“Do you like her?”
His brows lifted. “Does it matter?”
“Not really. I’m just curious.”
He shrugged. “I had no reason to dislike her till recently. I never once considered her as a potential sister-in-law, however, if that’s what motivated your question.”
“She said Maxwell didn’t love her. Is that true?”
He laughed softly. “Maxwell is in love with only one woman, who just happens to be sitting across from me right now. And my answer surely begs another question. Why would my brother, having married a lass he’d give his life for, risk it all by keeping a mistress? Think about it. Think abouthim, how he operates. Aye, he takes risks in his business ventures, but none that have the potential to destroy everything he’s achieved. My brother is not a frivolous man. He takes life seriously. He takes his marriage seriously. His only mistake was…” Finlay shook his head. “No, I’ll say no more about that. I’m not even sure itwasa mistake. It’s just Maxwell’s way and for him to explain. I simply came here to ask that you give him the chance to do so. This blasted silence and avoiding each other serves no purpose at all.”
Louisa heaved a shaky sigh. “I’ll think about it,” she said, fingers pressed to her temple. “I’m just so confused right now, Finlay. It’s as if the ground has opened up beneath my feet and I’m still trying to claw my way out of the hole.”
“I sympathize, believe me.” He rose. “Thank you for listening, Louisa. I’ll leave you to think about what I’ve said and please, at least consider giving Max a chance to explain. He could insist you listen to him, of course, but he’s not willing to pressure you. Said he’d rather you approach him when you’re ready, and I’m hoping that will be sooner rather than later. For both your sakes.”
Finlay left her with much to consider. Indeed, she spent much of that night considering it before drifting off into an uneasy sleep. When next she opened her eyes, it was to profound darkness and the sound of carriage wheels on gravel. No doubt Maxwell and Finlay were leaving for Sheffield at their usual time, with sunrise, at this time of year, still a couple of hours away.
The sounds of the carriage leaving reminded her of another morning earlier that year, one that had also followed a miserable night. On that occasion, she’d gone tearing down the stairs, half-dressed and barefoot, desperate to stop Maxwell from leaving without some kind of reconciliation between them. She had successfully stopped him, too, quoting her father’s words in support of her action.
A man must never leave his home angry lest he might live to regret it.
Uttering a soft cry, Louisa sat up, listening as the sounds of Maxwell’s carriage faded into silence. Had he left angry this time? No, anger was probably not an accurate description of his mood. But she knew he had not left unburdened. And she had let him go without giving him an opportunity to lighten that weight.
“I should have given him a chance,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “Please, God, don’t let anything happen to him. Please.”
Any further sleep was out of the question. Louisa left her bed, tugged on her dressing gown, slid her feet into slippers, and headed downstairs, her sitting room being the intended destination. At the foot of the stairs she paused, a draught of cold air biting at her ankles. It came, she realized, from the front door, which stood slightly ajar. An oversight, surely, given that the carriage had only left minutes before. Then she saw a valise sitting on the floor nearby and recognized it as Maxwell’s. Had he forgotten it? Tugging her dressing-gown closed, she padded across the marble floor and pulled the door open, parting with a squeak of alarm at the sight of a dark figure on the driveway. The figure spun around, and Louisa took a couple of steps back.
Maxwell?
“Louisa.” Frowning, he entered, removed his hat, and closed the door behind him. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
A single candle, flickering on a hall table, cast his face in a low light. He’d shaved since the last time she saw him, but evidence of fatigue lingered beneath his eyes. He was dressed for travel, hands gloved, the hat clasped in his hand matching his black topcoat. So, what was he doing here? Why hadn’t he left?
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, my dear,” he said, moving past her. “I shall bother you no longer.”
It was a response to her silence, she realized, which had obviously been taken as a rebuff. She remedied it. “You’re… you’re not going to Sheffield?”
He paused and half-turned to face her. “No.”
“But I heard the carriage.”
“Finlay has gone on his own.” He came back to her, the lines of fatigue around his eyes becoming more apparent. “I fully intended to go with him. Even went so far as to get into thecarriage. But I was reminded of something you once said and decided it would be better if I stayed behind.”
His familiar scent permeated Louisa’s senses, causing her fingers to tie themselves in knots at her waist. “Something I once said?”
“Aye. Well, actually, I believe you were quoting your father. Something about a man not leaving his house angry—”
“Lest he might live to regret it.”
A brief look of surprise crossed his face. “Exactly. Not that Iamangry. But things here are not as they were. Or as they should be.”
“No,” she whispered, “they are not.”
A muscle in his jaw clenched visibly, and he looked down for a moment. Then, “I wonder, Louisa,” he said, lifting his head, “if you might consider taking some tea with me.”
“Tea.” She blinked. “Now?”
He fiddled with his hat. “Aye.”
