“Your father is strict?”
“Quite. Especially when it comes to religion, so embarrassing him at church was a cardinal sin. He was always very involved with the church until his health declined. He saw it as a calling. Before he grew sick, he would …” He let his voice trail off and shuddered. “Well, he knew how to ensure we fell in line.”
My eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”
Maxwell hesitated. “Don’t be too hard on Ambrose. Father was hardest on him. The expectations are crushing, you understand. He doesn’t have the luxury of fostering love. This is duty for him, pure and simple.”
“I see.” I frowned, noting the deflection.
Maxwell blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have … it’s really not my place to …”
“Don’t apologize for speaking the truth,” I told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Very well. I’ll do my best to honor that. But while we’re here, I want to show you something, and this presents the perfect opportunity.” He walked over to a door I hadn’t noticed before, opening it to reveal a shallow closet. Frowning, I took a tentative step inside, avoiding a shoe rack as he pushed coats and garment bags on hangers aside. It smelled of mothballs and wool, and our disruption had sent at least one spider scuttling to seek darker shadows. Before I could ask for an explanation, Maxwell bent forward to press on a stone halfway up the wall. A click resounded before a panel slid aside soundlessly.
I quirked an eyebrow. “And what is this?”
Maxwell grinned as he shut the closet door behind us, bathing us in darkness. “A secret.” He fumbled for my hand, and I allowed him to pull me through the opening that had revealed itself in the wall. The panel slid back into place behind us after a moment, leaving us in a chamber hardly big enough for the two of us. It was suddenly too close, the air stuffy and filled with the sound of our breathing.
“Did you bring me here to murder me, or to have your way with me?”
Maxwell snorted. “Look.” I couldn’t see where he was pointing, but I did notice the only light in the room came from two small holes in the wall. “This is a spy post. You can see what’s happening in the dining room, and the acoustics allow you to hear most things above a whisper.”
“Truly?” I asked, intrigued. I had to lean down to line my eyes up with the holes, but I could see clearly into the room we had just vacated. The remaining suitors were clustered in small groups, many of them in heated exchanges, the sound slightly muffled, but almost like they were in the room with us. Naturally, they were discussing their tokens, my own feeling very heavy in my pocket. “Are there many of these spy posts in the house?”
“I’m not sure. I only know of one other, but there are likely more.”
I pulled back and, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, focused on the outline of his face. “Who knows about these?”
“Me, Emmett, Zachariah.” He hesitated. “My father probably knows, but I’m not sure about mother or Ambrose.”
“I assume these were built to eavesdrop on visiting dignitaries.”
“Naturally. Nowadays, they merely offer a respite from our boredom. Tragic, really.”
“Zachariah.” Isabel’s voice suddenly stood out louder from the others. “Where’s Emmett?”
Maxwell sucked in a breath and leaned forward to peer through the peepholes. After a moment, he realized that left me out, and gestured for me to use the right one as he made do with the left. I lined my eye up with the hole and watched as Isabel sat forward in her chair.
Zachariah shrugged as a few people nearby turned to watch them discreetly. “I’m not his keeper, my lady.”
“Why is he avoiding everybody?” Isabel pressed, ignoring his remark. “I’m very upset with him. He should be here supporting me.”
Maxwell’s hand found my shoulder as he leaned on me to keep still. I glanced at him, and the light was enough for him to briefly meet my eyes before returning his attention to the activities of the room. His breath mingled with mine, warm and smelling slightly of butter from his breakfast.
“Ishe avoiding everyone?” Zachariah asked innocently, examining his nails. “Perhaps he just doesn’t like this sort of spectacle.”
Isabel snorted. “He loves spectacle.”
Zachariah’s eyes slid to Violetta, then back to Isabel. “Then perhaps he doesn’t want to see his dearest friends throwing themselves at his brother when they clearly belong together.”
Isabel’s face darkened, and she scowled as she turned to catch a girl gawking at them. “Mind your own business,” she told the girl, who quickly vacated her seat. She turned back to Zachariah with a tight smile. “My affairs are none of your concern.”
“And I don’t mind,” Violetta piped up. “Truly. I just want Isabel to be happy. Ambrose can do that for her. He can give her a title that I never could.”
I turned to Maxwell. “Did you know that?”
Maxwell shushed me, and I turned back to the scene playing out before us.
