying to catch her breath on little sobs. “We need to stay together. We’ve always survived by staying together, and if we don’t…if one of us should be hurt again, then we will all be hurt.”
“All for one,” Francesca said in a muffled voice.
Marietta giggled. “And one for all?” she asked, sniffling.
Vivianna nodded seriously. “Exactly.”
There was a tap on the door, and Lil stuck her head around it, eyes widening at the sight of the three sisters with their tear-streaked faces. “Sorry to interrupt, my lady, but there’s a gentleman downstairs to see Miss Marietta, and he don’t look very happy.”
Marietta covered her face. “Not the duke again.”
Lil shook her head. “Not this time, miss. This time it’s his son.”
Max, here? Marietta sat u
p. “I…I’m in no state. I can’t face him. Not after what his father said.”
“Do you love this man?” Francesca asked her seriously. “This Max? I’ve never seen you like this before, Marietta. Never. I think you must feel something for him.”
Marietta looked bleak. “I don’t know what I feel. I count the moments until I see him again, and I miss him when I’m not with him, and I dream about him at night when I’m asleep.”
Vivianna sighed elaborately. “Oh dear.”
“Is that love? But what does it matter if I do love him? I can’t marry him—I’ve told him so—and I’m afraid,” her voice trembled. “Remember what it was like when I was left at that inn and I had to find my own way home…I had no money and the wood carter gave me a ride on his wagon, and then Mr. Jardine came and when I-I called out to him he didn’t even recognize me. His face.” The hot tears ran down her cheeks. “The shock on his face. I felt utterly destroyed. I can’t let myself fall so low again, I just can’t!”
Vivianna patted her back comfortingly, but her voice was firm. “Marietta, why do you imagine Lord Roseby would ask you to marry him unless he meant it? He is an aristocrat, despite his damaged reputation, a gentleman with connections and class. Frankly he is not the sort to ask you to marry him unless he sincerely wanted you to be his wife. If you love him, Marietta, then you should think very seriously about accepting.”
Marietta swallowed nervously. “My heart—”
“Oh bother your heart,” Francesca interrupted. “Really, I think you worry too much about getting it broken. You can’t go about with it wrapped in tissue paper like a family heirloom, Marietta. Take it out, dust it off and give it another try.”
“But how can I face him alone? Perhaps his father has spoken to him and persuaded him to withdraw his offer? What if I say y-yes and he’s changed his mind!”
Vivianna hugged her. “We’ll all go,” she said firmly. “Francesca, too. If he has anything to say to you, dear sister, then he can say it to all of us.”
Marietta laughed shakily, but Lil rolled her eyes. “You’d better hurry then,” she said dryly. “He looked like the sort of gentleman who’d only wait so long before he came storming up here after you.”
When she opened the door, the first thing Marietta thought was that Lil was right. Max looked capable of anything. His face was taut and pale, the healing scar standing out dramatically on his temple, and his dark hair blown into wild curls by the wind. He must have walked here from Bedford Square—she did not put it past him. But it was his eyes that caught and held her attention.
They were burning with raw emotion.
“Max?”
“Marietta.” Relief softened his expression briefly, until he saw the other two women behind her. Vivianna and Francesca edged into the room and stood silent and watchful.
“My sisters.” She answered his unspoken question. “Lady Montegomery and Miss Francesca Greentree.”
Max bowed politely, and she smiled to think that he was so much the gentleman that even in circumstances like these he must do the right thing.
“Can we speak alone?” he asked.
“I…no, if you have anything to say I think it should be said before my sisters. Your father has already called here today.”
Max sighed. “My father, yes, I see. He has never had any common sense when it comes to dealing with other people’s emotions. He thinks it is enough to say sorry.” He shook off his melancholy. “I do not ask you to forgive what he said to you, only to consider it in the light of his misguided affection for me.”
“He needn’t worry,” Marietta said stiffly. “I won’t marry you, Max. You’re quite safe from my unsavory reputation.”
Max groaned and looked as if he’d like to tear his hair out.
“Marietta, I don’t care about your reputation! We can be happy together. This other nonsense…I can’t bear to think of you throwing yourself away like this.”
“I’m not throwing myself away,” she said quickly. “I’m protecting my heart, Max.”
“I love you.”
There was a tense silence. Francesca caught her breath, and Marietta could imagine what she was thinking—Max as the perfect Byronic hero. Vivianna said, softly, “Lord Roseby, do you know what you are proposing?”
Max’s eyes did not leave Marietta. “I want to marry you. I love you.” He lifted his arms. “What else can I say?”
