Louisa shrugged. “I have no doubt he’d cope very well if he were there, Mama.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t go. He has a meeting in Glasgow scheduled for that week and cannot change it. I’d still like to go, though. May I travel with you and Papa?”
“Of course, but can’t Finlay stand in for him?”
Louisa shook her head. “Not on this occasion, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that is a pity.” Grace gave her a sympathetic look. “Are you terribly disappointed?”
“I was.” Louisa shrugged. “But it can’t be helped. If he could be there, he would be.”
“Oh, well, never mind. There’ll be plenty of other occasions.” Grace looped her arm through Louisa’s. “Come on, let’s go. They’ll be wondering where we are.”
*
The midnight hourwas well behind them by the time the celebrations ended. Maxwell, having lingered with Aldous awhile before joining Louisa upstairs, now eyed the doll that sat on the chair in Louisa’s bedroom. Its scruffy appearance implied that it had been a well-loved childhood toy, but Maxwell found its porcelain stare strangely unsettling.
“Her name is Margery.” Clad in some baggy, white garment, Louisa was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, brushing her hair. “There was a time when I wouldn’t go anywhere without her.”
“Well, I’m very glad you broke that habit.” Maxwell unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, covering the doll. “Have you enjoyed your day, sweetheart?”
Louisa laughed. “Poor Margery. And yes, I have. Have you?”
“Very much. I have to say, you’re fortunate to have such a close family.”
“Of which you are now a part.” Louisa frowned and appeared to examine a tangle in a thick strand of her hair. “I’m hoping, one day, you and I will have a family of our own. Is it something you’ve considered, I wonder? You’ve never mentioned it.”
Maxwell’s hands paused on the unfastening of his trousers, and he pondered a moment before he answered. “Being a father wasn’t something I ever seriously considered. My lifestyle, I thought, simply did not lend itself to parenthood. I assumed Finlay would be the one to fall in love and produce several offspring, and that Harlow Industries, assuming it still existed, would be transferred to nephews and nieces after my day.” He shrugged. “But then I went and got myself in a pickle with this aristocratic Yorkshire lass, who has since stolen my heart. So now, I have to say yes, the thought of having a child is something I have considered. Are you trying to tell me something, Louisa?”
Her eyes widened briefly. “Oh, no. No, it’s not… I mean, I’m not with child. I simply wondered how you felt about it.”
“If and when it happens, my love, I shall be delighted.”
She chewed on her lip. “And if it doesn’t?”
“I don’t see any reason to worry about that just yet.” He continued to shed his clothes. “My parents were married for three years before I put in an appearance, and it was another three before Finlay showed up.”
“But, what if it doesn’t?”
Frowning, Maxwell settled himself beside her on the bed, and held out a hand. “Give me the brush, lass.”
She handed it to him and then turned her back. “Be gentle,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, where it tumbled to her waist in a cascade of soft, brown waves.
“To dwell on ‘what if’ can take the joy out of ‘what is’.” He lifted a silken handful of her hair to his face and breathed in the subtle, floral scent. Then he set the brush on the bedside table, ignoring Louisa’s squeak of surprise as he pulled her into his arms and positioned her beneath him. “And, right now, I’d much rather dwell on what is.”
“I thought you were going to brush my hair,” she said, feigning a pout.
“No, not what I had in mind at all.” Frowning, he eyed her voluminous attire. “What the devil are you wearing, lass?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s one of my old nightgowns. I’m in a nostalgic mood tonight. What did you have in mind, then?”
“Well first, I need to get this bloody sack off you.” He tugged her nightgown up to her hips and then straddled her bare legs. “Lift your arse up a little. Aye, that’s it. Arms up as well, so I can get it over your head. Good Lord, it’s a veritable tent.”
Snorting with laughter, Louise emerged naked from beneath a couple of yards of cotton. “It’s comfortable,” she protested.
“It’s almost as hideous as that doll,” he replied, and tossed the garment onto the same chair as his shirt. “In future, you’ll wear the damn thing only when I’m away, understood?”
