His Lady in Breeches

XVI. Miss at Macy

Maxine knew that Willowfair was not as big as Wickhurst, but it had its own charm and flair as one of the most affluent towns.

She had never been here—as she had in all places of the Town apart from Wickhurst—but she could picture herself walking its streets. It was not as busy as Wickhurst. As a matter of fact, it was quieter here.

Although the people who roamed the streets wore the same clothes and the buildings seemed as tall and large, there was a different kind of calmness.

"You must be tired," said the driver as he guided the horses to turn right. "You slept late and you woke up too early."

She swallowed. She had lied to the man, of course, for she did not spend the night in the room she was supposed to. He merely concluded that she came in late while he was already sleeping and woke up earlier than him and she did not correct him for how could she? How could she ever explain why she slept in her master's brother's rented room?

But the driver was correct when he said she must be tired for that was what Maxine was at that very moment.

Spending the night inside the same room as Maxwell Everard was probably the longest night she had to suffer. Not merely did her mind refuse to give her rest, but her senses did not also let her sleep. The bastard slept soundly the entire time. She counted the hours until she thought it was time to shake him back to his senses and demand that he give her the key, which he did by throwing it on the floor before he returned to sleep.

"You did eat your supper, yes?" the driver asked. "I made certain they put it aside for ye when you did'na return."

"Yes," she wryly uttered. She ate it for breakfast.

The man clucked his tongue. "I could not imagine what you'd have to go through in Willowfair, lad. These bloody balls could truly drain a valet. And they do intend to stay a few more days after that, aye?"

She sighed. She could already picture herself running about to fetch everything for Nicholas. He was a very picky dresser. She merely had to experience waiting on him as he prepared for two balls in Wickhurst and they were not very fond memories. He would change his coat every bloody minute and find things in his shirt he did not like before he left which would lead to more running and fetching whatever it was he wanted.

But she had packed the best suits for him and she hoped he would find them satisfactory as she had plans of her own.

The carriage drew to a stop outside a large townhouse. "They rented this place?" the driver asked.

Maxine nodded. "Yes, for the ball."

"Bloody rich bastards."

Maxine grinned. "It is fully staffed as well."

"Bloody rich bastards indeed."

She scoffed and jumped out to open the carriage door.

"Ah, finally!" Nicholas cried out, stretching his arms and legs on the pavement. "I am too bloody tired."

"You did not do anything," Maxwell snapped as he stepped out of the carriage.

"The bags, Max," Nicholas ordered, following Maxwell up the stairs to enter the door held open by a serious-looking butler. "I meant Max my valet, Max, not you," he added with amusement.

"Bloody tarnation, Nicholas, shut up or I'll make you," Maxwell replied over his shoulder.

Maxine watched as the two brothers disappeared into the townhouse. The butler stepped out and said, "Do you need help?" he asked.