and then greeted his mother, sister, and Julius’s sister Helena. Helena vastly preferred living here than in the household of their father, the stiff and formal Duke of Kirkburton, who was also Max’s uncle.
Interesting that his mother didn’t notice the strain on Max’s features, but the far more perceptive Julius did.
“Out with it,” Julius said.
Max’s mother, in the process of pouring her son a dish of tea, glanced at him. “Out with what?” She handed him the tea-dish in its deep saucer.
Max murmured his thanks. He held the delicate porcelain, wondering if Sophia would like something similar. He supposed he’d have to fill his house with feminine folderols.
He forced a smile and looked up. “I’m getting married.”
His mother’s dish hardly trembled in its saucer. She arched a finely-plucked brow. “Do we know her?”
Oh no, that “We” told him she was on her highest horse. “We” meant, “Is she one of us?”
“Sophia Russell,” he said. “The daughter of one of my colleagues.”
Julius pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “Goldenbags,” he murmured.
Thomas Russell’s vulgar nickname, one he never answered to and Max pretended he didn’t know when in the man’s company.
“Yes. His daughter.” For something to do, Max took a sip of tea. It tasted bitter on his tongue.
“One of the Bedfordshire Russells?” His mother’s haughtiness came straight from court.
“One of the London Russells,” he replied.
Helena was smiling. Max didn’t trust that expression. She knew who he was talking about, too.
His sister, Poppy, on the other hand, seemed to have no idea. She was watching the conversation carefully, but from her sparkling eyes, Max knew she’d begin a volley of questions too. Poppy, to his jaundiced eyes, was the prettiest girl in the room, although Helena’s serene loveliness drew attention from a multitude of admirers. The family resemblance between them wasn’t marked, however. Poppy had a liveliness that often betrayed her into inappropriate but highly amusing comments. Helena measured everything she said and did. Her grace and elegance were renowned. Only the family knew the reason for that. If she took a wrong turn, did anything wrong, her mother would snatch her back.
Helena was the subject of a tug-of-war between Julius and his mother, the diminutive but redoubtable Duchess of Kirkburton. His mother wanted a companion, someone to fetch and carry and keep her company. Julius wanted Helena to have a life of her own.
By agreeing to act as Helena’s chaperone in this house instead of her mother’s, Max’s mother had stepped between them. Max had to give his parent credit for that.
Now he addressed his sister before she made one of her unfortunate comments. He had no idea what it would be; that was one of Poppy’s charms. But not in this instance. “Thomas Russell, Sophia’s father, is reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the country. I’ve known him for a while. His daughter is charming.”
Max had no idea anyone could sniff so loudly before his mother did it. “A cit! You can’t marry a cit, Devereaux!” She couldn’t have been more shocked had he told her he was marrying a courtesan. “Upstarts. How will she go on?”
“Most creditably, I imagine.” Should he pretend he was in love with her? No, because his mother would label that as vulgar. Love was for the lower classes, and it had no place in a proper marriage. He’d heard her say that so many times and ignored it just as many. He could mention her mother, but he’d do that in his own good time. “You should meet Russell, Mama.”
“I cannot imagine what I would say to him.”
It became Max’s new ambition to bring the two together. “You may discuss your views with him on Monday.” He answered her unspoken question. “That’s when I’m marrying. The special license is in my possession, and we’ve signed the contracts.”
“Without my agreement?”
He forbore to
Interesting that his mother didn’t notice the strain on Max’s features, but the far more perceptive Julius did.
“Out with it,” Julius said.
Max’s mother, in the process of pouring her son a dish of tea, glanced at him. “Out with what?” She handed him the tea-dish in its deep saucer.
Max murmured his thanks. He held the delicate porcelain, wondering if Sophia would like something similar. He supposed he’d have to fill his house with feminine folderols.
He forced a smile and looked up. “I’m getting married.”
His mother’s dish hardly trembled in its saucer. She arched a finely-plucked brow. “Do we know her?”
Oh no, that “We” told him she was on her highest horse. “We” meant, “Is she one of us?”
“Sophia Russell,” he said. “The daughter of one of my colleagues.”
Julius pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “Goldenbags,” he murmured.
Thomas Russell’s vulgar nickname, one he never answered to and Max pretended he didn’t know when in the man’s company.
“Yes. His daughter.” For something to do, Max took a sip of tea. It tasted bitter on his tongue.
“One of the Bedfordshire Russells?” His mother’s haughtiness came straight from court.
“One of the London Russells,” he replied.
Helena was smiling. Max didn’t trust that expression. She knew who he was talking about, too.
His sister, Poppy, on the other hand, seemed to have no idea. She was watching the conversation carefully, but from her sparkling eyes, Max knew she’d begin a volley of questions too. Poppy, to his jaundiced eyes, was the prettiest girl in the room, although Helena’s serene loveliness drew attention from a multitude of admirers. The family resemblance between them wasn’t marked, however. Poppy had a liveliness that often betrayed her into inappropriate but highly amusing comments. Helena measured everything she said and did. Her grace and elegance were renowned. Only the family knew the reason for that. If she took a wrong turn, did anything wrong, her mother would snatch her back.
Helena was the subject of a tug-of-war between Julius and his mother, the diminutive but redoubtable Duchess of Kirkburton. His mother wanted a companion, someone to fetch and carry and keep her company. Julius wanted Helena to have a life of her own.
By agreeing to act as Helena’s chaperone in this house instead of her mother’s, Max’s mother had stepped between them. Max had to give his parent credit for that.
Now he addressed his sister before she made one of her unfortunate comments. He had no idea what it would be; that was one of Poppy’s charms. But not in this instance. “Thomas Russell, Sophia’s father, is reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the country. I’ve known him for a while. His daughter is charming.”
Max had no idea anyone could sniff so loudly before his mother did it. “A cit! You can’t marry a cit, Devereaux!” She couldn’t have been more shocked had he told her he was marrying a courtesan. “Upstarts. How will she go on?”
“Most creditably, I imagine.” Should he pretend he was in love with her? No, because his mother would label that as vulgar. Love was for the lower classes, and it had no place in a proper marriage. He’d heard her say that so many times and ignored it just as many. He could mention her mother, but he’d do that in his own good time. “You should meet Russell, Mama.”
“I cannot imagine what I would say to him.”
It became Max’s new ambition to bring the two together. “You may discuss your views with him on Monday.” He answered her unspoken question. “That’s when I’m marrying. The special license is in my possession, and we’ve signed the contracts.”
“Without my agreement?”
He forbore to
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