A few months later...

Rock'oles was not only famous, but it was also the epitome of sin. It was located merely a few minutes out of Wickhurst and it catered to many needs of the affluent lords from all over the Town.

A structure that was so magnificently carved into a giant wall of rock, its passages and chambers sculpted to perfection, Rock'oles was home to many rich men who hungered for a night of passionate bliss in the arms of its women.

Yet although it would allow entry to those who were rich enough to become members, it did not so often assure a satisfactory night for all since the women could be quite difficult.

Unlike many brothels of its kind, Rock'oles' women lived like princesses. They decided who may enter their private chambers and they said when they wanted a man. They were law.

This did not deter the rich lords. In fact, this made them even more so eager to be chosen. They'd bring the most extravagant gifts they could offer the women for a chance to be chosen and if they were lucky enough to be endowed by the women's precious attention, it would permit them the bragging rights amongst their peers for months on end.

Yes, not all may be invited into a chamber, but most could enjoy a merry time in the gaming halls with the women who would be kind enough to spend time with them outside the comforts of their chambers.

Such case was happening with Nicholas, Ralph and Maxwell Everard. Nicholas, a frequent visitor of Rock'oles, was merely happy to accompany his brothers to the place.

But unlike him and Maxwell who were hoping to be invited into one of the many chambers, their youngest brother Ralph was there for an entirely different reason.

As a Town Guard, he had been tasked to investigate a recent reopened case of illegal slavery around the Town, a case that was being secretly handled by none other than their brother-in-law, Cole Devitt.

"A source pointed me to this damned place," Ralph kept complaining as he stared at the women around them.

"You have enjoyed Rock'oles before, you hypocrite," Nicholas said, playfully pushing his brother.

"Well, yes, I did! Until our mother caught me!"

"And whose fault is that?" Maxwell wryly asked.

"Not mine," Nicholas said, shaking his head. "'Twas not my fault you slipped the name of the place during family dinner—of all time, you dolt!"

Ralph narrowed his eyes at his brothers.

"I am getting bored," Maxwell said after a while. "Where is your woman?" he asked Nicholas.

Nicholas craned his neck to look for Tania, his favorite girl. At the moment the woman was talking and laughing with another gentleman five tables away. He gritted his teeth.

Maxwell followed his gaze and let out a snort.

"Has she said anything?" Ralph asked Nicholas, voice stringent. As the youngest, it was quite difficult to take him seriously when he was being utterly serious.

Nicholas swept his fingers through his hair in an attempt to put them in place. "Well, I did try."

Maxwell scoffed as he sauntered his eyes to Ralph. "He tried. And failed. I told you it is no use."

"I truly did!" Nicholas hissed. "But you know Tania. She does have a gift of making a man forget his train of thoughts."

Ralph groaned in frustration. "You are both useless."

Maxwell glared at him. "I was not aware I am obliged to help."

"Then why are you here!"

"For the bloody drinks you promised to pay for," Maxwell shot back.

Nicholas frowned at his older brother. "I wonder why you have never been invited into a chamber before. It must be the hair, brother."

Maxwell's eyes narrowed into slits. "There are quite a lot of gentlemen with long hair."

"Yes," Nicholas said, "but they tie them behind their nape, not wear them down like a bloody curtain!"

"Bloody hell, you are both foxed," Ralph groaned, leaning back into his chair. "You are talking about hair like a pair of nancies!"

Maxwell gulped down his drink in reply. Nicholas turned his eyes to study Tania from afar.

"By the by, have you seen the Herald?" Ralph asked.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Whoever invented photography ought to be hanged and who bloody prints them on the Herald ought to be burned at the stakes."

"I agree," Maxwell said with a nod. "For a moment I thought you were our mother dressed in a coat, Nick."

Ralph laughed out loud. "That bloody ball was too crowded. Ysabella and Wakefield ought not to have allowed the Herald into their engagement ball, see? Those photos were horrible. They bloody keep printing them and it had been bloody months!"

"It was not Ysa and Wakefield who allowed that bloody old photographer into the engagement ball," Nicholas said, referring to their newlywed, "it was Mother." He turned to glare at Maxwell. "And I did not bloody look like her in that photo!"

Maxwell shrugged.

Ralph said between chuckles, "You looked more woman than Max, Nick. It was a bloody bad angle."

Before Nicholas could reach for Ralph's throat, Maxwell said, "But I did like Wakefield's photo."

Ralph and Nicholas' laughter filled the room. "Ah, bloody hell. That bruise did show, did it not? They could have printed a photo from the wedding when they had healed, but they bloody chose the horrid ones!"

