Olivia nodded.
“How did it happen?” Max asked.
“He was outside of London coming home from a friend’s party. The wheel axle cracked when it hit a rut, and the whole carriage flipped onto its door side. The coachman was thrown from his seat and hit his head on a rock.” She took a more measured sip this time. This was the worst part. “When he came to, the whole thing was engulfed in flames. There was no way to save Henry.”
Max sat silent for several moments. “I’m so sorry, Livvy. I am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that he is gone. It seems impossible.”
Olivia stared into the fire. “Where have you been, Max?”
“Most recently? Italy.”
Olivia turned her gaze back to him. “Italy?”
“Venice. I had been hired to track down a rare painting. My mother knew where to reach me.”
“Except I didn’t know where your family was either. It took months for the solicitors to track her down in Paris. And I guess months more to get the letter to you.” Months that she had been on tenterhooks waiting to find out her fate. Months of mourning. The anger that had begun as a small flame in her chest spread as she thought about the uncertainty she had lived with this last year—damn Maxwell Drake for being so careless with his friendships and with her heart.
She drained the last of her brandy and set the glass down with a thump. Well, tonight certainly was not the time to present her case to the new owner of her home. She needed a clear head and all of her arguments in place to convince Max to let her continue to run the estate as his land steward. As unconventional as the notion might be, no one knew the workings of the estate better than her, and she would tell him so tomorrow. Olivia stood. “I’ll have Mr. Daniels show you to your room. Dinner is at eight.”
Max stood as well. “I think tonight I would prefer a hot bath and a hot meal in my room. I wouldn’t make fit company for you and your friend Mr. Galey.”
Olivia nodded, relieved that she would not have to endure an evening of stilted conversation. “I understand. I will see you tomorrow then.” She turned to leave.
“Livvy,” Max called out.
Her hand still on the door, Olivia turned. “Yes?”
Max stared at her for a long moment. His brows lowered, creating a small furrow between them. “It’s nice to see you again.” Then his lips curved up in a tentative smile.
Olivia’s heart flipped over in her chest, and she frowned at its foolishness. “Good night, Max.”
Chapter Three
Max squinted athis reflection in the cloudy mirror as he finished tying his cravat. This morning at breakfast, he would do his best to be charming. Things had not gotten off on the right foot last night. Seeing Olivia again affected him in ways he had not expected. The moment she turned those doe eyes toward him, his wits had scrambled and sent his emotions tumbling back to the past. She looked beautiful as ever. Her soft blonde waves, which had, at seventeen, flowed wildly down her back, had been piled in a neat topknot, and her skin no longer sprinkled with freckles was instead pale as cream. The deep brown of her eyes made a startling contrast to her complexion. When she stood to greet him, he admired how her figure had filled out, her lush curves swathed in black silk.
Jealousy flooded his gut when he saw her and Mr. Galey embracing and reaching for each other’s hands in silent communication. Henry’s friend.Pah!Max snorted. How long had the man waited before slithering in to seduce her?
He crossed the deep carpet that covered the stone floors of the bedroom. Mr. Daniels had explained that this was the traditional suite for the master of the hall. It was in the older section, what used to be the original keep. According to the butler, Henry and Olivia preferred the modern wing of the house. Their suite in that section was where Lady Rivenhall still resided. Max picked up his jacket from the edge of the bed and slipped it on. This room was certainly large and imposing enough to be the lord’s suite. A giant bed sat in the middle of the room, sporting deep red curtains. Two large mullioned windows flanked the bed. An enormous fireplace had kept him warm last night despite the cold drafts zipping through the room making the candles flicker.
It hadn’t gotten past him that Olivia had put him on the opposite end of the house from where she slept. Or that she hadn’t exactly been welcoming, with her sharp comments and her stiff good night.
Max sighed. He hadn’t even realized that it was the anniversary of Henry’s death. Was it any wonder she hadn’t been warm and friendly? He slipped Henry’s letters into his pocket. He wouldn’t forget to give it to her this morning. Perhaps it would give her some peace. He left the room to find his way to breakfast.
Down the long stone corridor lined with iron sconces, the hallway intersected with another corridor. How the architect managed to merge the new structure so seamlessly with the old keep was truly amazing. Max ran a hand across the wall as it changed from stone to plaster at a rounded corner. Once through the archway, he turned left. He approached Henry’s childhood room, and two doors down was the room Max had always stayed in when he visited.
Because his father had been a diplomat, their family had lived in various cities throughout the continent; Berlin, Budapest, Naples, and Cairo. Max had been happy when he was old enough to go to Eton with his cousin Henry. Too far to travel home on breaks, his parents had been in Budapest then, he had always come home with Henry during school holidays. He stopped in front of his old door.
So many happy memories were had in these hallways and rooms. When they were twelve, Henry and he had been obsessed with hunting the ghosts that purportedly haunted the Hall. They’d listened attentively to all the tales Henry’s father would weave about the history of the house. And then they set out to see the ghosts for themselves.
Max laid a hand against the door. God, poor Henry. How was it possible that his life was cut so short? He was the kind of good, decent fellow that was needed more of in this world. Max’s anger and resentment had created a ball of guilt that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. These old feelings had kept him from keeping in touch with his cousin. They had caused him to ignore Henry’s letters. Now he would never have a chance to explain how he’d felt—the reason why he’d been so angry. The opportunity to repair their friendship was gone forever.
“You know, you can switch rooms if you want your old room back.” Olivia’s voice pierced his melancholy thoughts. He could hear the wry humor in her tone.
He slowly turned, his feelings still churning. Suddenly, he needed to know what had happened. Why had she never written back to him? How had Henry wooed her heart away? Had she been lonely? Had her feelings been so mercurial?
Olivia wore a wide smile, and her eyes gleamed with laughter. He was transported back to when he was nineteen and would have done anything to make her smile. She had been through enough this past year. Henry was dead, and the past was the past. It would do no good to rehash it now. He swallowed the lump in his throat but couldn’t seem to muster a witty response. He managed a weak smile and a shrug of his shoulders.
Olivia closed the distance between them, concern replacing the laughter in her expression. “I forget that you have not had the same amount of time to get used to the idea that he is gone.”