His Lady in Breeches

XVII. Mother

At the mention of his name, the butler's face changed. And then he nodded. "If you could wait a moment, please," he said before he closed the door.

"Wife?" Maxwell hissed at her.

Maxine shrugged. "A Trilby might be curious as to why an Everard is at her door." She straightened to face the door. "How does it feel to be used? Satisfying?"

If Maxwell were to think of the word wife associated with himself, it was like thinking of his mother marrying Osegod. It was dreadful, atrocious and simply unimaginable.

Yet at that moment, if he were to associate Maxine with the word wife and attach it with his title, the idea was surprisingly pleasant, which is why he hissed.

She ought not to have planted such ideas in his mind.

Ignoring her question, Maxwell concentrated on maintaining his apathetic mien.

The door opened and this time, the butler did so widely. He stepped aside, saying, "I will lead you to the parlor, my lord, my lady."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maxine turn to look at him with a smile. Maxwell sighed and stepped through the doorway.

"Be a little gallant, my lord," Maxine said beside him, hooking her hand through his arm. "You must assist your wife."

Maxwell cleared his throat, about to give a sharp retort, but he knew the butler was listening. He shot Maxine a mocking smile and said, "Ah, forgive me, wife, it has passed my mind that I have one," adding under his breath, "since minutes ago."

Maxine did not comment and he knew why—he felt why. Her hand tightened in his arm and Maxwell knew that if she relaxed it, he would feel it shaking. And if he were to push her away, it would not be a surprise if she fell on the ground for her steps wobbled as though they were losing strength.

Yet at the back of his mind, he was irked. He wanted to berate her for announcing his presence. Amelia Trilby might use it to her advantage. After all, Osegod wanted to be close to the Everards for reasons unknown to them.

They could use Maxine and she might be naïve enough to allow them to. Her desire to be acknowledged by her mother might be too strong to prevent that.

As they entered the vast parlor of Amelia Trilby, one that was too lavish for Maxwell's eyes, he wished Maxine was wrong and the woman was not her mother.

*****

Maxine could have traded her collection of books or her garden in Theobald for a few moments of quiet and calm. The room was silent, of course, and so was Maxwell sitting beside her after the butler disappeared to find his mistress.

Tea arrived moments later and that too did not help. The biscuits tasted amazing yet were not enough remedy to how she felt.

Deep inside her was a storm. It was as though she was standing under a giant hole and a swirl of water, wind and thunder was coming down on her, taking her in an endless twirl of chaos. Her racing heart thundered through her ears, her hands shaking despite her great effort to clasp them together and she could not feel her legs. Had they disappeared? She was tempted to pull up her dress to make certain that they were still attached to her.

"You must be prepared for anything that might transpire," Maxwell's calm and collected voice said beside her.

She wanted to snap at him, to provoke a repartee and a battle of wits, for the thought of it was calming in a way.

"I should not have come here too soon," she said. "I have sent her a missive and I am not certain if she had read it. And if she did, I may have very well blown all my chances."