"Ysa would not stop complaining about it. Thank the heavens she now lives elsewhere," Ralph said with amusement. "Good job Levi did to that eye of his."

Whatever Nicholas was about to say next was left forgotten as Tania left her gentleman companion to walk toward them. All three men straightened in their seats, their faces hopeful. But Tania had always had eyes only on one Everard brother. Her blue eyes glimmered with so much promise as she stopped to stand beside Nicholas.

"Hello, my lords," she greeted in a sultry voice. They all nodded, speechless at the sight of the black-haired beauty. She planted her hand behind Nicholas' neck and said, "I was planning to retire to my chamber," she whispered in his ear as her fingers twirled around locks of his hair, "and I was hoping you will join me, my lord."

Nicholas groaned, already picturing Tania in her bed, but he had matters he had to attend to. "I am sorry, Tania, dear," he said, gently taking her hand off his neck to rub it with both hands. "But my brothers and I are expected to be in a ball any moment now."

Tania did not hide her disappointment as she pressed her hip closer to his side. "No time to spare for me? A couple of hours, no?"

He saw Maxwell's amused look as his brother witnessed his ordeal. Ralph, on the other hand, was giving him an encouraging look. Of course, the bastard wanted him to be with Tania for his bloody case. But to be with Tania meant potentially missing the ball. And their mother would not like it at all. This ball would be the first since Ysabella and Wakefield's wedding weeks ago.

He was on the verge of giving in as Tania pressed closer.

Bloody hell.

"I am certain you can be at the ball before it ends," Ralph said, standing to his feet.

Maxwell did the same. "I'll tell Mother you have been complaining of some nature of ache," Maxwell said, voice filled with meaning.

"I do admire your brothers, Nick," Tania chuckled sexily. "They do understand needs." She gave Maxwell a wink.

Maxwell gave Tania a bow before he and Ralph left the table to leave Rock'oles.

Nicholas let himself be pulled out of his chair by Tania to exit the hall and find her private chamber.

To hell with the ball! Ralph needed his help with the case and Tania could provide answers.

In fact, the woman could provide many, many things.

His tightening trousers could attest to that.

*****

Maxine considered herself a master of containing all her thoughts to herself, even the most confusing ones.

Yet she was also one who would not stand idle to wait for answers to be fed to her the moment her patience had run its course.

For years, she had asked her father about her mother—the real one, the one who brought her into this world—and he never told her anything, not even her name.

She had tried to ask her stepmother, but the woman claimed she did not know who her husband's former mistress was.

Maxine believed her for she could still see the pain in Rachel Theobald's eyes whenever the topic of her husband's former flame was brought out. A part of Maxine felt guilty. Surely her presence was a reminder of that one sin her father had done. That same guilt was one reason why she could not call Rachel mother.

But despite the guilt and the potential to hurt her stepmother whom she dearly loved, Maxine would always jump at every opportunity to ask. And weird, really, that it would always happen merely months after the Theobald party.

It had become quite customary for her to enjoy the weeks that would follow the annual weekend party as though she had never ventured the estate before. But those weeks would soon be over and boredom would once more come and her mind would dig other things she had set aside before.

Her real mother, of course, was the favorite topic to be revived.

She found the perfect opportunity that afternoon while she was having tea with her father and stepmother.

"When do you suppose you shall be ready to tell me about my real mother?" she asked, surprising the two.

How else could she ask the question? There was no book written about how one would introduce such topic, really. And oh, she did try to find a book and encountered great failure.

She saw her stepmother stiffen in her seat and she nearly regretted having asked the question. But Rachel was used to her sudden attacks. As was her father, of course.

"I am nearly five and twenty, father," she uttered strongly. "I do deserve to know."

She had said this too many times before and the only constant change was her age. She had demanded for the same thing when she turned ten, fifteen, eighteen, twenty and so forth.

She did not truly expect him to answer her question for Eustace Theobald always found a way to change the topic. What she did not expect was her stepmother slowly standing to her feet to say, "Mayhap I ought to leave the two of you alone. Samuel must already be here anytime soon. I have to see that dinner is ready."

She saw the pleading look her father gave her stepmother. His eyes screamed, "Do not leave me here!"

Which was quite amusing to witness, really, for it was true that her father had never had to answer—or ignore—Maxine's inquiries without the presence of his wife.

Rachel merely gave her husband a gentle smile and a light pat on the cheek before she left.

When the door closed, leaving her alone with her father, Eustace Theobald glared at her. "You very well know how your mother feels about this topic, Maxine."

She nodded. "Of course. And she would not have to suffer through it again if you can tell me what I have always wanted to know."

