Section I, Next Section

Part 1

This is dedicated to all those who loved Max enough to make me write a story about him. :)

Maximillian Callahan looked in his mirror, and struck a pose. He grinned half-heartedly at his reflection, then dropped his pose and groaned.

"What's the matter, little brother?" asked Brian from the doorway.

"My cravat," Max moaned. "I can't get it right."

Brian eyed him suspiciously.

"This play we're going to tonight.... Harriet Beech wouldn't be the heroine, would she?" Max turned red. Brian groaned. "Max, I thought we discussed this."

"That's Maximillian, and yes, we discussed it. Or rather, you discussed it while I smiled and nodded. But I don't care if you think Harriet is unsuitable. I like her."

"Yes, she makes sure she is very likable," Brian commented. Max glared at him, and tried to tie his cravat again. "Max, you're barely twenty-one. How can you decide you want to marry this girl when you barely know her? You're barely old enough to shave!"

Max became disgusted with himself and threw yet another ruined cravat on his bed.

"Whoever put cravats in fashion?" he grumbled. "It is very disconcerting to have to tie something around one's own neck."

Brian grinned.

"That was quite a triumph."

"Hm?" Max woke from his reverie. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind. Are you almost ready? If we do not set off at once, we shall be late, and you know how Eleanor hates to be late."

Max pouted and looked at his brother with puppy dog eyes. Brian relented quickly.

"Very well, I will tie your cravat for you," he said. "What happened to your valet?"

"I gave him the night off. His aunt died."

"Didn't his aunt die last week?"

"Yes, there is an epidemic in his house."

"And the week before that?"

"Apparently, this epidemic is taking everyone in his family."

"Then why does he still come here?"

"He needs the job."

"But why are you not sick? And why is he not sick?"

"Do you think his aunts are really dropping like flies?"

"Frankly, my dear little brother, no," said Brian bluntly. "I think he is swindling you. And anyway, his abilities with a cravat - or anything else - are not much better than yours."

"I suppose I am better off without him, then." Max sighed. "Why can I never figure these things out for myself?"

"You just did. I only suggested it." Brian smiled. "You're finished. Can we go now?"

"Yes," said Max eagerly. "I have been waiting for ages to see this play."

Later that evening, in between acts, Max paid a call to his beloved Miss Beech.

"Hello, Max," she said pleasantly as she sniffed the flowers another of her admirers had sent her. She was a beautiful woman, auburn-haired, sparkling eyes, flirtatious smile, and buxom figure. Max grinned and thrust a modest bouquet of red roses towards her.

"Hello, darling," he said.

"Oh, Max!" she exclaimed. "You are such a dear!" A maid came into the room and took the bouquet. "Put it in water, please. And don't drown them, this time," she added. "She always puts too much water on your flowers, Max. I cannot think why."

Max blanched.

"They are not too small, are they?" He looked jealously at the other arrangements. They were all gigantic, not in the least in danger of being drowned by an over-enthusiastic maid.

"Of course not," she grinned. "They are perfect."

"Good," he sighed in relief. "Did you know, Harriet..." he blushed slightly at using her first name "...that red roses always seemed to me to be bleeding? I like the white ones; they look so much cleaner. But the girl who was selling the flowers insisted that red ones are much more romantic, so I bought them. I'm glad you like them."

She laughed heartily. Max sat down in a chair next to her dressing table. She was almost finished changing, and when she turned around, Max caught a glimpse of her stays. He swallowed hard and looked away. She saw this and smiled.

"Anybody else would have felt free to stare," she commented. "You're a sweet one, Max." She patted his cheek. He looked down in embarrassment.

"I'm glad you think so."

"I'm sure there are few who would disagree." She sighed, and turned back to the mirror to finish fixing her appearance. "It's too bad you're a younger son."

He blinked.

"I must confess," he stammered, shaken by her unwitting stab, "I never considered it. M-my brother has always been quite generous, and I'm sure he would provide anything I needed, even to a house in London..."

"I'm sure he would," she said. "Sir Brian is quite a gentleman. It's too bad he's married." She laughed. "But really, Max, do you ever feel the pinch of dependency? Wouldn't you like to be able to support yourself without relying on your brother for funds?"

"My father left a generous sum when he died. I really don't see...."

"You use that word often. Generous."

"Only when it applies." He stood and began pacing. This meeting was not going as he had hoped.

"Lord Finley has made me an offer of marriage," she said casually. Max went pale.

"You have not accepted him, have you?" He could think of no reason for Lord Finley to propose to an actress.

"I am considering it," she confessed. "Of course, I would have to give up the stage, and I do so love it very much, but still ... to be a countess..."

"Why is he proposing?" Max demanded. Harriet hung her head, then smiled coyly at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you."

"If you think he has compromised you, I would gladly marry you." He regretted it the moment the words left his lips. She laughed. Indeed, she had been doing that often tonight.

"Max, there's no way I have not been compromised. I'm an actress! And you know I couldn't marry you. You have no prospects and I am expensive. How could you support me?"

"And Finley is rich," he finished quietly.

"Yes, he is rich."

"It will cause a great scandal," he finished lamely. She shrugged.

"What do I care for a small scandal? The Trenton scandal last year was fairly large, and even that died away. Nobody really cares, except for the opportunity to act shocked and self-righteous."

"Well," he said, smiling brightly despite circumstances. "Allow me to wish you joy, then. And may I say, your performance tonight has been brilliant."

"Thank you," she dimpled graciously and gave him her hand, which he kissed. "And thank you, Max, for being such a sweet admirer."

"Sweet," he repeated. "Yes, I suppose I am that. Sweet and dependable Max Callahan." He sighed melodramatically. "Well, I must be resigned to my fate. I must learn to derive satisfaction from being merely women's confidante. I have enjoyed talking to you, Miss Beech. Good-bye."

"Max," she said before he left. He turned and looked at her. "Thank you."

He nodded and left. When he was outside her door, he leaned his back against the wall and sighed. Strangely enough, he did not think his heart was broken. This puzzled him. Had he not been in love? It should be shattering to know that his beloved Harriet was promised to another man. It did rankle that she had passed him over because he was not rich, but as for his heart, he thought it was safe to say that he had escaped unscathed. He looked up and saw that his brother was watching him concernedly.

"You knew about Finley?" he asked. Brian nodded. Max shook his head.

"Why am I always so ignorant?"

"I think a more accurate term would be innocent," said Brian. Max shrugged.

"It is the same to me."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes. She has not wounded my heart; only my pride."

"That is a relief."

"Perhaps to you," Max retorted. "My pride may never recover."

Brian laughed, and clapping his younger brother by the shoulders, led him back to their box so they could finish watching the play.

"She is so beautiful," Max commented when Harriet came back on stage.

"Yes," said Brian. "But if she goes through with the marriage to Finley, she will be very unhappy."

"Why?"

"Because they do not love each other."

"Why are they getting married, then? Why should an earl propose to an actress, except if they love each other?"

"I do not know," said Brian, and he looked sharply at Max. "But I may hazard a guess."

"I am not interested in speculation," said Max shortly. Brian shrugged.

"Neither am I. That is why I do not say anything. But I think you and I are thinking along the same lines this time."

Max nodded.

"It is very likely."

Part 2

It was a quiet breakfast the next morning. Max could tell by the concerned look on her face that Brian had told his wife about the affair with Harriet Beech. Both of them were afraid to broach the subject, and Max was not all that anxious to talk about it, either. However, it soon became apparent that something needed to be said, to ease the tension in the atmosphere. Max looked at his brother and sister-in-law and smiled.

"Eleanor," he said, "did you enjoy the play last night?"

"Yes, I did," she answered. "Although the plot was a bit trite."

"The acting was wonderful, was it not?" said Max.

"Yes, it was," said Eleanor with a glance at Brian, who shrugged.

"Mr. Blumquast, especially, was in fine form," Max supplied. "He ranted and raved like a madman." Eleanor grinned.

"Indeed, and you know, I do not think it was such a far cry for him to behave in that fashion, either."

"You seem to be in fine spirits this morning," Brian commented.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Max asked innocently.

"Well, it is a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise, nonetheless."

"Brian," Eleanor interrupted before Max could answer. "I found a knife in one of your coats this morning."

"A knife?" Brian was puzzled. "I am not in the habit of putting knives in my clothing."

"I know, that is why it puzzled me. Here it is." She laid it on the table. Brian looked at it and shook his head.

"I've never seen it before."

"I have," said Max, shoveling his eggs around on his plate.

"You have?"

Max nodded.

"Jay-Jay gave it to me the last time I saw him."

"Then how did it get into my coat?" asked Brian. Max shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Perhaps one of the maids was confused," Eleanor suggested.

"She'd have to be fairly confused to mistake my jacket for Max's," said Brian.

