Page 72 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Have you seen much of your guardian of late? I hope he is in good health. If you do see him, please tell him I miss him give him my fond regards.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Miss Agatha Smith.

26th May 1842, St James’, London.

Max sauntered down the steps from White’s, following an interesting meeting with the Marquess of Bainbridge about sheep, of all things. Bainbridge—despite somewhat of a reputation in years past for being a loose screw, if not an outright lunatic—had made a grand success of his father’s estates since the duke had handed things over. It was a model Maxwell was interested in emulating where possible, and he’d been surprised at how ready the fellow was to share his knowledge. Bainbridge had given him some useful information, and names of people who could help him drag his own estate into the nineteenth century. Max had gotten his financial affairs in order a few years back, and he did not see why he could not tackle this challenge too, with help from the right people. He'd been pondering all he’d learned when a cheerful voice hailed him from across the street.

“Evening, Maxwell, how do?”

“Barnaby. I’m well, thank you, and yourself?”

In fact, Barnaby Godwin was looking quite the elegant man about town these days, no doubt his stylish friend’s influence at work.

“Never better, off to Grants for a bite to eat. Meeting Louis there. Fancy joining us?”

Max hesitated. He did not relish the idea of bumping into Kilbane, as he’d already turned down his invitation to play cards, but he liked Barnaby and the enigmatic comte. It would be good to spend a convivial evening with men around whom one could relax, without wondering if they’d an ulterior motive. Besides, it was too early in the evening for Kilbane to show his face for some hours yet.

“I would. Thank you,” he said, and fell into step as they walked around the corner to Grants.

They found Louis César had already taken the best table in the establishment and ordered wine, into which he had already made a considerable dent. He greeted Max politely and with apparent pleasure, though Max thought he looked tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes that had not been there before, and his exquisite bone structure seemed sharper than before, suggesting he had lost weight.

The waiter arrived with menus, and Max and Barnaby perused them while the comte watched the comings and goings in the club.

Max made his order and handed back his menu as Barnaby dithered.

“Oh, the game pie, I think,” he said at last, frowning as the comte shook his head, indicating he would not be ordering. “And the same for Monsieur,” he said firmly, giving his friend a stern look.

“Barnaby, I am not hungry,” Louis protested irritably.

“No, but you need something to soak up the wine or you’ll have the devil of a head in the morning, and I must share a carriage with you. Besides, you’ve lost too much weight already.”

The comte tsked but said nothing, nursing his glass of wine.

“You’re back to Sussex?” Maxwell asked, wondering if they were returning to the Comte’s new property there.

“No, Scotland actually.” Barnaby replied. “Visiting my aunt. Duty visit. You know how it is, got to keep the ancient ones happy. Not that my company ever makes her happy, but there you are. She’ll enjoy telling me how useless I am and how much better things—especially men — were in her day.”

Maxwell laughed, nodding. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

“Anyone with extended family would,” Barnaby replied with a grin.

“What about you, Louis?” Max asked. “Do you have an endless catalogue of ancient relatives to placate?”

The comte toyed with his meal, not looking up. “Not a one. My kin did not fare well during the revolution, and my father was remiss in providing heirs. Myself and my brother are all that remain. I am the last of my line.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, not having realised quite how alone he was. Though Max’s extended family were mostly a source of irritation, and certainly a drain on the coffers, he did not like to consider what it might feel like not to have those links, those roots going back generations.

Louis snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. If my father was anything to go by, I doubt the world has lost anything of value.”

They ate, with Barnaby a convivial companion and Louis César picking at his food and saying little. He was never a man who chattered about nothing, but neither was he this withdrawn and remote. Barnaby sent him anxious glances from time to time, encouraged him to eat a few bites of dinner like some anxious mama, and frowned when Louis ordered another bottle. Max wondered what the trouble was and regretted that he knew neither of them well enough to ask if he could help.

Once their plates had been taken, with Louis’ practically untouched, Max thought it about time he made his excuses and left. Before he could, a familiar voice greeted them.

“Gentlemen, what a surprise. Vane, did you not have other plans for this evening? Or was it just other company you were seeking?”

Max suppressed a sigh as he looked up. Kilbane’s expression was bland, but Max could sense the man’s annoyance at finding him here.

“A last-minute change of plans, that’s all. We only came to eat. I’m still not playing cards,” he added, just in case Kilbane thought to manipulate him into playing.