She made no attempt to hide the horror in her voice or the disgusted wrinkle of her nose. “What ishedoing here?”
Heath tried again. “Mr. Gideon is—”
But Mother had already analyzed the situation and determined the only probable reason a man like him would be present, and standing so close to Bryony.
“Get out,” she said coldly, advancing on him like a fishwife chasing off a stray mutt. “This is a family gathering. Stay away from my daughter. You must know you are not worthy of speaking to her.”
The stoic blankness of Max’s expression broke Bryony’s heart.
He was wrapping himself in all the arrogance, and pride, and disinterest he could muster, to protect himself from hurt. But it was too late. The sword had already struck true.
“Mother, stop.” Bryony stepped between them, praying there was some way to diffuse the horrible situation before her fragile connection with Max was gone forever. “He is a good man. A guest in this home.”
“A mongrel,” Mother corrected, her hands shaking in anger. “I won’t allow such a creature near my daughter.”
“He’s not athing,” Bryony burst out in fury. “He is the sweetest, smartest, most capable person I know, and I am proud to say that I—”
“Stop,” Max said quietly. “This is the only mother you’ll ever have, and she is right to want what is best for her daughter. We both know that’s not me.”
He made the prettiest bow Bryony had ever seen, and walked out into the night with his head held high, leaving only his memory behind.
Chapter 21
After a fitful night, Bryony awoke long before her parents and made her way out the front door with a package beneath her arm. She took not a hackney, but the family coach.
Her errands today would be performed as Bryony, not Basil Q. Jones. She was done hiding. Now and forever.
She allowed a footman to lift first her, then her package, into the coach and send her on her way.
No one asked where she was going. They never did.
She gave the driver a direction and settled back on the squab.
Her heart beat as ferociously as thunder. It had not calmed for even a moment since her mother’s cruel words had cut Max so deeply and ruined the bond that Bryony had come to cherish.
No doubt, the evening had gone exactly as he feared.
She could not blame him or his sister for despising the upper classes. Purists like her mother didn’t seem like “betters” at all.
Bryony clenched her fingers at the injustice. Max had allowed her into his club, invited her into his home. She would not allow anyone to shut him out now.
Not even her mother.
But the damage was done. If he had been uncertain before whether there could be any attachment between them, Mother had put such doubts to rest.
Her expectations for Bryony and her future could not have been clearer. Max was not a part of it. Bryony’s own wishes did not signify. She was a baron’s daughter and would do as instructed.
Not today.
Gooseflesh danced across her skin. If she never saw Max again, she could not blame him. Anyone could understand him never again wishing to step foot anywhere he might cross paths with a Grenville.
But the future was outside her control. What mattered most was what action she could take right now. If one witnessed a hurt, a lack, a need, it was one’s duty not to stand idle and allow cruelty to prevail. Bryony’s parents had the power to deny any suitor they wished. There was no need to humiliate Max in front of the entire family.
More than that,Maxwas now family.Franceswas now family. Bryony intended to treat them like it.
Even if they would never know.
She could not undo Mother’s hurtful words to Max, and was still frantically running through hypotheses as to whether the bridge that had been broken could be rebuilt. She hoped so. Max was too important to lose.
