And here they all were, eating dinner, as though nothing had ever happened. And Max too, wrapped into the welcoming arms of the Bainbridge family.
It was the first time that she and Max had any semblance of privacy since their carriage kiss. Though Etta was still left in limbo, particularly after the added fiasco of the disastrous recital, she felt him looking at her over dinner, and she couldn’t help looking back.
When she wasn’t studying his face, watching expressions flit across his strong brow and expressive mouth, she was watching his hands. She wanted him to touch her. Her skin almost crawled with need.
She’d never felt like this: drugged with lust, but also so very comfortable about it. She’d had crushes in the past – of course she had – but this was something different, with Max. Everything about him, from his smell to the taste of him, was like the ultimate cashmere jumper. Reliably soft and relaxed; welcoming, warming … Home.
Sexy home, though.
Etta wriggled in her seat as the servants took away the last dishes. Charlie was busy telling Max to come for Christmas. ‘Good thing you’re nearby, really,’ he said. ‘Even if you’re tied to your bore of a father, you can at least pop over every now and again.’
Lady Bainbridge studied Charlie carefully. ‘Now, Charlie, that’s not proper. The Marquess is an old friend of mine, as you must know.’
A lightning bolt struck Etta to the very core, spoon halfway to her mouth.
The Marquess? If Max’s father was a marquess, that meant … That meant that Max would be too, one day? Perhaps he really was the Marquess those two old ladies had been talking about?
Etta felt herself buzzing with excitement as she tuned back in, but Lady Bainbridge almost immediately coughed meaningfully. ‘Perhaps we should withdraw from the table, Henrietta, and leave these two to their port.’
Etta pursed her lips and widened her eyes in the mannerof an offended but very proper young lady. ‘Good idea, Mama. If they’re planning to be improper, I want no part of it.’
Charlie barely repressed a laugh, while Max’s eyes twinkled appreciatively.
‘Very good, Henrietta,’ said Lady Bainbridge.
As she sat with her mother, organising her new embroidery threads while the ever-present Hercules snored at her feet, Etta realised she was becoming a different person. A person she quite liked.
Back in London in 2023, she knew now that she’d been deeply sad and lonely. But here she had a family and friends. Not as many friends as she’d have liked, but a hundred per cent more than she’d had before. Two hundred per cent, if she could include Max.
Etta waited until polite conversation had been had in the drawing room and Max and Charlie had withdrawn to play billiards, then went to bed. After Bessie had put her hair up for the night, she peeked out of the window. Max and Charlie were most likely outside smoking cigars right now – and it had rained in the morning, leaving the ground nice and soft. Today was the day to make her move.
Her room faced the large back garden of the house and, as expected, when she edged the window up she could smell expensive tobacco smoke.
She quietly wrapped a dressing gown over her nightdress and grabbed her notebook and pencil, along with a bit of white embroidery silk. Etta crept down the back stairs and out of the back door, carefully avoiding the last few servants closing the house for the night.
The billiards room was to her left and candles were still lit,but it was now quite late. Charlie and Max would probably wrap things up fairly soon, or go out drinking.
She poked her head outdoors and looked around and, for the first time, up – first at the distant bark of a fox, but then properly up. And oh, the stars: even right here in the very middle of London. The whole Milky Way, laid out just like a tray of chocolates for her to choose from. It stole her breath away. Never in her entire life had she seen so many stars.
She felt the light chain of her bracelet against her wrist and knew it had to go. She must carefully remove it: wrap it in silk and push it to the back of a drawer where it could never ever snap and interrupt this beautiful, endless dream.
Brought around from her wonder by the reality of the cold, she scanned the ground for footprints. As she’d hoped, there were two sets outside the window where Charlie and Max had been standing. It might be elaborate, and even a little bit unhinged, but it was the only solution she could think of; she was determined to find out his shoe size. If she was going to spend hours monogramming Max a pair of slippers, no way were they ending up in a pile like the ones owned by Clarissa’s unfortunate uncle. But crouching in the cold, chill winds whipping over her bare feet and ankles, she discovered a fatal flaw in her plan.
Two sets of footprints lay in front of her.
She tried to remember what boots each man was wearing. Thankfully it came to her quite quickly – less surprisingly than it should have, she reflected wryly. She’d spent more than enough time staring at Max’s well-sculpted calves to know he didn’t wear pointy boots, and one set of footprintswas decidedly pointy at the toes. Like an estate agent’s, she thought, and shuddered slightly at the thought.
Etta took out the strand of white embroidery silk and laid it along a footprint, marking the length with her pencil. She then laid it width-wise and marked it again. Then she sketched the shape of the foot in her notepad, marking the areas she’d measured, and slipped the thread inside. Very pleased with herself, she stood up and brushed off her hands. She felt pretty smart. Now all she had to do was buy some slippers and get embroidering.
Then she heard the double doors she’d come through opening and a figure stepped out into the dark. Panicking, Etta fled across the lawn as quietly as she could and hid behind a tree. She risked a peek and saw a man’s figure stooping to pick something up from the ground. To her horror, she realised it was her diary. As the man sat on the bench outside the billiard room, he was lit from behind. Etta glimpsed dark hair and broad shoulders and knew immediately that it was Max.
She twisted her hands together in the dark, trying to stay silent.
He turned a page. It was all too mortifying. She was fairly sure she’d used that notebook to write some sordid fanfic about him at some point. It wasn’t as though she could access erotic chick lit on her Kindle any more and a girl had to keep herself occupied at night somehow.
She shivered with horror as he turned another page. This was too much. She shifted uncomfortably, twigs prickling her bare toes.
Max looked up suddenly; Etta knew he’d heard her.
