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Marietta allowed him to steer her into the entrance hall, where Mrs. Pomeroy was fidgeting about at the bottom of a broad, curving staircase, twisting her hands in her apron. And no wonder. The sounds coming from upstairs were loud and ominous. Just then Max’s voice rose in a shout, followed by a terrible, heart-rending groan.
“Oh dear,” Marietta said, her eyes wide. “His head hurts him a great deal.”
“Poor young sir!” the old woman cried. “I should not have let Daniel take him up to his room, but Pomeroy went off for the doctor and…” Her eyes filled with tears. “The truth is, I can’t manage the stairs anymore, miss. My legs give out on me.”
“Oh dear,” Marietta said again. “What a mess you are all in. Perhaps you would allow me to help, Mrs. Pomeroy? I am quite good at helping.”
Mrs. Pomeroy’s worried face sagged with relief. “Oh, please do, miss. Daniel’s a good lad but he’s not the brightest star in the sky, if you get my meaning.”
“If you’re sure you wouldn’t mind, Miss Greentree…?” Harold added his own encouragement, and gestured for her to lead the way.
The staircase was grand and beautiful—Marietta could imagine duchesses sweeping down it, in opulent gowns. But Max wouldn’t have a duchess; if he did marry she would be a plain Mrs., and Marietta thought she would need to be a very patient and forbearing woman.
The noises were coming from a suite of rooms that obviously belonged to the master of the house. They were decorated in a heavy, dark style she found rather oppressive, and the furniture looked as if it had done service in Henry Tudor’s day. The bed in particular. And that was where she found Max.
He had been deposited on the enormous four-poster bed, with its lush canopy and intricately turned posts, and he wasn’t happy. A white-faced, stammering Daniel Coachman admitted to lowering him too hastily, and the subsequent jarring had caused his headache to suddenly worsen. Max’s face was the color of old parchment, his already reddened eyes were watering with tears of pain and understandable self-pity, and there was a fresh patch of blood staining the bandage around his forehead.
“Do move him carefully!” Marietta cried, seeing the state he was in. “Carefully, further onto the bed! That’s it. Best to wait for the doctor before we undress him. No, Daniel, leave his boots. And his trousers! Oh, leave him, do…”
“You can go now Daniel,” Harold said sternly.
The well-meaning but not too bright Daniel lumbered out. Marietta reached to touch Max’s cheek, her fingers gentle, and he shivered as if he were cold. “You poor thing,” she whispered.
“Hurts,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“I know, I know it does. The doctor will be here in a moment. He will give you laudanum, Max, then you can sleep. I can’t understand why you weren’t given any before you set out.”
Max groaned.
“Max, old boy? It’s me.” Harold peered out from behind her as if he was uncertain of his welcome.
Max opened slitted eyes. “I know it’s you, Harold, who else would wear a coat in that vile color?”
“Stiff upper lip, cousin. We’ll have you as right as rain in no time.”
“Put me back together again,” Max managed with a feeble laugh.
“Like Humpty Dumpty?” Harold had caught on. “Yes, that’s it, old chap.”
Marietta glanced from one to the other, sensing that there was a real bond between the cousins, an almost brotherly warmth and affection that had been born in their childhood and made any betrayal by Harold seem all the more unlikely. Perhaps Harold was as much a victim of the situation as Max, although he stood to gain a great deal more.
Or perhaps he was just a very good actor.
Max’s hand was clenching and unclenching on the bedclothes. To stop him Marietta clasped his fingers firmly in her own. Max sighed, as if her touch gave him comfort, and fell quiet. Harold smiled and nodded at her, and went to watch by the window. And they all remained like that until the doctor arrived and gave Max something to make him sleep. Then, finally, Marietta was able to slip away.
“You will let me know how he is?” she asked Harold, as he accompanied her out to the hansom cab.
“Yes, of course, Miss Greentree. Perhaps you will call again and see for yourself? There could be no objection, surely, in visiting the sick?”
“None at all.” And if there was, Marietta didn’t care. Visiting Max’s sickbed sounded like a perfect way to build on their…Friendship? Was it a friendship? Or was their relationship too testy, too volatile for such a mellow title?
Harold smiled and bowed over her hand. “I want to thank you for your care of my cousin, Miss Greentree. He, and I, are very grateful.”
He was still standing there, watching her with a distinctly speculative gleam in his eyes, as the hansom cab took her away.
All was very quiet at Berkley Square. Vivianna was resting and her son was sleeping. Oliver, too, was taking a nap. Marietta went to her own room to bathe and change, and afterwards she felt more able to face the world. The night she had spent at Aphrodite’s seemed like a dream, except that it had been very real.
Did Aphrodite really set her a task to perform, a task involving her asking Max to show her how to kiss? Did Max really get attacked, and by whom? Was Marietta really intending to become involved with Max and his eccentric household? It seemed so, because she was already smiling to herself, imagining their next encounter.