This was true. Besides being almost nine years older than Max, Brian was also several inches taller. Brian had the dark Darcy looks; Max had the fiery red hair of the Callahans. Max envied his brother his stylishly good looks, but failed to notice his own. He may not have had brooding brown eyes, but his green ones expressed his every emotion, most often laughter. Max was almost never in a bad humour, and he hated to see people in one.

Later that day, as he was going out, Brian accosted him.

"Max," he said. "I need to talk to you."

"Yes, well, I was just..." said Max, pointing to the door.

"Well, it can wait a few minutes. This is important." Max sighed and followed Brian into his study.

"This isn't about Harriet, is it? I told you I don't care that she is engaged to Finley."

"Engaged to Finley? She is not engaged to Finlely. But this is not about Harriet. This is about Eleanor."

"What about Eleanor?"

"Her cousin is coming to visit."

"Why?" said Max. "Oh, right, her cousin. Well, for how long?"

"Until she is twenty-one."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

"Good God! Why should she want to stay with us for four years?"

"It is not a matter of wanting. Her father has died, and Eleanor and I have been named her guardians."

"I pity you," said Max flatly. "Which cousin?"

"Her only cousin. Her mother's sister's daughter. Miss Stanhope."

"I have never met her, have I?"

"No, you have never met her. But she is coming today."

"Then I will meet her tonight, at dinner," said Max pleasantly. "Good-bye, Brian."

"Maximillian!"

"I like the sound of that," Max sighed. "Why must everyone always call me Max?" Brian rolled his eyes.

"I want you to be here to greet our guest."

"But she is not a guest, Brian. She will be living here. Sharing our things. Possibly even..." He gasped and covered his mouth with his hand in mock horror. "Sharing our outhouse!"

"Max," said Brian wearily.

"Oh, can anything be more horrible?!" Max cried, putting a wrist to his forehead and pretending to faint on a chair. "But enough nonsense. I am going to visit our cousins. I believe Georgiana is in Town. And Fitzwilliam and his ever-extending family." He stood up and headed out of the study. Brian followed him.

"Eleanor says Miss Stanhope is particularly attentive to forms of etiquette," he warned. "She will be deeply offended if you are not here to receive her."

"I sincerely doubt that a girl who has just lost her father will feel the need to be offended because of something so insignificant as my absence. I will be home for dinner."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Brian as the door closed.

When Max arrived at the Blakeney house - which happened to be next door to the Darcy house - he found Georgiana in conference with one of the servants and eating an apple.

"Hello, Max," she said cheerfully, waving at him. "I'm almost done here."

When she finished with the servant, she came over and gave him a hug.

"Can you believe it? Lady Blakeney has given me charge of the house for the rest of the Season. It is so invigorating."

"But the Season only has another month to go."

"I know," she said. "But it is just as well. Can you keep a secret, Max?" she asked.

"I believe I can," he said with a smile. "You might want to ask Brian, though. There is a chance he might be the better authority."

"Goose," she said, and tilted her head up to whisper in his ear. "I think I may be having another baby in seven or eight months."

"That's wonderful!" he said. "But why do I need to keep it a secret?"

"Because I am not sure yet. Oh, dear. I probably should have told Christopher first, but I cannot help it, he is not here, and I only just realized it this morning."

"Where is he?"

"Oh, Sir Percy took him to White's. Something about learning to behave as a gentleman again."

"Then I am the first to know?" His eyes widened, and he scratched the back of his head with one hand.

"Yes, but do not look so flattered. You only wandered in at just the right moment."

"I wonder that Brian and Eleanor do not have any children. They have been married for nearly six years."

"Sometimes it takes longer," said Georgiana, beginning to blush. "So, why did you come to see me?"

"Because I have not seen you since that debacle with Jay-Jay last year. And here you are, about to become a mother again."

"I told you I'm not sure yet, so don't go telling anybody," she smiled.

"Oh, I won't, believe me. I don't think I could mention such a thing to Brian or Eleanor without blushing as red as a beet. And now Miss Stanhope is coming..."

"Who is Miss Stanhope?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Eleanor's cousin. Her father died, and now Brian and Eleanor are stuck being her guardian."

"Oh, you have not met her? Ever?"

"No, never."

"Do you know anything about her, besides the fact that she is Eleanor's cousin?"

"I know she is seventeen, and somewhat proper."

"How do you know she is proper?"

"That is what Brian told me."

"When did he meet her?"

"He hasn't; he had it from Eleanor."

Georgiana smiled and looked at him shrewdly.

"I never met a seventeen-year-old-girl who was all that proper. You may be in for a ride, Max."

"Maximillian," he groaned. "Oh, never mind. I'm getting tired of always reminding everybody."

Part 3

After his visit with Georgiana was concluded, Max went next door to see her brother. Alex and Kit greeted him on his arrival by plowing him down in the middle of the hall. Darcy laughed at the sight, but Elizabeth was contrite, and begged her husband to take his cousin somewhere else for the afternoon, as she could not possibly keep up with two young boys and two grown ones. Darcy complied, and he and Max headed to Gentleman Jackson's, where Darcy confessed he had been negligent in his lessons.

Max was impressed. He had never been here before, though Brian had talked of it often.

"Don't gawk," Darcy chided.

"I can't help it. Everything is so gawk-worthy."

Darcy gave him an odd look, but led him to a man who was giving pointers to a youngster at the far end of the room.

"Hello, Mr. Darcy," he smiled when he saw them.

"Jackson, this is my cousin, Max Callahan," said Darcy. Max shook hands with the famous Mr. Jackson, and silently vowed never to wash his hand again.

"Does he want lessons?" Jackson asked Darcy.

"Yes," Max piped. "I mean, if it is convenient." Jackson grinned and Darcy smiled in restrained mirth.

"Well, I have time for you, right after this one," Jackson said, pointing to the ring. "His father wanted to try his hand."

Max and Darcy looked and Darcy said,

"It's Blakeney!"

"It is?" Max squinted, then turned to Jackson. "Are you certain you can fit me in so quickly?"

"Certainly. Do you know the young gentleman, Darcy?" asked Jackson. Darcy confirmed it. Percy caught sight of them and headed over.

"Hallo, Darcy," he said. "Fancy seeing you here. But now that you are here, would you mind telling this son of mine that I don't intend to hurt him? He doesn't seem to want to come near me."

"Nonsense," said Christopher, coming up behind him. "Hello, Max." he said politely.

"Uh, Maximillian," said Max.

"Nonsense?" said Percy. "Really? If that is so, why weren't you coming within three feet of me?"

Christopher smiled cheekily. Jackson took his leave when he caught sight of one of the gentlemen moving himself grotesquely around the ring, meaning to put the situation at once to rights.

"I don't want to hurt you, Father. What kind of a son would I be, if..."

"Hurt me?" Percy sputtered in mock outrage. "You?" He looked his son up and down condescendingly, then turned away dismissively. "Impossible."

Christopher grinned and turned to Darcy.

"Are you here for yourself, or do you have a message from Georgiana?"

"For myself," said Darcy. Max nudged him. "And Max."

Christopher looked disappointed, but shrugged.

"Almost eighteen months, and not a word. Alex was talking at a year and a half, wasn't he?"

"Of course," said Darcy perplexedly. "Not particularly intelligibly, but he is quite a noisy child."

"Don't worry," said Percy. "Children go at their own pace. Matty's no simpleton; he has certainly shown quickness in other areas. He will talk, eventually. Perhaps he is only quiet."

"Quiet!" said Christopher. "Why on earth..."

"I don't suppose you'd understand," said Darcy with an amused smile at Christopher's expense.

"I wouldn't worry," said Max. "Actually, I'd welcome it. Your next one might not be so quiet." He shut his mouth quickly, realizing he needed to be quiet, or he might spill Georgiana's secret. Talk about babies was dangerous.

"Oh!" said Christopher. "I almost forgot, Darcy. Good news..."

"Oh, you already know!" said Max, relieved. "Allow me to give you my congratulations." He grabbed Christopher's hand and pumped it up and down.

"Whatever for?" asked Percy, looking from one to the other. Christopher looked at Max in bewilderment.

"Th-the new baby," said Max, confused. "I mean.... what were you going to say?"

"I was going to say that Mr. Gintry has decided to sell his chestnuts," said Christopher.

"He has?" said Darcy. "Wonderful news, indeed!"

"If you are in need of a new horse, Darcy, I have a splendid one up in Richmond, if you'd like to come take a look...." said Percy.

"But what were you saying about a baby?" said Christopher just as Max was beginning to hope the subject had been diverted. Max's mouth opened and closed several times, then he pursed his lips and said petulantly,

"Oh, dash it all, and I did mean to keep it a secret!"

"Keep what a secret?" asked Christopher, smiling persuasively.

