She absolutely did not want him to know that.
Effie was an acquired taste. She understood that. And understood only too well she was quite capable of sending him running for the hills if she mishandled things by thinking out loud—something she had always done with alarming frequency throughout her life and which managed to damage every fledgling friendship she had tried to nurture. Her inadvertent openness and obvious desire to be accepted was a bit too much and nearly always put people off. It was the reason she was never invited to anything beyond the events everyone was invited to any more and why she had been left on the shelf to gather dust. For now Max tolerated her and that meant the world.
So did his sister...who seemed to enjoy her company and spoke to her in a manner which suggested they were friends, too—or at least she thought they were. Eleanor had asked only yesterday if she could borrow Effie’s copy of Mrs Radcliffe’sThe Italianbecause there were apparently only serious books in Rivenhall’s extensive library and she was in dire need of something salacious. Those were the sorts of things friends did...
The Italian!
She could deliver the book! Why hadn’t her enormous brain thought of that simple solution earlier? It was perfectly innocent and perfectly believable—meaning she wouldn’t have to come off the least bit clinging or needy at all. If anything, it made enquiring about Max an afterthought at the very most and, as long as she didn’t look desperate, he would be none the wiser that she cared.
Deciding she had no more time to waste on worrying, Effie rushed home to fetch the volume.
Dashing back across the pasture with it in her hand, within half an hour she was knocking on the front door and less than a minute after that she had been greeted by a slightly drawn but smiling Eleanor, who welcomed her with open arms.
‘Effie, how lovely to see you!’
‘I brought your book.’ Be subtle. ‘I was going to give it to Max today, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him so thought I should deliver it instead of taking it back home. I didn’t want you to have to suffer another day with nothing salacious to read.’ Undoubtedly too much information, but at least her features felt nonchalant.
‘That is very thoughtful. Would you care for some tea?’
Not having any of the answers she had come for yet, Effie enthusiastically nodded and Smithson was dispatched to fetch it. The tray came back with just two cups upon it, which threw up more questions about the new lord of the manor which she had to bite back so hard it hurt.
‘How is your quest going?’
‘Good. I believe we have located the door and while I cannot conclusively prove the house is round, it’s already a semicircle. But we... I...am making progress.’
‘Splendid.’ Eleanor took a sip of her tea to cover her suddenly uncomfortable expression before smiling over-brightly. ‘I am glad it is all moving in a satisfactory direction.’
Effie’s bad feeling was getting worse because Eleanor still looked distinctly uncomfortable and her conversation was suddenly stilted when she was normally so open and sunny. Unless Eleanor had decided to tire of her oddness as people—even the kindest sort—tended to do eventually. A prospect which made her chest ache with sadness. ‘Of course, things move faster when Max assists me. I missed him this morning.’ So much for nonchalant.
‘He was indisposed this morning and...’ The teacup clattered in her saucer and suddenly Eleanor’s face was wretched. ‘Oh, Effie—as much as I know he is going to be furious if I tell you, I feel I must because I really have no idea what to do and, so far away from home, nobody else to turn to!’ Eleanor was up and pacing, her odd mood doing nothing to calm Effie’s now wildly racing heart.
‘I hate it when he gets like this. When he withdraws from the world and will not let anybody in... And it’s all my fault. Poor Max... I should have handled it differently...’
Fear constricted Effie’s throat. ‘What’s happened?’
‘This.’ Eleanor reached into her pocket and retrieved a tightly folded sheet of newspaper. She unfolded it and handed it to Effie, pointing to the third announcement in Births, Marriages and Deaths. ‘He was devastated when he read it. I could see it on his face. Then he stormed out to who knows where and came back not an hour ago and shut himself away again. He refuses point blank to see me or speak to me about it.’
Effie read it aloud.‘“The Earl of Castlepoint is happy to announce that her Ladyship the Countess of Castlepoint, of Prittlewell House, here on the morning of Saturday last, gave safe delivery of a son and heir...”’It was a standard announcement with two similar listed directly below. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘She was Max’s fiancée. Before the accident. She left him while he was recovering.’
‘Oh...’ This was the first Effie had ever heard of a fiancée. Her surprise at the news was rapidly overwhelmed by an emotion which churned her stomach. Anger at the woman’s thoughtless, callous treatment of Max tinged with overwhelming jealousy that he clearly still had feelings for the woman if this piece of news had caused him pain.‘Oh.’
‘I never liked Miranda.’ Eleanor’s tone was clipped and her features suddenly furious. ‘I always thought her shallow and vain. More concerned with pretty gowns and how full her dance card was than with anything of substance. She went out of her way to ensnare him in the most calculated fashion and I was of the firm belief the only reason she had sunk her claws into him then was because he was a handsome and eligible heir to a wealthy earldom—but I kept my own counsel. When he came home injured, she proved me correct, although it gave me no pleasure to be proved it. He was still bedridden and in agony when she terminated the engagement.’
‘She ended their engagement? Then? How could she?’ Because such a monstrous cruelty beggared belief.
‘Max will tell you he terminated it and technically he did, but only because she put him up to it! Because she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a man who was no longer the dashing naval hero, but a wounded one—regardless of the title and fortune. She was impatient to be the wife of an aristocrat and was not going to allow his inconvenient injuries to get in the way of her desires!’
‘That’s awful...’
‘Oh, but you haven’t heard the best of it yet! Within two months she was engaged again—which completely broke his heart, of course—and then we had to relive the pain again when she married a scant few months later. And she had the audacity to marry in June. The exact same month she had planned to marry Max because Miranda had set her sights on being a June bride, too, and she had no intention of waiting a year until this summer to do it. In Saint George’s in Hanover Square, of course. The same church they were to be married in. To rub salt in the wound. And now this.’
Eleanor shook her head angrily, tears in her eyes. ‘Yet another blow. A reminder of all that should have been his. He knew she was expecting. Gossip has been rife for months and he diligently reads the newspapers, sometimes I think simply to torture himself, so I should have had the foresight to check each one before he reads it after breakfast. But I didn’t think and he saw it, and he’s taken it badly.’
‘Poor Max.’ Effie’s heart bled for him. ‘And what a truly hateful woman to abandon him in his hour of need.’ She wanted to give the witch a piece of her mind. Right this instant. ‘What sort of a person does that?’
‘The sort who cares more for her own social standing and appearance than she ever cared for my brother! I have never told him...and I probably shouldn’t tell you...’ Eleanor lowered her voice to a whisper ‘...but a few weeks after he had returned, her visits to his sickbed became more sporadic. At first, I believed her flimsy excuses about being under the weather and exhausted from the trauma of it all—until I realised she was in fact back out in society attending every ball, soirée and tea as if Max did not exist.’
