Welcome to stay for the Season.
“And next year, my wife will be starring in a new production,” Lord Wainwright said with pride. “As usual, my private box is at the disposal of everyone in this room.”
An earl’s private opera box.
At the disposal of Max and a sheep farmer.
Where on earth was he?
“No doubt by then the girls will have a new Circus Minimus to perform,” said the headmistress, eyes shining. She raised a finger toward her brother-in-law. “Sell a few sheep so you can donate to the cause.”
Max turned his baffled gaze toward Bryony.
“Circus Minimus is an acrobatic charity performance the students put on to raise funds for their school,” she whispered. “A few of them are almost as good at somersaults and flips as my sister.”
Max swung his gaze back to the headmistress. This he would have to see.
The thought of future plans rooted him in place.
Would he honestly be attending a charity performance of any kind? Did he truly pretend that he was penciling in to his agenda a date to avail himself of an earl’s private opera box?
Never before had such outlandish notions crossed his mind.
Now he found himself wanting to believe in their possibility more than anything. Not to hear the famed soprano, or even to witness highflying schoolgirls, but the dizzying idea that Bryony could still be in his life after the month was through.
Even if it meant sitting in the back row watching her enjoy the festivities with her new husband. By next Season, she would be wed.
His stomach clenched. The idea of her spending so much as a single night with anyone else made him nauseous. Not just with jealousy, but a yawning sense of loss. Of fear. Of denial.
Helovedher, damn it all.
She was his world. Or at least, he would like her to be. But he didn’t see how.
As strange and disparate as her family was, as her siblings might be, they had given him no indication that they considered him anything more than a friend of the family. Even that much was a significant level of polite condescension. Far more than he would have hoped for.
But he knew where the line was drawn.
No matter how much he believed in the honest desire in Bryony’s kisses, her future husband was not hers to choose. Her parents would select a gentleman perfect for her. Someone who wasn’t Max.
“Going foxing at Underhill’s hunting cabin next week?” Lord Wainwright asked the other men.
Heath Grenville shook his head. “I’ve a situation to resolve with a client.”
“And a new exhibition to finalize,” his wife added with a proud smile. “‘Romanticism in Modern Art’ will be the gallery’s finest collection to date.”
Their love was obvious.
Max tamped down his envy.
He should not be surprised Grenville had managed to marry as he wished. He was the son. A grown man, a future baron, fixer of Society’s greatest scandals. If anyone could manage to wed a commoner without facing social disaster, it would be a man in Heath Grenville’s position.
Bryony, on the other hand, was the youngest girl. Her eldest sister had married an earl. No doubt her parents believed she could improve upon that feat.
The middle sister might be untitled, but he supposed a Bow Street Runner caused the family no shame. Inspectors like him were honest and smart, swift and capable. The sort of man lords and ladies would call to fix their wrongs. Someone whose presence improved their lives.
And then there was Max. He did not cause the same effect. An attachment to him would sully Bryony’s name, rather than honor it. That wasn’t something he would voluntarily put her through. No matter how much he might wish their future could be otherwise.
Besides, he would have to join the queue of admirers. His lips curled. Even his sister had managed to propose marriage to Bryony before Max could.