"Georgiana will kill me," said Max, running a hand through his hair.

"Georgiana..." Understanding finally, Christopher smiled somewhat smugly.

"Don't look so delighted," said Max. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. I tell you, I am in quite a pickle."

"So you are," said Christopher gravely. "So Georgiana did not want me to know just yet. This could be amusing."

"Oh, don't let her know," Max begged. "Please, just act surprised."

"Like this?" said Christopher, assuming an air. "You think I would stoop to such perfidy?" He looked shocked.

"No, like this," said Max, raising his hands and making an "Oh!" expression with his face. Christopher laughed, then frowned.

"But why didn't she want me to know?"

"I saw her this morning, and she did not say a word to me," said Darcy.

"She only told me because I happened by just at that moment," Max explained. "She only just realized it this morning, after you had already left."

Christopher looked satisfied. Percy frowned.

"I don't suppose we'll be going to Italy this year, will we?"

"Italy?" said Max.

"Oh," said Christopher, "No, I suppose not. I don't think Darcy here would like me to take Georgiana away under these circumstances."

"I'm having a hard enough time imagining her as a mother of two," said Darcy, shaking his head.

"Or three," said Christopher, grinning. "I hear twins are something of a trend in your family..."

Darcy fixed him with a glare. Percy let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Let me see," said he, taking out a little book, "we could go next year, except I promised Josee she could marry her Anthony within the next twelve months.... I don't see how we could possibly go before '20..." He looked at Christopher. "This is your fault."

"I should hope so," said Christopher affably. Max blushed. Darcy scowled. Percy languidly put his book away and stepped between Christopher and Darcy.

"Now, now, before you two gentlemen come to blows, perhaps Chris and I should finish our bout."

"Should we?" asked Christopher petulantly. Percy laughed.

"Yes, we should. That was the whole point of today's excursion. Would you deny me that pleasure, as well?"

"With all my heart," Christopher muttered as Percy led him back into the ring. Darcy and Max watched interestedly as father and son made a tentative start. Percy teased him with a few swings to the head at first. Christopher smiled tolerantly, hoping to make this as short as possible. After a particularly hard punch to the jaw, Christopher shook his head and said,

"You don't have to treat me like glass; I won't break."

Percy grinned.

"Very well, if you insist."

The fight grew in intensity and suddenly Percy found himself on his back. Christopher hand flew to his mouth in horror and he went to stand over him.

"I didn't realize... Did I hurt you?" he asked. Percy blinked at him.

"Not a bit," he said, standing up. "You fight like a street urchin, boy," he said disapprovingly.

"Street urchin beats gentleman," said Christopher, raising an eyebrow.

"True. Very well. So, we shall resume, but shall we resume as gentlemen, or urchins?"

"Gentlemen," said Christopher, smiling. "Tired gentlemen who want to go home."

Percy looked down at him in exasperation.

"Very well. I suppose you want to see Georgiana."

"Always," Christopher grinned. "Actually, I wanted to check up on Matthew. I need some more time to think of exactly how to approach Georgiana with this news."

"Of course, you will insist on being amused with everything."

Max accosted them as they exited the ring.

"How did you learn to do that?" he asked Christopher.

"Necessity is the mother of invention."

Max was puzzled.

"What?"

"Never mind. I'm sure Jackson will teach you."

Max was gratified to learn this, and soon commenced with his lessons. He soon became so absorbed, he lost track of time, and when Darcy informed him that it was past five o'clock, he gasped and said,

"I should be going! Oh, dear! There is nothing like an enraged Eleanor Callahan!"

"I pity you," said Darcy with a grin that belied his words. "Is it really so urgent?"

"Yes! I was supposed to meet Miss Stanhope when she arrived!" He may have told Brian he would not be there, but he had had every intention of making himself a liar.

"Then, by all means, go!" said Darcy.

Part 4

Max opened the door softly and peeked his head around the corner. Satisfied that nobody was there, he came into the house and proceeded very softly up the stairs. As he walked down the hall to his chambers, a shoe flew at him from one of the doors. He was too surprised to dodge it, and it hit him squarely on the right temple. An oath escaped him, and he soon heard it echoed in the bedroom. He followed the sound and found a girl doubled over, wrestling with her own feet.

"What is going on?" he asked. She looked over her shoulder and said in a relieved tone,

"Oh, thank goodness you are here. Finally! I called for help at least fifteen minutes ago! I thought my cousin would have better servants than this."

"Servants!" Max exclaimed. She nodded and stuck her still-booted left foot at him.

"I cannot get it off!"

"Well, dash it, I do not take young ladies' boots off for them!"

She looked wide-eyed at him.

"You should not swear in front of a young lady. Now, are you going to help me?"

"I take it you are Miss Stanhope?" he asked.

"Yes, and I should warn you, my cousin is very attached to me, so if I were you, I should get on with my job. I could very easily have you sacked."

"But ... it is hardly proper for me to undress you!"

She made a face.

"Does it look as if I care at this moment? The cursed shoemaker made the toes too tight!"

"And in any case," he said, ignoring her plea, "I am not a servant!"

"Oh!" she said, looking him up and down in surprise. She knew from Sir Brian that his brother had red hair, and this young man's head looked quite dark, but now that she looked closer, she saw it was wet, and everything was explained. She shrugged apathetically. "Well, it does not signify. You will have to do. Do you take off your own shoes?"

"Of course!"

"Well, then, you are more than qualified. If you please," she stuck her foot in his face again. She smiled flirtatiously at him and caused her skirt to fall away from her ankle. Max looked at her suspiciously, but decided to humour her. The boot came off suddenly and Max fell backwards into the wall.

"Thank you," she sighed, and rubbed her toes.

"May I ask, why are you taking your shoes off?"

"Really, Max - I assume you are Max...."

"At least this assumption is correct." He smiled engagingly.

"Well, you should not be so inquisitive," she said. "I do not like shoes, as they are confining. I wear them only when I travel, or am entertaining."

"You are very entertaining," he commented, and tossed her shoe back onto her bed.

"Thank you, Max."

"You're welcome..."

"Michelle. Did Eleanor not tell you my name?"

"No. Brian told me of your imminent arrival just before I left this morning."

"So of course you could not stay to greet me," she said with a nod.

"You are quite a paradox."

"Really?" she asked, delighted.

"Yes," he said grimly. "I cannot make you out at all."

"That is a very pretty compliment. Thank you." She reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and flounced out of the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked, falling into step with her in the hall.

"Back to the drawing room. Eleanor asked me to play with her, and I cannot play with those terrible shoes on my feet."

"You play the pianoforte?"

"Of course not, you ninnyhammer! Cards!"

"Cards?" he said, puzzled. "You play cards with your feet?"

She laughed.

"No. It is a ploy, to knock my opponent off guard. Eleanor was always an easy one to rattle."

"Really?" he asked. "I always thought she was rather sensible."

"Perhaps, but you do not know her as I do."

"She has been married to my brother for six years, I think I should know her quite as well as you..."

"Perhaps," she said again. "But she is my only cousin, and ... well, we played often together when we were smaller."

"But...."

"The age difference does not matter. Don't you have any cousins who are not your own age?"

"Yes, I am the youngest," he said regretfully. "Everywhere I go, I am Maxy. Just once, I would like to be called Maximillian. It is so much more dignified. Stronger," he sighed.

"But Max fits you," she insisted.

"How can you say so? You barely know me."

"You are a Max," she said.

"Does anyone ever call you Shelly?"

"Lord, no!" she said, horrified. "They would die if they did that!"

"You mean you would die."

"No, I mean they would die. Don't you think I know what I am saying?"

"Well, in any case, it is the same with me. I simply do not like Max."

"Very well, then, Maximillian," she emphasized. He grinned and thanked her. "Do you know, Maximillian," she continued, "I believe I should have taken my stockings off, too. They are becoming quite wearisome. Do you mind, Maximillian?"

"Of course not. I will help you."

She looked, quite startled, at him. He blushed.

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," she said. "Of all the... I expected you to turn around." He complied quickly, his face still burning red. "Of all the notions," she muttered as she divested herself of her stockings. "To think I would allow him to put his hands on my hips after only knowing each other for fifteen minutes..."

"Perhaps after an hour?" he asked. She giggled.

"Perhaps."

"It would not have been so shocking, if we had been at Almack's," he commented.

"Yes, but under my dress?" she said, beginning to blush, herself.

"Stop, you are making it sound all the more appealing."

"Do you know, Maximillian, I do not think you are as stupid now as when you first came into my chambers."

His eyes widened in horror as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Oh, Lord. Please, Miss Stanhope..."

"What happened to Michelle?" she pouted.

"Don't tell Brian or Eleanor how we really met. They might think..."

"Think what?" she asked. "That we have been compromised after only just meeting? Don't talk nonsense."

