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She slowly nodded her head, unpacking the shopping. “I went to see him yesterday. I understand he told you everything about his parents.”
“He did. It’s… my fault,” I said softly. “I pushed him.”
“Oh, of course it’s not your fault, Ellie.” She removed the cooking apples from the bag and examined them. “Trust me when I say that boy is stubborn to a fault. He wouldn’t have told you anything he didn’t want to.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist and leant against the counter. “Is he all right?”
“He’s… processing. I think your conversation has unlocked a few home truths for him that he needs to accept.” Esme continued unpacking her groceries and balled up the empty carrier bags. “It’s a difficult thing, finding yourself in a situation that makes you re-evaluate what you thought you knew. He’ll come around with a little time.”
“I just wish he’d let me know he’s okay. I haven’t spoken to him for almost three days.”
“Yes, I know. I told him what I thought about that, too.” Esme mused, setting the cooking apples to the side. “He still hasn’t reached out, hm?”
“No.”
“I figured as much. That’s why I asked you to get this stuff for me.”
I eyed the pile of groceries. “I did wonder why you needed things for an apple pie and custard so urgently.”
Esme’s eyes twinkled. “You’re a smart one, Ellie. Apple pie is Max’s favourite. I thought you might be willing to take it to him if you hadn’t heard from him yet.”
“He might not answer the door if he knows it’s me.”
“He will. He just needs a nudge. I suspect he’s feeling quite sorry for himself and doesn’t know how to speak to you after leaving it so long. He’s rather a proud little thing sometimes.” She opened the cupboard above her head and pulled out a vintage-looking analog scale before setting it down. “The bowls are in that cupboard over there, if you wouldn’t mind.”
There went today’s word count.
I was going to bake instead.
I wasn’t mad about that, either.
I fetched one of the mixing bowls out and set it on the counter, then took the apples at Esme’s motion and got ready to prepare them to be cooked down for the pie.
This woman was a master schemer.
“Max’s problem is that he’s never been very good with dealing with his feelings. Even as a young boy, he tended to ignore negative emotions until they blew over.” Esme clattered about the kitchen, gathering the things we needed to bake the pie. “He ultimately always came around, but the apology was always quite delayed. You know,” she said, turning around and pointing a wooden spoon at me. “When he was fifteen, there was an incident at school where he’d lost his temper at another student and almost got into a fight. He never laid hands on him, but it resulted in him having to spend two days at home. Luckily for him, that ended up being a long weekend for him.”
I fought back a small laugh as I peeled an apple. “Naturally.”
She inclined her head, turning to weigh out the flour. “I tried a thousand times to discuss what had happened and why he’d reacted in the way he had. He didn’t speak to me at all for three days, and finally on the Sunday evening, he trotted into the kitchen with his tail between his legs and explained everything.”
“What happened?”
“The boy in question had been bullying one of his friends, and Max had finally had enough. He was so ashamed of his behaviour and the way he spoke to both the boy and his teachers that he needed decompress from it. He apologised to me that night, and the following morning, he sought out the boy and all the teachers he’d spoken to inappropriately.”
I frowned. “Not to be rude, Esme, but that doesn’t seem like a behaviour he’s grown out of. You can get away with that as a teenager, but when you’re a grown-arse, thirty-year-old man who happens to be heir to one of the oldest dukedoms in the country, that doesn’t fly.”
“Oh, you’re not wrong. And I’m not excusing it. Believe me, I’m extremely annoyed with him for not even being gracious enough to send you a text message to let you know that he’s all right.” She slid her gaze towards me. “But please do feel free to tell him all that tomorrow.”
I sighed. “I know he needs some time. Our conversation was really tough, and I don’t want to be mad at him for not speaking to me, but I am. It’s not even like I have any business being mad.”
“Don’t you?”
I side-eyed her. “No. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to.”
“I think you two are quite similar. He’s avoiding talking to you, and I bet you’re doing the same thing.”
“No. I’ve texted him.”
