Susanna picked up an embroidered pillow from next to her and threw it at Miles’s chest. “Get out of here, you two. Leave us be.”
With identical expressions of surprise, both men quickly made their retreat.
Chapter Thirty-One
Max lifted theopener and sliced the seal on Henry’s letter. Then he took a deep breath and unfolded it. He couldn’t bring himself to read it, and he wandered over to the window. After a moment, he returned to his chair. The letter lay in his lap while he studied the fire in the grate.Fuck it.Max began to read.
If you are reading this, then you are Rivenhall, and I am dead and buried. Perhaps my maudlin mood these days is what has me thinking so much about death. But can you blame me? My father has died, your father has died, and you might as well have died for all the endless silence I have received in return from my letters. I genuinely mourn our friendship, you bloody bastard.
Max ran a hand through his hair and stood. He paced to the fireplace. Henry’s words were ripping his heart out. Then, with a sigh, he sat back down.
You are now the caretaker of Belhaven, for better or worse. If Daniels is still around, make sure he gets a proper pension when he is ready to retire, which might be never. His age is still a mystery to me. The same goes for Mrs. Peabody. Make sure to hire someone decent to be the land steward, as I know you have no earthly idea what you are doing. I’ve had to fire Mr. Wentforth for being a despicable bastard. Since then, Olivia has been handling the estate, quite capably, I might add. She is always full of surprises and is the best of friends, which I cannot say about you any longer.
Speaking of Olivia, this is my final directive for you. Stay away from her, you selfish bastard. You hurt her deeply with your damned silent treatment. I have had to pick up the pieces of her heart. I have had to protect her. I have provided a generous income for her future, so you just leave her be. You don’t deserve her.
Henry
Max doubled over in pain. Henry’s words felt like a punch in the gut. He tried to breathe through his nose. He was going to be sick. Besides his father, Henry’s opinion was the one he valued most.You don’t deserve her.It echoed in his head. Straightening, he walked over to the window. The snow-covered gardens slumbered. The weather was too cold to start any melting. Everything seemed frozen in time.
Yesterday Olivia came home from her friend’s house in the early evening. She had crossed the drawing room and kissed him hello in front of his whole family. Everyone’s mouths had dropped open, but Max didn’t care one wit. He relished having Livvy’s lips claiming his. Later that night, her lips had been on much more than just his lips. She had thoroughly seduced him, body and soul.
He crumpled Henry’s letter and threw it into the fire. The devil with him. He didn’t get to choose for her. Henry didn’t know the whole of it. Max had fucking written her dozens of letters. Perhaps he should have come home and confronted her when he didn’t hear back—realized that something had gone wrong. But dammit, at nineteen, he hadn’t the maturity to think past his hurt feelings. And then, when he heard about their marriage, well, the anger at his cousin had consumed him. He knew it had been immature to throw away Henry’s letters. Regret rose bitter in his throat.
A knock at the door interrupted his self-recriminations. He turned. Olivia stood in the doorway. “Are you all right? Your face is like a thundercloud.”
Max battled to school his features into what he hoped was a welcoming expression. He held out a hand. “You are exactly what I needed to see. Come here and let me kiss you.”
She moved across the room with a smile. He bent to kiss her, but at the last moment, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. He sucked in a deep breath of her light floral scent. Her hand came up to brush her fingers against the nape of his neck. “Max, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. Then he took a step back and forced himself to smile. “I have news that I think you will be happy to hear. Yesterday, I had an idea about the contraband in the bookshop. I went to visit Mr. Buxley while you were at the Westons, and I asked him straight out about the origins of the brandy, paintings, and lingerie. As I suspected, he said that during the war he had been approached by local smugglers looking for a temporary place to store their goods en route to northern counties. They paid him upfront but never returned for their crates. He figured they had perhaps been killed. All these years, he has been too nervous about his part in the illegal activities to ever do anything about the crates. So, I told him that I could sell everything for him.”
“You did what?”
“I have a contact in London that handles contraband goods. I have worked with him on several jobs in the past. I believe he will give me a fair price. I estimate that everything together could garner a nice sum, certainly enough to keep the bookshop open for quite a while. You’re welcome.” He spread his hands wide. Mr. Buxley had been quite cheered at the prospect.
Olivia paced away from him. When she turned back, her hands were on her hips, her mouth set in a thin line. “I wish you had spoken to me before just swooping in to save the day.”
He was confused by her aggressive posture. “I thought you would be happy that the bookshop didn’t have to close. You said it was important to the community.”
She paced to the desk and turned to pace back. “I planned to offer Mr. Buxley for the shop. I was going to use part of my nest egg to buy him out so he could retire. So, the bookshop could be mine.”
“But why would you need to own a bookshop?”
She raised her hands in the air. Her voice rose. “What else am I to do with myself? I need a purpose, a plan for my future.”
“A plan for your future. I thought we had begun something new together…” Max’s chest constricted.You don’t deserve her. She will never trust you after you deserted her.He shook his head. “I can see now that you never intended to take a risk on us. You were planning your backup plan the entire time.”
She shook her head wildly. “No. Max, that’s not it at all.”
But they both knew that was a lie. She had been running away from her feelings from the first time they had made love. He had done an excellent job at seducing her into his bed, but he’d done a damn clumsy job of stealing her heart.
She stepped closer; her hand reached out for his. “What I mean is that the two are not exclusive of each other. Max, we have only just begun to know each other again. You said yourself I cannot continue to live here with you. It is entirely improper. Your family expects you to be in town for the social season and see your sister out into society. I need to find a house in Marbury and some purpose in my life outside of Belhaven Hall. I was hoping the bookshop would be that purpose.”
All he could hear over the pounding of his heart was that she was leaving, that what he felt for her was entirely improper. What an idiot he was to believe that she loved him still. Romantic notions of her being his countess, of their children running through the gardens in the summers, and coming to ask him to tell them all about the ghosts of Hall faded like mist. He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’ve already promised Mr. Buxley the sale of his items. So, you will need to work out any agreement you want with him directly.”
Max stepped back from her touch, and his gaze darted to the door. He needed to leave before he found himself on his knees, begging her to love him. “I need some fresh air. I leave in the morning for London.”
“Do you have to take the contraband yourself? How long will you be gone?” Olivia asked.