She walked into the drawing room ahead of him, swinging her stockings from one wrist. He slapped a palm to his eyes and ran it down his face. She was too much.

Part 5

When they entered the room, Max and Michelle found Brian and Eleanor talking earnestly beside the card table. They stopped talking as soon as they entered and stood there awkwardly. Max looked from one to the other, then to Michelle.

"Were you talking about me?" Miss Stanhope demanded.

"No," said Eleanor somewhat guiltily and looked at the floor. In so doing, she noticed her cousin's feet. "What happened to your shoes, Michelle?"

"Oh, nothing," she shrugged. "They were bothering me, you know, and Maximillian was kind enough to take them off for me."

Brian glanced at Max sharply, who was examining his own fingernails intently.

"Max," he said.

"Hm? What?" said Max. He grinned at Miss Stanhope. "Ah, yes. Lovely feet." Michelle had not expected this, and she glanced quickly at Max, who grinned cheekily back. Brian and Eleanor looked at each other and shared a secret smile.

"Max," said Eleanor, "I had not realized you had returned. Would you care to join us in a game of cards?"

"Certainly," said Max, "only I do hope the sight of Miss Stanhope's toes do not make me flustered."

Michelle frowned. When they were seated, she whispered,

"I thought we had an agreement; you are Maximillian, I am Michelle."

"Yes, you are," he agreed.

"Then why did you call me Miss Stanhope?" she demanded. "I do not like it."

"I cannot help what you do or don't like. And besides, I am not yet acquainted with you enough to know when you wish to be proper and when you do not. You are a very confusing girl."

"Thank you," she replied. She smiled mischievously at Eleanor, and they began their game.

Meanwhile, at the Blakeney house, Sir Percy and Christopher were just arriving home. They looked perplexed when they found the door locked, and Christopher began searching for his key. Percy looked up at the sky as if asking God why such things happened to him. He grinned when he saw the window above them open, and stepped out of the way just in time for the person above to dump a bucket of water on Christopher's head. Christopher stood there for two seconds, hand frozen in mid air, ready to apply the key to the lock, then started laughing. He shook his head vigorously, slinging water all over his father.

"I suppose you are either in Georgiana's bad graces, or you are getting your hair cut today," Percy remarked, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

"Well, the water wasn't dirty, so I'll assume the latter." The door opened with Georgiana on the other end, holding Matthew firmly by one hand.

"Come along," she grinned, pulling her husband inside. Percy followed at a short distance.

"Well, Matty," said Christopher, "it looks as though you and I are in for some treatment. Georgie, is this any way to treat your husband?" he complained as she made him sit down in a chair in the hall. "If you like, I'll visit the barber tomorrow. I don't particularly like the idea of my wife wielding sharp objects close to my ears."

"I'm sorry, Christopher," said Georgiana sweetly, "But you said that the last time. If you please, Lady Blakeney." Marguerite appeared over his shoulder and began combing the tangles out of his hair.

"Oh, I see. A conspiracy, is it?"

"Don't sulk. This is a special day. Your son's first haircut."

"Really, Chris, you ought to have foreseen this," said Percy. "With all the hints being thrown in your direction the last few weeks...."

"What are you doing to me?" Christopher fairly squeaked as Georgiana brought the scissors close to his ear.

"Keep quiet and hold still," she said, biting her lip.

Christopher scowled and looked past her, where Matthew was watching him intently, one finger in his mouth. The toddler grinned and poked his father on the nose.

"Just wait until it's your turn," said Christopher. The thought occurred to him that it would be very amusing to break the news to all of them right now that he already knew about Georgiana's secret, but the thought of startling and embarrassing the person who was holding a sharp object next to his neck did not appeal to him, so he held his tongue.

"You look funny," said a voice unfamiliar to all of them. Georgiana looked down to see who had done the speaking, but all she saw was her baby boy.

"Matthew?" Marguerite gasped.

"He talked!" said Christopher. "Say it again, Matt."

"You look funny."

"So I do. You are a very smart boy." He laughed in delight. "The boy finally talked!" Percy was bent double laughing.

"The clever boy," said Marguerite fondly. "Most likely, he did not want to make a fool of himself by talking baby gibberish, so he waited until he had it just right."

"You look funny," Matthew said again, enjoying the commotion those words had caused.

"You're done," said Georgiana, stepping away from her husband to view her handiwork. "Oh, dear."

"What?" said Christopher. Marguerite came to stand in front of him and gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"Well, that settles it," said Percy, picking up his grandson. "I think I shall have the honour of cutting Matt's hair. With his achievement today, I don't think he deserves to look like that."

"What did you do?" said Christopher. Marguerite handed him a mirror and grinned. "I'm almost afraid to look at it," he commented. They all laughed when he saw his reflection. He shrugged. "What? I don't see anything spectacular."

"No, but you did not see your face when you thought we had mutilated you," said Georgiana. "You are so vain."

"Thank you, darling," he said sarcastically. He rubbed the back of his head. "It itches."

"Go change your shirt," said Marguerite. "I dropped a few handfuls of hair in there."

"Oh, no wonder then." He went to his room while his womenfolk finished with his son. A few minutes later, Georgiana came into the room.

"Are you very angry with me?" she said.

"Angry? No."

"That is good, because I have something to tell you."

"Is that so? Come here." She did so, and he turned her around so they were both facing the mirror. He stood behind her and began playing with her hair. "What do you think of this?" he asked. "Josee would probably say no, but it gives you almost the look of a statue.... Say, Georgiana, are you pregnant?"

"What??" she gasped. She recovered her composure and said, "What makes you ask such a question?"

"Well, not to mention the very obvious, there is the fact that you said you had something to tell me. Added to the fact that you have been eating more, and that bout you had with nausea last week. Then, too, you are looking more radiant, you almost have a glow...." Georgiana eyed him suspiciously, and he grinned sheepishly. "Max told me."

She pounded his arm.

"How could he? He promised he wouldn't!"

"Actually, I think it is your brother's fault."

"How so?" she asked in disbelief. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"He mentioned horses, and of course that made Max think of babies."

"You..." she said, and pounded his arm again. "Well, that is the last time I tell Max anything."

"No, I think he thought I already knew."

"I still haven't seen you hear the news under normal circumstances," she pouted. "Your mother told me the other day how she informed your father of your ... presence."

"By letter. That is, she said she had something to tell him, and by the time he got home, she was in her sixth month, so it was fairly obvious. At least, that is the way I heard it."

"Well, it must have been Josee, then, because she said she prepared a special dinner for him, and ended the night quite romantically...by candlelight." She brought her hands up around his neck and smiled shyly.

"It is only six o'clock," he said, "there is still quite enough time to end this evening just as romantically, if you wish."

"I wish," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Mama." A plaintive sound came from the doorway. The moment was broken. Georgiana and Christopher looked at each other and smiled.

"Are you sure you want another one?" said Christopher.

"Yes," she said in a surprisingly clipped voice. "What is it, sweetie?"

"Hungry."

"Oh. Well, where is your nurse?"

Matthew pointed out the door, which did not tell Georgiana much. Fortunately, Josee happened by just then.

"There you are!" she said, panting. "What a way to hide! I'll take him, Georgie."

Georgiana turned around and, to her disappointment, Christopher had left the room. She later found him in the library. He looked up at her and smiled a welcome, patting a spot next to him for her to sit down.

"Is something bothering you, cherie?" he asked softly after a few minutes' silence. She shook her head. However, a few minutes later she sat straight up and said,

"Christopher, are you happy about this?"

"About what?"

"The baby."

"Of course I am. Whatever gave you the impression I wasn't?"

"Well, when Matthew came in the room, you said that..."

"I was teasing," he said. "Weren't you just a little disappointed that he came in just then? I know I was."

"Yes," she admitted playfully. "I was only worried you'd be angry with me."

"What for? As my father pointed out, it is clearly my fault."

"He said that?" she gasped. "No, I cannot believe it!" she giggled.

"So you see, there is nothing for you to worry about. I am positively in raptures over this new development." He grinned and buried his nose in the nearest book.

"You goose," she said, once more pounding his arm.

Part 6

Max had never been so sure of anything in his life. He loved Michelle. He had only known her a day - not even a day, really - but he loved her. His mind was made up. He would propose to her as soon as he got the chance.

But when would that be?

He almost did it at breakfast the next day. But no, he couldn't ask her with Brian and Eleanor sitting right there. It would most certainly not do to pressure her into accepting him because of an audience; it was not at all the thing. Then she was called away to dancing lessons - dancing lessons! - and he did not see her again until that afternoon.

By then it was too late - it was raining outside, and Max most certainly did not wish to cast a gloom over their happiness.

By the morning after that, he was having doubts. What if Miss Stanhope did not feel the same way? Surely she was equally charming to all. He moped around for the rest of that day, unsure of himself or his feelings.