Tears were stinging her eyes but she held them in. She had the terrible urge to tell him she loved him, too, and throw herself against him. As she teetered on the edge of the precipice, she remembered Oliver and Vivianna’s words, about happiness not being something she should lightly throw away. She had made a bad choice last time, and she had suffered for it, but that did not necessarily mean she would make a bad choice this time. And Max didn’t feel like a mistake; he felt completely and utterly right.
Perhaps the time had come to trust her heart once more.
Tentatively Marietta took a step forward, and it was easier than she had imagined. So she took another. Max was watching her, holding himself still, waiting to see what she would do. When she reached him he still didn’t move, and now it was as if he was afraid of frightening her away.
She reached up and touched his cheek, the most tender of caresses.
“Yes, Max,” she said. Just for a moment it was as if she was falling to earth with a crash, but then the sensation changed and she was floating with happiness.
Max smiled his gorgeous smile. “Marietta,” he breathed, and drew her into his arms in front of her sisters as if he had forgotten they were there. Or perhaps he didn’t care. “You’ll never regret it,” he murmured in her ear.
“I hope you never regret it,” she said in a little voice. “I’m glad you’re not going to be a duke, Max, because if you were we would never have met, and I could never have married you.” And then she gasped as he held her tighter.
As if he would never let her go.
Vivianna cleared her throat. “Lord Roseby, I think you should release my sister now.”
He looked at her, his eyes dazed.
“So that we can congratulate you!” Vivianna added, and came forward with her hands out, her face beaming. Francesca, not far behind, was laughing and saying that when she came to London she never expected to see Marietta agree to be a wife.
By the time he had been welcomed into the Greentree family by Marietta’s two sisters, and then by Lady Greentree, who arrived back from visiting Aunt Helen, and Mr. Jardine, who appeared to be more of a family friend than an employee, Max was exhausted. Oliver drew him aside for a glass of brandy, and to tell him quietly that Marietta was a dear girl and he was very fond of her. Which, Max supposed, meant that if he ever did anything to hurt her he’d be in for it.
“Cornwall will be a long way from her sisters,” Max said, watching the three women laughing and talking, already making plans for the wedding.
Oliver shrugged. “She can always visit them, and they can visit her. If she is happy she won’t notice so much.”
“Yes.” Max smiled.
Just then Marietta caught his eye and her face lit up. She did love him; he could see it. He was happy, truly happy, and if he hadn’t mentioned to her his father’s plans to reinstate him in the bosom of the Valland family, then it was because he had refused the offer.
Refused it irrevocably!
Besides, if she thought for one moment that he might be a peer again, then she wouldn’t marry him. And Max knew he couldn’t bear to lose her now she was finally his.
Chapter 17
A. is an astute businessman—unusual in a gentleman. We spoke of a dream I have had for some years, of setting up an exclusive club in London, where men like himself can come and be entertained by the most beautiful and the most accomplished women.
We have decided the club will be known as Aphrodite’s, and A. has spoken to his banker. Together we can run it, and I trust him to be my friend, even when the passion between us cool
s. He is the sort of man who will never betray me.
There is something I have not told him yet, I didn’t know how to. But I am carrying his child. I hope he will be pleased.
Another daughter. I am so happy. My little family seems complete, and although her father and I are no longer lovers, we are close friends and business partners. Aphrodite’s Club prospers. It seems that we are all the rage.
I woke up this morning and realized that I was happy. I have my girls and I have a new gentleman to tell me he worships me. Although I no longer believe such declarations so blithely, still it is very nice to be told one is beautiful and desirable. So, I am happy, and even the thought of Jemmy and what might have been cannot cloud my horizon.
Perhaps my life has reached calm seas at last.
The room was shaded, as if its occupant could not bear the sight of the bright sunny spring day. Marietta saw him, a dark shape slumped in his chair.
Aphrodite touched her daughter’s hand, and when Marietta glanced at her, nodded towards him. “He is in pain. The traveling is not easy for him. But he wants to meet you, Marietta, very much. You must be kind to him, and patient, oui?”
Marietta nodded and approached her father. She was glad now that she had read the diary last night. To know even that small piece of her father’s past, and that he had a long-standing business relationship with her mother. He had helped her to start Aphrodite’s Club, shared in the costs, but allowed her to run it as she wished. Aphrodite trusted him so completely that even when they were no longer in love she still thought of him as her friend, and asked his opinion on business matters.
He was watching her, his head resting on his hand, his eyes following every step. His legs, withered and useless, were covered by a woolen shawl despite the warm room. Marietta tried to smile but her lips were trembling. This was her father, she told herself, and she was to know him at last.
“Marietta,” he said, and she saw then that his eyes were blue, like hers, and his hair fair, though graying at the temples. “I am sorry you should see me like this, daughter. The journey to London was painful for me and I am not yet fit for company.”
Rules of Passion Page 27
