“If you had thought about your daughter at all, you would have let Thalia keep her secret,” Maxwell said as he turned away. He’d had enough of the conversation—ofher. “Instead, you were so eager to destroy Thalia’s chance of happiness that you threatened to ruin Lydia’s chances, too. That is not the actions of a loving mother.”
“Wait, Maxwell.” Joyce’s righteous anger vanished as though it had never existed. “Wait, that is not what happened! I never wanted to ruin anyone’s chance of happiness. I thought you deserved the truth!”
“Then you could have told meprivately.” He shook off her hand, looking into her stricken face and feeling no pity. “There were somany things you could have done, Joyce. But you chose to act against me, and for that, I can’t forgive you.”
“Please.Please.” Joyce sank to her knees, clasping her hands before her, the very picture of penitence. “Don’t tell Lydia. Please, Maxwell. Don’t take your revenge on her. She’s just a girl.”
“I am not you,” Maxwell said, his lip curling. “And I have no intention of harming someone innocent of all crimes.” He believed in Lydia’s wholehearted affection for Thalia; he would never have punished her. “But you and I both know you cannot stay here.”
Her face went pale. “What?”
“You heard me. I refuse to open my home to someone so vicious and underhanded. You wished to break my family apart—well, congratulations, you have managed it. Pack your bags. You are leaving tonight.”
“Leaving? Where to? You can’t send me away!”
“I can and I will. As for where—” He considered a moment. For Lydia’s sake, he would not toss her out into the street—but he would have done for Thalia’s sake. “I have a small house in Cornwall. You may retire there.”
“What about Lydia?” Joyce asked. “Tell me you won’t cast Lydia aside!”
There was a gasp from the doorway, and Lydia stormed into the room, her face bright with anger.
“If he did, it should be nothing more than you deserved,” she said. “Tell me you didn’t act to shame Thalia in front of theton, Mama. Tell me you would never do that to someone I cared about!”
Joyce sat back on her heels and covered her face with her hands. “I wanted to spare you.”
“Spare me? By hurting my friend?” Lydia turned to Maxwell, tears brimming in her eyes. “I didn’t know, I swear.”
“I know.” Maxwell wanted to rage, but he couldn’t in front of Lydia. Ghosts of his father’s presence in his life reminded him of all the things he might be if he were not careful. “You may follow your mother if you wish, but you are more than welcome to stay here with me. I will see the remainder of the Season through with you, and if you do not marry, then you may return next year. And the next. Until you are married.”
Lydia’s breath caught, and she glanced at her mother. “And Mama?”
“She is not welcome in this home any longer,” Maxwell said, his voice hard. “For your sake, I will not throw her out on the street, but mark my words, I do not take a betrayal of this kind lightly.” He glanced at Joyce, who shrank away. “You did your best to harm my family. That is where your place in matters ends. Tell your maids to pack. I will arrange for a carriage; if you are notready to leave by this evening, I will have you forcibly removed from the house.”
Unable to look at her any longer, he turned and strode from the room.
His gut churned with emotion. A desire to apologize to Thalia, even though it had not been his fault that this had happened. He had been the one to welcome Joyce into his home and bring Thalia into it.
When Joyce had been cold and unwelcoming, he’d demanded she be less so, but he had not looked any closer at the cause of her actions.
This was his fault. If not directly, then indirectly so.
But even as he strode through the house searching for her, he was unable to find Thalia anywhere. While he had been arguing with Joyce, she had gone.
The pillow still smelled of her. If he had been a different man, he might have inhaled her scent as though he could hold on to her a little longer. But he was not a different man. He was not a better man.
And he was terribly, horribly afraid he loved her.
Thalia perched in Simon and Anna’s drawing room, a cup of tea in her hands and an aching pit in her stomach. Ever since her confrontation with Maxwell, it had felt as though that pit only got larger. It consumed her waking hours, her thoughts, her dreams at night.
“Tell me again what he said,” Anna said, leaning forward and placing her hand over Thalia’s. “Are you telling me he said to your face that he would never love you?”
“He thinks I ought to be happy with the marriage we have,” Thalia said. “And some part of me wonders if he’s right. Iamfortunate to have him as a husband—who else would have stood up for me with the sculpting?”
“Simon would have done,” Anna said instantly. “Wouldn’t you, Dear?”
“I would have done,” Simon said. “But I also love you.”
Thalia’s shoulders sank as she slumped further into the seat. Her tea trembled, threatening to spill everywhere.