The morning after that, however, he had slept away all his fears. The sun was shining, and Max went down to breakfast whistling a happy tune.

"You're jovial this morning," said Brian. "Why?"

"Hasn't a man a right to be happy?" asked Max, whistling a few more notes. Brian wrinkled his nose.

"Not another actress," he said. Max shook his head.

"Definitely not! No, I believe I am through with actresses. I mean, actresses as potential wives. I have no objection to congratulating an actress on a fine performance, but I digress. No, my present happiness has nothing to do with any actress."

When Michelle entered the room, Max had to bite his lip to keep his grin under control. It would not do to let Brian know what he was planning before he acted. She looked beautiful, black curls bouncing under a jaunty green cap. She slapped a riding crop impatiently against her skirts and said,

"Enough with breakfast! Whose idea was it to have a meal so early in the morning? I am going riding. Would anyone care to join me? No. Very well. I'll be back in a few hours. Cheerio!"

"I'll go with you!" said Max. He stuffed the rest of his toast in his mouth, swallowed some water, and took off after her. Brian and Eleanor looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Well," said Eleanor, "I confess, I thought it would take him longer than this to make up his mind."

"This is Michelle's fourth day here," Brian chuckled. "If she keeps going at this rate, she will have more suitors than ... anyone."

"As always, Brian, so specific," Eleanor smiled.

"Michelle!" Max panted, bending over to catch his breath. She turned to look at him.

"Yes, Maximillian?"

He held up a finger indicating she was to wait until he could speak. Finally, he stood up, assumed a respectable air, and said,

"Michelle, darling (at this her eyes grew wide), I know we have only known each other for three days, but that has been more than sufficient for me to..."

"Then you have had enough of me?" she teased.

"More than sufficient for me to know that you are the one I would like to spend the rest of my life with," he finished stiffly.

He blushed at his error. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Then she burst into laughter.

"Maximillian, you are such a tease!" She patted his cheek affectionately and flounced away.

"Well, at least she didn't say I was sweet," he muttered. He followed her into the stable. "Michelle, didn't you understand what I was saying?"

"Of course I did, though it sometimes sounded as if you did not."

"Miche-elle!" he whined, resisting the urge to stamp his foot in frustration. She turned again to look at him, that eyebrow of hers raised almost mockingly.

"Yes, Mr. Callahan?"

He blinked, then smiled and dropped to one knee.

"Very well, I will do it correctly. Miss Stanhope, will you marry me?"

She sighed.

"I'm sorry, Maximillian, but it is really impossible at this time."

"You mean, you would like to wait until we are older?" he asked hopefully. "I wouldn't mind a long engagement. That is, I would not mind it much."

"Max," she said firmly, "I am in mourning. I cannot marry anybody."

"Well, at least there is nobody else," he said. "I'm sorry for forgetting about your father."

"It's all right, I perfectly understand," she smiled in a gracious yet strained manner and turned back to her horse.

"Then, we will wait until your period of mourning is over?" he asked.

"Max!" she said, grinding her teeth. Once again she turned around to face him, this time looking quite angry. "I don't want to marry you," she said bluntly. "I barely know you!"

Max blinked.

"Oh," he said, flushing deeply and taking a step back. "What a fool you must think me."

"Yes," she said, softening considerably. "A charming, obliging, considerate, romantic, sweet fool." He winced. She stepped forward and, placing one hand on his arm, looked up at him with a friendly smile. "Honestly, Maximillian, I don't think I am ready to marry anybody, either this year or next. I am too young, and flighty. And speaking of flighty, if you say you can fall in love with me in three days, how quickly would you fall out of love with me? It is best this way."

"I loved you ever since you asked me to take your boot off," he said bluntly.

"Dear me!" she gasped melodramatically. "It is worse than I imagined! Only two seconds??" She laughed nervously, trying to lighten the mood. Max felt he was being mocked, and turned to go.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you, Miss Stanhope. I think you had better .. go for your ride now, before it starts to rain."

"Max!" she called as he left. The door slammed, and she threw her riding crop down on the ground. Her cap followed, and both were kicked viciously into a corner. When she composed herself, her hair had escaped its ties, and was blowing in little tendrils around her face. She scowled at the door where Max had disappeared, and blew her bangs off her forehead.

"Blast!"

Part 7

Eleanor found her young cousin in quite a sad temper later that afternoon. She was sitting on the floor in her room, her arms wrapped around her knees and her face streaked with tears.

"Michelle!" said Eleanor, coming to wrap her arms around the girl. "What is the matter?"

Michelle sniffed, trying to gain time with which to think of an acceptable answer. Why was she upset? Finally she said in an unexpectedly calm voice,

"I was thinking, perhaps it is ... well, Nora, I have always had my Papa, you know..." This was said almost doubtfully. Now that she had allowed her mind to be unoccupied with other things, it did occur to her that she had not properly grieved over her father's death. Her aunt Agnes had had him promptly buried, then the will had been read and she had been brought to live with her cousin. The thought that she had neglected her duty to her poor papa caused her to burst into tears again.

"Of course, it is only natural to miss your father after he has died," said Eleanor soothingly. Michelle laughed abruptly.

"Yes. If it was only that, I shouldn't be so upset. But this is different. Papa was dear to me, to be sure, but it was almost a relief that he finally went. He was so very old, and couldn't even feed himself anymore. I'm sure he's happier now. But Eleanor, Max proposed to me today!"

To her astonishment, Eleanor was not surprised. She went on.

"We have only known each other for four days! How could he...."

"He is impulsive," said Eleanor. "He will most likely grow out of it, eventually. Brian proposed to me in much the same way."

"I hope Max never grows out of it," said Michelle fervently. "If only he had waited, though! A month, at least, would have been sufficient!"

"Oh, certainly," said Eleanor sardonically. "But then, for some people it takes years..."

"Years! I don't have that time!"

"Why not?"

"Well..." she sputtered "...I don't know. It just seems like an awfully long way away....."

"Would you have accepted Max, had you known him longer?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "It was so unexpected... Which reminds me, why were you not surprised?"

"Darling, Max is as easy to read as a child's book."

"Then it is settled," Michelle said, smoothing out some of the wrinkles in her skirt. "It was highly proper in me to refuse him. I obviously do not know him well enough to read him as you do."

"But you do like him, don't you?"

"Oh, of course! Who could not? He is an adorable..." she stopped herself just before she could utter the word `boy.' "But Max is not a boy, is he? That is, he is older than me, so I have no right to call him a boy. Max is adorable."

"But why were you crying?" Eleanor pried.

"I don't know," she sighed yet again. "He looked so ... hurt when I finally made it clear to him that I could not marry him. It was as though I had slapped him." She sniffed again and looked down at her own hands.

"It's all right," said Eleanor. "He will recover."

"What if I have dealt him a death blow?" Michelle exclaimed, allowing her cousin to help her up. Eleanor laughed.

"That is hardly likely. You have been reading too many novels, I fear."

"Oh, you would not believe!" Michelle exclaimed. She went to her bed and took out a box full of books. "All these I have read in the last month," she said, pointing to one pile, "and these I plan to read this month. Prolific, am I not?"

"How do you find the time?" asked Eleanor, staring at the bed full of books.

"I economize," she smiled smugly and looked at her clock. "Oh, dear. I am behind schedule. Excuse me." She hurried to the door. "Well, it seems I must forego the dose of The Italian, as the horses have been waiting for me at least an hour. I will be back in time for tea, Eleanor."

That evening after dinner, the Callahans were surprised by a visit from Lady Callahan's aunt, Mrs. Agnes Stanhope-Wilson. She came in as Brian and Eleanor were playing cards and said,

"Well, Eleanor, where is that young cousin of yours? I am come to relieve you."

"I beg your pardon, Aunt Agnes?" said Eleanor, immensely surprised.

"I find it hard in my brother to have left my niece to your care, and not mine. Oh, not for my own sake. What would I want with a young girl? No, dear, for your sake. I'm sure you have other things to think about than a strumpet like my brother's daughter."

"Aunt Agnes?" said Michelle, who had been sleeping on the sofa. She popped her head up and stared at her venerable aunt. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to collect you, girl. Now go collect your things, we must be off at once if we are to catch the mail."

Michelle's eyes widened in horror.

"I do not recall anything being said about you in my father's will," said Michelle, sticking out her chin defiantly.

"Of course not. However, I have come to the conclusion that I, not your cousin, should have been named your guardian."

"Why? You don't like me, I don't like you, we should be forever at each other's necks. I would much rather stay here, in London, than go off with you to who-knows-where, anyway!"

