He drew breath to roar, but Maximilian’s voice cut in first, soft and precise. “Miss Montague is mistress here. You will address her as such.”
Edmund ignored him. “The will is a fiction. My solicitors are gathering proof. Within the week, every judge will know your trick.” His gaze swept the room. “The staff will not return for you. The tenants will not pay. You might have held on for aday or two, but I am here now. I mean to have what is mine.”
Lydia’s pulse hammered, but her hands remained steady. She smiled. “You might have brought a scrap of decency. Instead, you bring henchmen and slander. Is that the Southgate way?”
One of the men shifted. Edmund flicked a finger. “Careful, cousin. Your footing is precarious enough.”
Maximilian stepped forward, placing himself between them. “You will raise neither voice nor hand in this house. Unless you wish to lose the latter.”
Edmund forced a brittle laugh. “A good champion, Montague. Does he fetch as well as?—”
Lydia sensed Maximilian tense. She spoke first. “I fight my own battles. I answer to no one here. Since you have arrived, let us settle this.”
She stood. Edmund blinked.
She produced the codicil and held it up. “Lady Eugenia’s last will. You know her hand. If you wish to contest it, do so in court. Until then, you are not welcome.”
Edmund stepped closer, his face reddening. “Liar. My mother warned me about you and how?—”
“And yet I am in her house, at her table, by hercommand,” Lydia said. “Ask yourself why she preferred me.”
He gritted his teeth. “You will be gone by next week. If not, I will see you thrown out, along with your”—his gaze shifted to Maximilian—“companion.”
Maximilian’s reply was sharp. “Miss Montague will remain as long as she pleases. Lay a finger on her, and you will be shoveling pig offal on your father’s land before the season turns.”
Lydia had never heard him speak so coldly. Something in her tightened, then eased.
Edmund went rigid, recalculating between them. “Very well. Do not say you were not warned. The law is on my side.” He snatched up the papers, crumpling the top, and turned.
Lydia followed him to the door, stopping out of reach. “You always underestimated me, Edmund. It is what every man who loses has in common.”
He opened his mouth, found nothing, and stormed out. Boots echoed down the marble. Silence fell.
Lydia remained where she was, the codicil in hand, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She sensed Maximilian move before his hand touched hershoulder. She startled, then let out a breath that nearly turned into laughter.
“I thought I might be sick,” she said. “I was not.”
His smile lit up his gaze. “You were magnificent.”
She rolled her eyes but did not pull away. “He will be back. They always are.”
“I will be here,” Maximilian said, giving one firm squeeze before releasing her.
She looked up, expecting distance. There was none, only admiration and something that looked like hope.
“Thank you,” she said. “For not letting him?—”
“You did it yourself,” he said. “I was only a witness.”
Her smile was not victory, but it was hers. She tucked the codicil into her bodice and drew a steadying breath.
“More coffee?” she asked, half in jest.
“Only if you join me.”
They returned to the long, crumb-littered table and sat at one end, close enough to touch.
