“Well, perhaps ‘she’ is actually a ‘he’?” His wife said in a sing-song voice.
Max grimaced.
Before meeting Caroline, he’d devoted himself to Matilda. But he was a married man now. After a very proper wedding at St. Georges on Hanover Square to mark the end of the season and then a month-long honeymoon, they’d returned to London where he’d spent a month trying to get the old printer functioning again.
In the end, they’d ordered a new and improved version—one that had the potential to function continuously.
They’d purchased her—it—him?—using part of Caroline’s dowry. Not because Max hadn’t the funds himself, but because she had insisted.
“Edmund, eh?” He dropped his arm and carefully stepped around the new beast—upon which safety bars had been installed to protect against them ever experiencing such a tragic accident again.
“Or Farley,” Caroline added.
“Not Farley,” Max growled.
But something in her voice had him twisting around to see her expression. One of thousands he’d come to love. Because Caroline never failed to delight him.
Most of the time.
“You wouldn’t be teasing me, would you?”
Her pink lips twitched. Unable to help himself—because he didn’t have to—Max teased her back with a kiss. He initially meant to keep it short and sweet, but that just wasn’t possible, and when she slid her arms around his neck, it took on a life of its own.
And would have gone on for several minutes if they hadn’t been interrupted by the sudden pitter patter of tiny, clawed paws racing from one end of the room to the other. The two of them broke apart to see that Alfie had chosen that moment to start circling them wildly, his tail wagging, expressing his boredom with the sharp yelps that only a puppy could make.
Reed and Goldie had gifted Alfie to them two weeks after they’d returned from the continent. Alfie was just one of Pip’s litter—a small but energetic dog with fluffy black, tan, and white fur and soulful eyes. The litter, they’d determined, was a product of one too many visits from Lady Helton, who rarely left Charlie at home with the servants.
Pip the dog, it seemed, was not a ‘he’, but a ‘she.’
Caroline had told her mother about their first, serendipitous meeting, so of course, the current running joke amongst the Rutherford clan was that more than one match had begun that day in the park.
Maxwell and Caroline, but also Pip and Charlie.
Caroline picked up the pup and, after giving it a snuggle, peeked up at Max.
“I have something to tell you.” Her eyes looked serious, but danced at the same time.
“If you don’t want to attend Winterhope’s house party, we needn’t do so.” He smiled and then gestured toward their shiny new printer. “I can get Edmund running in a few days, maybe a week. We can leave for Hell House”—she raised her brows—"Helton House right after. Wallace has everything under control here.” They’d since replaced Mr. Pip, and also hired another editor.
Caroline and Max had discussed their options several times, but in the end, had decided they’d spend at least part of the year in the country, where Max needed to reestablish himself anyway.
Besides that, the London heat—not to mention the stench—was suffocating this time of year. No one remained in London during August if it wasn’t necessary. Unless they owned a struggling newspaper, that was.
“That’s not it at all. I’m actually looking forward to seeing his stables. And as your society writer, need I remind you that it’s my responsibility to report all the happenings at such a distinguished affair?”
“You don’t have to—”
“But I want to. But that’s not what I need to tell you today.” Caroline clasped her hands behind her back and, walking high in the instep and looking like the cat who ate the canary, strolled around to the back of Edmund.
What was his little minx up to?
“If you’re sure…”
“Oh, I am. But I do want to be settled at Helton House before the winter holidays.”
Max nodded, a little confused. “Whenever you want, Sweetheart. I’ll make sure we arrive long before the first snowfall, and once we’re there, we’ll make our own traditions.”
She dipped her chin, meeting his eyes from behind the Gazette’s new pride and joy, and then, looking less than sure of herself, touched her fingertips to her bodice.