"Darling Michelle," Aunt Agnes objected, "Of course I like you very well. True, you are a bit too wild and dashing for my tastes; in my day, girls did not go about telling their father's political friends that they wanted to grow up to be an equestrienne at Astley's, but" she shrugged elegantly "I suppose any child of your father's would have done the same. Now, you will come with me this instant!"

"Dear Aunt Agnes," said Brian, guiding her to a seat. "Come and join us. Would you like some tea? Eleanor, do fetch the maid. Now, let us talk about this. Why do you want to take Michelle away from us? Eleanor is enjoying her company immensely. It has been years since they have seen each other. Would you deprive my wife of..."

"Young man, this has nothing at all to do with your wife!" Aunt Agnes shuffled out of the way as Eleanor went to fetch a footman.

"Yes, it does. You see ... thank you, Norley ... you see, Aunt Agnes, with twelve years between them, Michelle is almost like a daughter to Eleanor."

"Nonsense! Eleanor could not possibly have a child at twelve!"

Brian raised an eyebrow.

"That is not the point. The point is, she is almost like a daughter, and with our sad lack of children, it is a most welcoming experience to have a young person in the house."

"But what about Max?" asked Michelle.

"Hush," said Brian.

"You are not so very old," said Aunt Agnes, looking at Brian out of the corner of her eye. "Not above thirty, I dare say. And if you want a child, then have a child! What is stopping you?"

Eleanor had just entered the room, and now looked at Brian with stricken eyes. Brian pursed his lips and stood to look down at the old lady.

"If you have no other place to stay, you are welcome to stay here for the night. However, there will be no more talk of you taking Michelle to live with you. Eleanor and I are more than happy to have her here, and it is evident she does not wish to go."

"Who does not wish to go where?" asked Max, just entering the room.

"Good heavens, who is this?" asked Aunt Agnes, looking at Max through her monocle. He flushed slightly, and tried to find out what was going on by looking alternately at Brian, Eleanor and Michelle.

"Maximillian, this is my Aunt Agnes. Aunt, this is Maximillian Callahan, Sir Brian's brother."

"Oh, I see," said Aunt Agnes, eyeing Max again. "A younger brother, obviously. I dare say you are not older than eighteen."

Max flushed in indignation. Brian interrupted.

"Ah, here is Morris. He will show you to your room, Aunt Agnes."

"No. I am leaving tonight, with my niece."

"What is going on here?" asked Max.

"Aunt Agnes thinks I am going to Newcastle with her," said Michelle, very nearly outraged. Eleanor was furiously fighting back tears, and finding that she could only lose the battle, left the room. Max pretended not to notice Eleanor's discomfort, and focused on Aunt Agnes.

"Good heavens!" said Max. He turned to the old lady. "Why would you want to do that, ma'am?"

"Youth should not be ruled by youth," she said haughtily. "She needs the benefit of my wisdom...."

"Yes, and don't we all?" he said in a tone that almost made Brian laugh for all its insincerity. He had taken a moment to look Aunt Agnes up and down, and even less time to see from her appearance that she seemed to be tight-fisted. "But you have not considered your own needs. You know that Michelle requires at least one bath a day."

"Of course."

"With fine spices, like cinnamon and vanilla."

"Why?" Aunt Agnes demanded. Brian and Michelle were blinking rapidly.

"Well..." he sputtered, taking Michelle's hand "...smell this girl. You do not come by a scent like that by merely bathing in water, ma'am."

"No, I suppose not. Have you been riding again, Shelley?"

Michelle's eyes bulged and she would have lunged at her esteemed aunt, but Max's grip tightened and she could not move. She could only say haughtily,

"I do not appreciate being smelled as if I were a .. a .. melon!"

"But I think she can go without her special baths. Water is good enough for me."

"Yes, dear Aunt Agnes," said Max. "But what about when she is ready to marry? What then?"

"She has her inheritance," said Aunt Agnes confidently.

"A mere pittance," said Michelle, beginning to pick up the game. "You know how bad Papa was at keeping his books."

"Positively dreadful!" said Aunt Agnes, horrified. "But ... my brother was certainly not poor! He had a good independence..."

"Well, the estate and everything went to Cousin Phillip, you know," said Michelle. "There was very little besides that."

"And think of the effect on poor ... Shelley!"

"Dear Max," said Michelle, without blinking. "He is always thinking of others."

"Think of all you will have to do for her. A Season in London... you know how much that will set you back..." said Brian.

Aunt Agnes looked at Michelle, horrified. She was beginning to see her as an outrageously high business risk.

"Well," she said, recalling her earlier diatribe. "It does not signify. We older people must always make sacrifices for the younger generation. I'm sure I shall be able to get by. Michelle, the coach is waiting...."

"Aunt Agnes, you are truly a saint," said Max. "But we cannot allow you to make all the sacrifices. Brian and I have a high respect for the elderly, and therefore, we feel you should be able to take care of yourself with no thought of your wicked, unfeeling, hoydenish niece."

"You are too good to me, Maximillian," said Michelle, affectedly dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"I aim to please."

"Do you always let your brother ride over your decisions in this manner, Sir Brian?" asked Aunt Agnes sternly.

"Of course not," he said amiably, not wishing to provoke a lecture on authority of the firstborn. "But in this instance, his opinions happen to be backed by mine. We cannot allow you to make such a great sacrifice."

She smiled approvingly.

"Very well, then. It was worrying me to no extend, to be faced with such a prospect. My brother was quite wild, and of course his offspring could not be otherwise. The apple never falls very far from the tree, you know. But I could not forgive myself if I did not try to do my duty by my niece. You are very good, Sir Brian. Good evening." She took her leave.

Michelle stood there for an instant, indignant at the words spoken about her father. She turned to the two brothers, thanked them for their assistance, and fled the room.

"I am going out," said Max.

"You just got home."

"I think I need more time alone."

"You will hardly find that in London." Max was already gone.

Upstairs in her room, Michelle looked out the window just in time to see Max leaving. Where could he be going? To visit that actress of his, no doubt. She had heard from her maid that Max had been positively wild over a certain actress named Harriet Beech.

The sense of loss accompanied by this thought, accompanied by the loss she had already experienced, caused Michelle's cup to spill over, so to speak. A little more than a week after her father's death, she finally allowed herself to grieve.

Part 8

"You proposed to her?" Harriet Beech swung around to stare at Max. "You proposed to me not a week ago!" she pouted. Max blushed and shrugged.

"What can I say? Speaking of which, where is your fiancé?"

Outside the room, Max heard his friends calling for him to come with them. He blocked the sound out to listen to Harriet. His mind seemed to be wandering more than usual tonight.

"My lord Finley was obliged to go to his estates, presumably to make everything ready for his bride." Harriet screwed up her face. "I don't like it."

"I'm sure he will come back," said Max soothingly.

"No, I don't like being tossed over so quickly for a chit just out of the schoolroom," she clarified. "Just who is this girl, anyway?"

"I told you; she is my sister's cousin."

Harriet did not look pleased. Max looked around the room nervously. He should not have come here. However, it was his custom to congratulate an artist on a fine performance, and tonight had been particularly fine so far. Whatever else she might be, Harriet was a talented actress.

"Is she pretty? Don't tell me she is not pretty. I couldn't bear being passed over for a girl of no consequence."

Max laughed.

"She is very pretty." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, with a piece of chalk, and drew a quick sketch of Michelle's features and showed it to Harriet. "Very pretty," he repeated.

She looked and smiled.

"Well, then. Everything is all right, and I must get back to my play. So lovely to see you again, Max." She kissed his cheek and left the room.

When Max came home for the second time that evening, he found Michelle in the hall outside the library, sniffling suspiciously. He stopped and stood over her.

"Michelle?" he said tentatively. "Are you well?"

She shook her head in the negative, not looking at him. Max bit his lip, wondering if there was anything he could do. Should he not have an instinct telling him how to deal with distraught young ladies? If there was nothing he could do, would it be delicate to leave? Crying made him extremely uncomfortable. But when he looked at her again and saw her shoulders shake and heard a stifled sob come from her throat, he knew he could not leave. He sat down beside her, and after hesitating a few moments, put an arm around her shoulders and turned her body towards himself. She threw her arms around his neck and cried unabashedly into his shoulder.

He cleared his throat nervously and patted her shoulders.

"There, there," he whispered. "It's all right."

Eventually she stopped crying. Somehow they had ended in a position with him sitting cross-legged against the wall, stroking her hair as she rested her head in his lap. She sat up suddenly and wiped her eyes.

"How embarrassing," she muttered.

"I'll get over it," he said, handing her his handkerchief. She gave him a look, but ruined it with a smile. She blew her nose loudly, then said,

"I never cry."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true! It is only that... well, it suddenly occurred to me, you know, that I will never see my papa again, and ... it was a little overwhelming." Her voice faded and she looked down.

"Were you very close?"

She nodded.

"That is where I developed my wicked, unfeeling, hoydenish tendencies."

