The Earl of Standish looked as though he had half a mind to return inside, but his wife, who had her fingers threaded through her husband’s, tugged the earl toward the carriage stopped in the street. Max might have noticed it earlier if he hadn’t been in such a hurry.
“My appointment with Madam Chantal is in twenty minutes. I mustn’t be late, dear.” She pouted prettily.
Glancing between his wife and Max, Standish looked torn for all of five seconds, but then, after sending Max a stern look of warning, relented with a nod. “You and I will talk later, then.”
Max had assumed as much. In light of what had occurred in his office at dawn, any decent gentleman would have gone straight to Caroline’s brother this morning.
But not Max.
Not yet, anyhow.
He needed to see Caroline first.
Caroline.
How was it possible that merely thinking her name made the sky seem a little bluer—almost the exact color of her eyes.
Watching Standish’s carriage drive away, Max adjusted his spectacles and brushed his hands down the lapels of his jacket. Before he could lift the knocker, however, the door opened. Only this time, it was the butler.
“Maxwell Black to see Lady Caroline.” But then, since this was the second morning he’d visited that week, added, “Good to see you, Mr. Long.”
“Should the lady of the house expect these early visits regularly now, my lord?”
“Possibly.” At this point, Max couldn’t rule it out. “Is Lady Caroline in?” He hadn’t considered the possibility that she’d be out until that moment, but it was possible, considering her dedication to writing her articles.
“Possibly.” The butler turned Max’s answer back on himself. “You may wait in the drawing room while I ask.”
At least Max wasn’t going to be made to wait on the street.
Left alone, while pacing across the floor, Max vaguely noticed details in the room that he’d not seen when he’d waited here before: rich but well-worn tapestries, finely crafted furniture, and a few paintings hanging on the walls that may or may not have been originals. Sounds of movement could be heard above, and he hoped some of those were made by Caroline.
So he waited. And then waited some more.
Just when his patience was nearing its end, the footsteps sounded louder. Max turned, Caroline’s name on his lips, but he was to be disappointed.
Not Caroline, but her mother.
“Mr. Black.” Mrs. Rutherford crossed the room and offered her hand. “What a delightful surprise it is to see you again.”
“Madam.” Max bowed, frustrated. “My apologies for showing up like this, but I have an urgent… an important matter to discuss with her. Is she in?”
“By her, I take it you mean Lady Caroline?”
The woman, an older, slightly plumper version of her daughter, would have looked too young to be the mother of grown children if not for the sorrow around her eyes and mouth.
Unpredictably, an ache throbbed in the area of his heart. I forgot what this felt like.
Caroline had mostly hidden the pain of her family’s tragedy. Her mother was less successful.
“My lord?”
“Yes.” He rolled his shoulders.
“Caroline is here. But she is currently indisposed. If you’d like to come back later—”
“I’ll wait,” he interrupted. He couldn’t do anything, really, until he’d spoken with her. Max locked his stare on the older woman. “It is very important.”
Understandably confused, she nodded. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
