Page 24 of A Hint of Scandal

“Letty Gilbert is such a nice girl,” Arabella put in. “I believe I can count her amongst my friends now. We were able to converse in between dances while we sipped our lemonade, and I found myself growing fond of her immediately.”

Max’s estimation of his niece’s assessment of character dropped a notch as well. From what he’d seen of Miss Letitia Gilbert, he would not, so far, have classed her as ‘a nice girl’.

“Does that mean you can invite her here?” Louis asked. “Because if you do, please let me know, so I can call by chance to see you.”

Henry guffawed with laughter. “Not just him, but me as well. I won’t have him taking advantage of me. He is the younger brother, after all. I’m the one with the title which must make me much the more attractive of us two.”

“But I’m the most handsome,” Louis put in, with a grin that was enough to dispel any bad feelings in his brother. These two had always vied with each other in this playful manner and it had never amounted to much angst.

Arabella pouted. “Perhaps I will, but perhaps I might prefer to spend an afternoon in girlish chatter rather than being interrupted by two hapless young men intent on stealing away my new friend.”

“Max,” Maria said, patting the vacant seat beside her. “Come sit beside me and tell me about your afternoon before we have to go into dinner. I’ve had my fill of the prattling of young people.”

He took the seat with relief, a little insulted that she didn’t consider him young any longer, and determined not to think about the slight on Serafina. After all, she was nothing to him. Wasn’t she?

“I paid a visit to the Egyptian antiquities of the British Museum. It’s a long time since I was last there, and they’ve vastly improved the displays. I saw the Rosetta Stone—an object that interests me because, as you know, I’ve been to Rosetta. It wasn’t there when I last went. In fact, there were a lot of new exhibits and a whole new gallery to explore.”

Maria sighed. “Dear Julian would love to go there, I’m sure. Such a pity he’s not well enough to have accompanied you. He could have found a lot of new material for his book, I imagine. Although why you gentlemen find dusty old remains from years ago so interesting, I have no idea.” Her face fell a little. “And there I was, thinking you might have been doing something fun.”

He chuckled. “But it was fun. For me, at any rate.” More fun than he was ready to share.

She brightened. “Perhaps it would do my boys good to spend an afternoon in such an intellectual pursuit rather than passing their time in drinking and gambling at White’s.” She followed this with a frown. “Not to mention pursuing flirtations with pretty girls they have no intention of offering for. As the mother of a daughter, I abhor the fact that young gentlemen pay court to eligible young ladies with no intention of anything further than enjoying themselves at their expense.”

Max smiled. “So you see why I don’t advocate an afternoon of fun, then.”

She laughed. “Touché. And now I think it must be time to go into dinner.”

Max offered her his arm, while Henry escorted the Dowager and Louis accompanied Arabella, and the party proceeded into the dining room.

It was a cozy, intimate meal, with the two younger men, both born raconteurs, holding forth with further tales of their adventures in Town, where they shared rooms. Max was able to sit for the most part in silence, reflecting further on his afternoon with Serafina.

Not that he wanted to think about her. Rather that it was occupying his brain to the exclusion of all else. Most confusing. He tried listening to Henry and Louis but just could not concentrate. Was this what it was like to feel an attachment to someone? Or was he just intrigued by a bluestocking of a girl who seemed so deserving of a better life? Most likely he was confusing the pity he felt for her with warmer feelings of friendship. How could a girl he’d met only twice, and who had talked on both occasions only of history, have captured his thoughts so completely? And so easily. If that was what had happened.

He tried again to listen to Louis’s latest tale, but failed.

Was he feeling like this just because of an inclination to help her escape a life that must be less than pleasant? If anyone could be described as a dragon, it was not Serafina but the intimidating Lady Gilbert. Who probably already had her eye on Henry as a possible, titled of course, spouse for her lovely daughter. Not nearly so intelligent and interesting a girl as Serafina though. Why was he having to repeatedly go over how he was feeling like this? Why couldn’t he get that young lady out of his head? He huffed a deep, disgruntled sigh.

“Max, you’re not eating,” the dowager said, her tone a mix of anxiety and reproof. “I’ve been watching you, and all you’ve done is push your food around your plate. Are you ailing?”

Max stared down at his plate. She was right. He’d rearranged the food but not touched it. What to say to avoid alerting her? “I have a megrim, I suppose, after little sleep last night followed by a day in the overcrowded streets of London, and it’s making me feel out of sorts. I’m not hungry. It’s nothing. I’ll take a headache powder before I retire, and I’ll be fine in the morning.”

His mother’s hand twitched as though she would like to lay it on his forehead to check for fever as she’d done when he’d been a child. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

He nodded. He couldn’t blame her for her worrying. With her husband long dead, her older son such an invalid, and Max himself now war-damaged, it was little wonder she interpreted every uneaten meal or pallor of cheeks as a sign of imminent demise. “Nonsense, Mama. Of course I’m sure. I’d tell you if I were truly sick, rest assured.”

She nodded, but the worry in her eyes told him she wasn’t totally convinced. To show her he was telling the truth, he took a mouthful of the now nearly cold dinner and chewed. For some reason, it was tasteless and took forever to reduce to a consistency he could swallow. But the reward for that was her mollified expression and a small smile. “That’s better.”

Conscious of his mother’s continued scrutiny, he managed to eat a little of the dessert that followed, but it sat leaden in his stomach as though he had no taste for it at all. Which in itself was strange, as normally he possessed a healthy appetite. It must have been those chestnuts. That was it. They’d filled him up. It was a relief when the meal ended and the ladies retired, leaving Max with his two nephews and a bottle of his brother’s best port.

“I gather you’ve been to Great Titchfield Street,” he said to Henry as he passed him the port. “Do you intend to make an offer for the girl? Your mother would be more than happy if you were to provide an heir for your title. She worries about it as your father died so young.”

Henry took the bottle. “Heavens, no. I went to keep Louis company. He’s the one smitten with the girl. And our papa died racing his curricle with another young buck, not from any illness. So I think we’re quite safe from inheriting that.”

Louis, hand out waiting for the bottle, had the grace to blush. “I wouldn’t quite say I was smitten.” But he sounded insincere in his denial.

Max sipped the port. His brother kept a fine cellar here in his townhouse, although not so extensive as the one at Bratton Park. “You could do worse.”

“She’s a diamond of the first water,” Louis said, the blush deepening. “Every young man at the ball was chasing after a dance with her, as they were with Arabella, of course, but when she looked at me…” His voice hoarsened. “It was as though only she and I existed in that whole ballroom.”