"I'm sorry about that, but what else was I to say to Aunt Agnes? Is she really your aunt?"

"Yes, and I understand. You're probably glad I didn't say yes, now," she murmured, brushing her hair behind her ears self-consciously.

"No, I'm not," he said. "Still broken-hearted Maximillian, I'm afraid."

"You're not, really, are you?" she asked worriedly. He smiled wanly. All he volunteered was,

"I quite enjoyed being your comforter."

"Even though I ruined your coat?" she asked, pointing to several tear stains on said coat.

"Not an issue," he shrugged.

"Where did you go tonight?"

"Oh, I was only going about Town with some of my friends."

"But where did she go?" she persisted.

"White's, the theatre, etc. etc." he shrugged again. Her eyes lit up.

"Did you go to Astley's?"

"No. I haven't been there in years."

"Oh. Well, I was considering becoming an equestrienne there," she grinned.

"You are quite hopeless!" he laughed.

"A hoyden?"

"Worse."

"Oh, dear! How would Aunt Agnes ever countenance me?"

"You are adorable," he said suddenly. She blushed. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Quite."

"Well, then I'll stop." He yawned loudly.

"Gesundheit," said Michelle.

"What?" said Max, bewildered. She giggled.

"Never mind."

"Gesundheit?" he repeated. She burst into loud laughter. One of the doors opened down the hall and Brian looked out, squinting from sleepiness.

"Go to bed," he said and shut the door again. Max and Michelle stifled their giggles and went to bed.

Part 9

The next morning, when they were alone, Max asked Brian why he had told him Michelle was a proper little miss. Brian shrugged helplessly.

"Eleanor told me she had strange notions of propriety. I guess I misinterpreted her."

"Dreadfully!" Max laughed.

"Max, I think part of your breakfast is still on your face," said Brian as he unfolded the morning paper.

"No," said Max. "I've decided to grow a mustache."

Brian looked at him over his paper and burst into laughter.

"Be serious!"

"I am," said Max awkwardly. Brian snorted.

"I have to get you a new valet. Really, this one's laziness is insupportable."

"It was my own idea," Max defended. "Aunt Agnes thought I was only eighteen. I have to look older somehow!"

"It is difficult to look older when you still behave like...."

"Like what?" asked Max.

"Well, a child," said Brian. "There you have it, Max. You're a child."

"No, I'm not! I'm twenty-one."

"Please, don't be in a rush to grow up," Brian grinned. "We like you this way."

"But Brian, it's very hard on me!" Max insisted. "Who takes a child seriously?"

"I would," said Brian. "If he showed sense."

"Do you realize that I have proposed marriage twice in the last week, to different females, and both have laughed in my face?"

"No, I didn't realize that," said Brian, suddenly serious.

"Well, it is very disheartening, I can tell you."

"Indeed. To propose to two different women in one week is.... Well, never mind. Who was it?"

"Oh, don't act as though you didn't know. I am hopelessly in love with Michelle!"

Brian choked on his tea.

"Michelle?! That child?"

"Brian!" said Max, exasperated.

"Well, who is the other one?"

"What other one?"

"The other female. You mentioned two proposals."

"Oh, yes," he said, waving dismissively. "Only Harriet Beech, but that was a mere reaction to the news about Finley."

"So one day you're mooning over an earthy actress, five days later you want to marry your brother's ward?"

"Yes."

"And this does not strike you as childish behaviour?"

"No! Impulsive, impetuous, maybe, but not childish!" Max folded his arms across his chest and pouted.

"Max, go shave off that ridiculous mustache before it grows into something more noticeable. Children do not wear mustaches."

Deeply offended, Max went up to his room and ordered his valet to finish shaving him. When he was once again clean shaven, he headed to his cousin Darcy's house. As soon as he was in the parlor he blurted out,

"Darcy, how do you know you are a man?"

Darcy could only look amused. He had Alex clinging to one leg and Kit sleeping on his shoulder. It was indeed a ridiculous thing to ask him, Max realized, but he wanted to know.

"Have you had an accident, Max?"

Max flushed.

"What I meant was, how do you know you are no longer a boy?"

"What ever makes you doubt it?"

"Brian thinks I'm a child," he said, collapsing into a sulky heap on a sopha. "Can you tell me, even before you were married and had children, how did you know you were a man, and not a boy?"

"Well," said Darcy, sitting back to mull this over seriously. "My father died, leaving me with Georgiana and Pemberley. I think that hastened the process a bit."

"But in this case, I am Georgiana," said Max. "I mean, I have no responsibilities, nothing with which to identify myself."

"What do you do all day, then?" asked Darcy bewilderedly. Max shrugged.

"I have friends. I usually go about Town with them. Pretty useless, don't you think?"

"Perhaps you could go into Parliament," Darcy suggested.

"Me?" Max squeaked. "Darcy, you know I have no head for politics."

"What do you have a head for?"

"I only want to enjoy myself."

"What do you enjoy doing?"

Max shrugged.

"I don't know."

Darcy sighed.

"Neither do I. Max, I'm not going to choose a path for you. You have to find it yourself."

"But what if I choose the wrong path? What if I lead myself over a metaphorical cliff?"

"Climb back up," said Darcy simply.

"After being crushed by the rocks at the bottom?"

"You never mentioned any metaphorical rocks," said Darcy.

"Believe me, they're there."

"Max, go home. Take a bath. Read a book. Find a hobby. I think the only thing wrong with you is you're bored."

"A hobby? You think I should take up knitting?"

"No, just whatever suits your fancy."

Max was not satisfied with this encounter. He needed more than a hobby. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to gain the respect and admiration of the people he loved. Brian. Eleanor. Michelle. His cousins. Perhaps even Aunt Agnes, though he wondered if her opinion really mattered.

He remembered what Harriet had said to him before, about feeling the pinch of dependency. He was tired of being dependent on Brian for everything. Suddenly, he felt like a charity case. Useless. Perhaps even unwanted. Was he a burden on Brian and Eleanor? Did he stifle them? Was it some way his fault they had not been able to have children? He shook his head suddenly. That was a ridiculous thought. How could he have any effect on his brother's unborn children?

He would like to have his own children some day. That was a thought he enjoyed. Living somewhere in the country with Michelle, raising their children. Two, he decided. No, three. Maybe even four. But pleasant daydreams also have a tendency to turn melancholy. What if he never convinced Michelle to marry him? What if he had completely turned her against him by rushing into a proposal? And he had reminded her of it, too. Refused her the luxury of pretending to forget something so awkward had happened. And they were living in the same house!

Max reproached himself with all sorts of chastisements. How stupid could he have been? He could have at least pretended, for her sake, that nothing had happened. But no, he had made her uncomfortable, he was sure of it. Well, he would cease mentioning it from now on. He would not let her catch him looking at her longingly. He was give her no reason to feel discomfort in his presence. He could not bear the thought of being separated from her, even if she would not be his wife.

Perhaps he was too immature for marriage.

Feeling very depressed, he looked up suddenly and surveyed the street. It was littered with peddlers peddling, shoppers shopping, beggars begging. Children were playing; in one of the houses a woman was singing a tune while she hung up the laundry. How had he ended up in this neighbourhood?

A hobby, Darcy had said. Max smirked disdainfully. He did not need a hobby. He needed a meaning. What did his life mean, if he wasted it by idly going about his own business?

But what could he do? As the younger son of a gentleman, he could not inherit the estate unless his brother died childless. He would not, could not wish that on Brian. He needed to find a way to make his own life. But the choices he had left him cold. He had no taste for law. No confidence in his abilities in any important field. He could be a soldier, but the thought of killing a man, even for his country, left a bad taste in his mouth. There was no war going on, no political cause with which to become obsessed.

Perhaps a merchant?.... Definitely not.

Inventor? Author? Artist?

Statesman? Ambassador? Sailor?

Perhaps he could become a nun. No, he was not a woman. He may not yet be a man, but he would never be a woman. Perhaps a monk, then?

He screwed up his face - an action that caused many of the children mentioned before to stare at him in wonder - and shook his head. He could not be a monk. Besides not being Catholic, he did not enjoy the thought of giving up all thought of Michelle.

He stopped walking and looked around. He was now in an even worse neighbourhood than before. He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to a place where a peddler was selling flowers.

"Want a flower, sir?" said the peddler. Max nodded, still looking around, and took the flower offered him.

"You live around here?" he asked the peddler. The man shook his head.

"Nah, I live some ways off. Sometimes, though, I sleep in that building over there." He pointed behind Max. "Nobody lives there, so I can 'ave it to m'self."

"What an atrocious building," Max commented.

"P'raps, but it's better than what I live in," the peddler snorted.

