Susannah reached out and squeezed Max’s hand. “I thank God for that,” she murmured earnestly.
After a moment Harold cleared his throat. “Has Miss Greentree been back to see you? She seemed like a sweet, caring girl, despite her unfortunate background.”
Susannah arched an elegant eyebrow. “Ah, Harold told me about your Miss Greentree.”
“She’s not mine,” Max frowned, when in fact he was already thinking of her in that way. “And her background is hardly her fault, Harold.”
Harold pursed his lips, and Max remembered what Marietta had said about her life being ruination and disgrace, and that everyone knew it. Harold would know; Harold knew every scandal. “Tell me,” he said shortly.
His cousin leaned forward with a certain amount of relish and proceeded to do just that. “She’s the daughter of Aphrodite—the famous courtesan, you know,” this aside to Susannah. “There were three daughters and they were taken away when they were very young, a kidnapping or some such thing; it was kept pretty quiet. They were adopted by Lady Greentree in Yorkshire, a respectable woman, one of the Tremaines, she married Edward Greentree, he was in the army in India and died there.”
“Get on with it, Harold,” Max gritted.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until recently that the three sisters were reunited with Aphrodite, which caused an almighty scandal because it turned out that the elder girl, Vivianna, was the daughter of Fraser—very rich, a brewery owner,” again for Susannah’s benefit. “But Her Majesty was persuaded to give her approval to the girl because Oliver Montegomery was in love with her and wanted to marry her.”
“Very romantic,” Susannah suggested, her dark brows arched. “What about this other daughter, Max’s Miss Greentree? Is she Fraser’s daughter, too?”
“Her name is Marietta, and no, she isn’t Fraser’s daughter. We’re not sure who her father is. Still, perhaps her unusual background might have been overlooked because of her relationship to Oliver Montegomery, except that the girl lost her heart to a bounder and ran off with him. They were never married—he abandoned her after the first night—in a public inn, evidently, with no money—and the story came out.”
“Oh dear.”
“There was yet another scandal in the family, years ago. Helen Tremaine, sister of Lady Greentree and the girls’ aunt, ran off with Toby Russell, a fortune hunter and a scallywag. But at least he married her. Made to, I should think, by Helen’s brother the formidable Mr. William Tremaine.”
“So poor Marietta has to carry about with her the disgrace of her mother, her aunt, and the bounder who led her to believe he loved her and then left her. I think that is extremely unfair,” Susannah said. Then she sighed, “Although I agree that she is completely ineligible. The best she can hope for is to marry some mill manager in the north and retire into obscurity.”
“Susannah,” Max warned.
“I’m only thinking of you, Max,” his sister continued, giving him a sympathetic look.
Max shook his head, then he laughed. “I don’t believe Marietta Greentree is looking for a husband, and if she was I don’t think she has any intention of marrying me.”
“What does she want then?” Harold asked him curiously.
She wants me to teach her about passion and desire.
But he couldn’t say that, not even to his cous
in and his sister, the two childhood friends whom he trusted above all others. It wouldn’t be fair to Marietta—their arrangement was strictly private.
“She feels responsible for me, because she was there at the time it happened.”
“In the laneway?” Susannah demanded, wide-eyed, shaken for once from her languor. “This grows worse and worse. What was Miss Greentree doing loitering in a laneway?”
“No, Susannah, not in the laneway, she was at Aphrodite’s Club. She was visiting her mother when they carried me in. All I meant to say was that she is being kind.”
“Hmm, do you think so?” Harold was watching him with an odd smile playing around his mouth.
Susannah, her beautiful face melancholy, said, “I don’t want you taken advantage of. Not when you have so much to bear already. You deserve to be happy, brother. How I wish I had never—”
“Susannah, there is no point in wishing away what is. You know I have never blamed you for what you did.”
“It was such a shock,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “If it hadn’t been such a shock I would have burned it then and there. I had begun to burn it, and then I saw what it said, and I…I thought it must be a mistake, and if I showed it to Papa then he would laugh and explain it to me. I pulled it from the fire. You can’t imagine how many times I have wished to turn time back, Max, so that I can watch Mama’s letter burn to…to ashes. If only I had let it burn.”
“Susannah, do not upset yourself,” Harold said sharply. “What is done is done, and we must move on. I’m sure Max doesn’t want you berating yourself like this.” He glanced at Max with an appeal.
Susannah was gazing between them with tears in her eyes, working herself up into one of her famous stormy and emotional states. The two men were justifiably wary of that rise in Susannah’s voice, the tensing of her shoulders, the flush that appeared on her cheeks. Over the years they had grown used to soothing Susannah.
“I will be all right.” Max felt compelled to say it, even though he knew it was nonsense—sometimes he too wished Susannah had left the letter to burn. But it had the desired effect.