"Hm." Max walked away, turning the flower around between his fingers. A few minutes later, he came upon a beggar. He had four pounds in his pocket. He dropped that and the flower in the beggar's cup, then went home, still wondering what he could possibly do with his life.

Part 10

"Which do you prefer?" asked Max's valet, holding up four coats for his employer's inspection. Unable to decide, Max covered his eyes and pointed. Taking the article his fingers touched, he opened his eyes and grinned.

"This one will do, Kesler."

Kesler nodded and went to retrieve the necessary accessories. "You are going to the theatre, I presume," he said.

Max shook his head. "No, I am going to visit my cousins."

Kesler's eyes lit up. "Which ones?"

"Does it matter? Why do you ask?"

"Well, it has been a while since you've seen your cousin, Mrs. Blakeney," said Kesler lamely.

"I saw her just last week," said Max, eyeing his valet suspiciously. Kesler dropped his eyes.

"Yes, sir. I had forgotten. That's right."

"Kesler," said Max pensively as Kesler tipped his head back to shave him. "How many aunts do you have?"

"Two living, four dead."

"Do you expect the other two to die any time soon?"

"I should hope not!" said Kesler, biting his lip.

"So I may depend on your services next week, and the week after that?"

"As far as I can see, sir, although...." he said, pausing a moment.

"What now?" asked Max almost irritably.

"Well, you see, sir, it's my mother."

"Your mother," said Max cautiously.

"Yes, sir. You see, she, ah, well....she's got rheumatism, you know, and what with my aunts dying, she's a bit short on help."

Max felt the stirrings of pity, but desperately squashed them, remembering Brian's words. Surely Kesler would not lie to him about his mother's health.

"Now see here," he said. Kesler paused just as he was about to scrape the knife across the boy's chin.

"Yes, sir?" he said amiably.

"Now see here," Max started again, somewhat flustered. "I don't appreciate being bamboozled!"

"Bamboozled?" said Kesler, cocking his head in perplexity.

"In the last month, you have requested five holidays, all to take care of ailing relatives, and I gave them to you, did I not?"

"Yes, sir, and I am very grateful. I arrived just in time to hear Aunt Agatha's last words."

"Aunt Agatha, hm?" said Max, pursing his lips. He shook his head suddenly, remembering what he was saying. "Now, if your mother is truly in need of help, perhaps you could hire someone to stay with her. But it is awfully inconvenient to me to have to do without a valet's help half the time." He paused, wondering if he was coming off as unnecessarily cruel. "Am I being unjust?" he wondered aloud.

"No, sir," said Kesler, drawing himself up to his full height and stepping away from Max. "I understand that you need as much help as you can get with your ... toilet." Max winced. "As to hiring someone to stay with my mother, I certainly should. If I could afford it. But you don't understand, living here as you do, with your brother to take care of your needs, how much money is needed. But I don't need to tell you of my problems. It is obvious you are not satisfied with me, so, if it is all the same to you, I will go now."

"Kesler!" Max called plaintively, still sitting in the chair with his face smothered in lather. "Wait!" He grabbed the towel from the back of the chair and wiped his face as he ran after the valet.

"Mr. Callahan?" said Kesler coolly, turning around to look at the flustered young man.

"I didn't mean to offend you," said Max.

"No offense taken. I should have known you wouldn't like it if I took all that time off."

"But ... they are your family," said Max. He smiled endearingly and held out a hand to shake. "I should have been more understanding."

"But you were right," Kesler insisted. "A valet is supposed to attend to his employer's needs, and I have not, so if you do not allow me to quit, you will have to let me go, and I do not think that would be good for my short career." He smiled ruefully. Max was disappointed.

"Then you really want to leave?" He brightened. "At least stay a little while longer. Perhaps I can find you a new position. In any case, I still need a valet."

Kesler considered it, then nodded.

"Very well, sir. I will stay. But only until you find another man."

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. After he had taken a small lunch, Max headed to his cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy's, house. He was puzzled that Mrs. Darcy answered the door herself, and even more so when she immediately held two fingers to her lips, indicating he should be silent. He could hear several irritated male voices coming from the parlor.

"Hello, Max," Elizabeth whispered, with a smile. "I did not expect to see you today, but then, I hardly expected to see any of these people today."

"Who is here?" Max asked, staring at the door from behind which the voices were still echoing. Elizabeth sighed.

"Will's cousin is here."

"Which one, besides me?"

"Lord Cavendar. David. He is a trifle upset because the Duke of Carrington wishes him to dismiss Miss Dashwood."

Max was confused.

"Who is Miss Dashwood? And what business is it of the duke's?"

"His Grace is the father of the late Lady Cavendar," Elizabeth explained. "He feels Julia's memory is threatened by the young governess, or nanny, or whatever she is."

"Miss Dashwood," Max finished, nodding. "I see. But doesn't Cavendar have a brother?"

"Yes," Elizabeth smiled. "The Colonel is here, as well."

"Oh. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, but... I was under the impression that Lady Cavendar was Scottish."

"That is David's main point," Elizabeth explained. "The Duke has no right to interfere, as he did not even know his daughter for most of her life."

Max was now even more confused.

"What brings you here today, Max?"

Max hesitated. He did not want to say that was purposely filling his days with "errands" in order to avoid Michelle.

"My valet," he stammered, then recovered himself. "What I mean is, I find I have to part with my valet, and I was wondering if you have a position for him here."

It was Elizabeth's turn to be confused.

"If you have to let him go, why should you be responsible for finding him a new position?"

Max flushed.

"I'm afraid I may have offended him. He is an excellent valet, whatever Brian may say..." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "The fact is," he amended, "his mother is sick, and I'd hate for her to suffer because her son cannot keep a job."

"I see," she said, chewing on the inside of her jaw. "Well, I shall keep my eyes open, and if any situation becomes open, I will inform you immediately," she smiled. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Elizabeth reached over and opened it and a flustered young red-haired lady came in. She looked at each of them almost angrily and demanded to know where Lord Cavendar had gone. Max and Elizabeth were denied the need to answer when David himself came out of the parlor.

"Miss Dashwood!" he exclaimed. Max looked again at the young lady, wishing to know the woman who had caused such a family uproar.

"My lord," she said stiffly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that I have no wish for you to defend me to your father-in-law. I am a grown woman, and can take care of myself. If it is no longer convenient for me to remain in your employ, I shall remove myself to one of my sisters' houses immediately." Having ended her tirade, she drew a deep breath and stood up straighter.

"That will not be necessary, Miss Dashwood," said David, advancing towards the door. "I assure you that my cousin will not have any say in whom I may or may not keep in my household."

Miss Dashwood's eyes widened.

"I hope you are not implying what I think you are implying," she said lowly. Now David was confused. He stopped, halfway out the door, and ran over what he had just said in his mind.

"Perhaps we should remove ourselves to a private room," he said, recognizing the imminent danger in her eyes.

"Perhaps we should," she agreed icily. With a toss of her red curls, she stalked ahead of him into the nearest room. Max and Elizabeth looked at each other and shrugged.

"Back to what we were discussing before," Elizabeth said, "perhaps you should give me your valet's name, and where I might find him."

"His name is Kesler. Thomas Kesler," Max said. "He is usually at my house, or visiting his family, who live in Norfolk."

Darcy finally emerged from he parlor, and after taking leave of his cousin the colonel, invited Max to spend the evening with them.

"Alex and Kit will be on their best behaviour, I assure you," he added with a small grin. Max accepted just as David and Miss Dashwood's voices began to be heard, even in the hall. The three exchanged glances and picked up the conversation, attempting to ignore the argument they were hearing.

"You will not leave Matlock!" they heard David say. There was some mumbling. Elizabeth smiled at Max and opened her mouth to say something, but cringed when Miss Dashwood's voice added a few decibels and they heard,

"I do not want to come between you and the duke!"

Max, Elizabeth and Darcy gave up any pretense of not hearing them and just stood there, listening and looking awkwardly at each other.

"Believe me, my cousin will recover. It is not as if he is immune to familial loyalty. After we are married, he will have to get used to the idea."

There was a lengthy pause. Elizabeth said brightly.

"Well! That was unexpected. Shall we go into the drawing room? I believe David and his ... I dare say, intended, should have their privacy."

"I didn't know they were engaged," said Max, in awe.

"They weren't," said Darcy. "I believe that is what David calls a proposal."

"Reminds me of a pair of proposals I received," said Elizabeth with a twinkle. Max knew she was talking of something of which he had no notion, and wisely kept quiet. David and Miss Dashwood slipped quietly out of the house, and Max enjoyed his evening with the Darcys, even going so far as to engage Alex and Kit in a game of catch, which consisted of Max throwing the ball to Kit, who would try to keep the ball to himself, then Alex taking charge and trying to wrest the toy from his brother. When the toddlers grew tired and began screaming, Max decided it was time to go home.

Continued In Next Section