"And what difference would it make if I tell you what you wish to know?"

Maxine stared at her father for a long time, pondering her thoughts. They had never reached this point of the conversation before. It had always ended with a mere unanswered question.

"I would feel complete," she carefully replied.

For the first time she saw her father's pale grey eyes turn helpless. "Oh, Maxine, you do know we love you. Your mother loves you."

"You mean my stepmother loves me, yes, but she is not my mother."

"But she ought to be enough."

"Yes, of course," she uttered, "she ought to be enough, but then she is not. I hurt when I see her hurt and I do no longer wish to witness it. I could stop with my questions, but you must also know that I need answers."

"And what would you do with the answers?" For a moment she saw fear flash across her father's eyes. "Would you go out and find her? Would you—"

"I simply need the answers so I would know what I to do with my life!" She did not mean to raise her voice, nor did she intend to blurt out the truth, but the desperation had returned. This might be the very last chance she would get from her father. She knew he was ready to give in. "I promise I shall not present the topic again if you answer me now. You would never have to hear me ask about her again."

Her father stared at her for a long time before he let out a heavy sigh. "What do you wish to know?"

She gulped, suddenly feeling lost. There were hundreds of questions she wanted answers to and they were all fighting inside her head to be the first to be presented. "How did you meet her?"

His jaw tightened. "At a ball."

She rolled her eyes. "Father, you do realize that this is the first time we are talking about my real mother, yes? Could you spare me the agony and be a tad more specific?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "At a ball in Willowfair," he tried once more. "Rachel and I have been married for a few years by then, but it is a common knowledge that ours was not a love match at the beginning."

She nodded. That, she knew too well. Rachel had always been open to tell the story of how she managed to make her husband fall in love with her by force.

Her father's next words surprised her for she did not expect him to provide the information. "Your mother has dark grey eyes," he said, smiling at the memory.

"And black hair," she provided.

"And black hair."

"We did not last long if that is what you believe," he said, "for Rachel found out and fetched me from Willowfair before I could commit more sin against her."

Maxine let out a snort. "Of course she did and it must be the greatest thing she had ever done."

Her father grinned. "It was, actually. I saw her in a different light after that."

"But you did not see me coming into the world as well, did you?"

He nodded. "But there was no question who shall keep you."

"And I am here," she said with a sigh.

"And it is marvelous."

Maxine could not fathom why she did not feel anything special after this revelation. Mayhap because she had thought of many scenarios of how her parents met and this story was one of the many. Or mayhap she simply did not care how they met for she wanted to know something else.

"What is her name?"

The expression on her father's face completely changed as he shook his head. "No, I cannot tell you."

"Why?"

He sighed and locked his grey eyes with hers. "Please do understand, Maxine, that it is not because I wish to deprive you of the information but because I truly cannot tell you."

"But why?" She swallowed the anger that rose to her throat. "Why can you not tell me her name?"

"Because she is from a family who would stop at nothing to destroy us should we threaten to ruin their name and that is the end of it!" Her father's voice had risen to an almost alarming level.

"You do not wish us to meet, do you?"

"No," he said with brutal honesty. "You are better off here in Theobald where you belong—here with us. You do not deserve her, Maxine, believe me."

"How can you say such a thing when you have not even tried to arrange for us to meet? It might be different. She might want to know me and I might not want to know her. It could be different!"

Her father stood up and said with finality, "This discussion is over. I hold you to your promise that you shall not raise the topic again."

"Can you at the very least tell me where she is?"

"I do not know. The last I heard of her was when she gave birth to you in Willowfair and gladly handed you to me without as much as giving you a glance. She has disappeared as fast as she appeared in my life, Maxine."

She stood up, eyes narrowed and confused. "You are lying. You know where she is."

"Even if I do, I will never tell you. You are a Theobald. Your mother is Rachel. That will never change."

She was about to open her mouth to offer a sharp retort when she heard Samuel's voice boom in the hallway outside.

"Your brother is here," her father said, turning to walk to the door. "You might as well try to be cheerful for your mother's sake. She has been waiting for this day for weeks."

"This discussion is not over, father," she said in a low voice.

Pausing at the door, her father said over his shoulder, "If you would allow us to present you to society, then I will be very much willing to continue this discussion."

She blanched. Her father looked at her and smiled. He knew he won this argument.

For now, that is, Maxine thought.

She had waited over a decade to hear about her real mother. She was not about to give up now.

*****

"How is Wickhurst?" Maxine asked her brother.

Samuel shrugged, his light grey eyes full of wicked, unspoken things. "Same old wicked Wickhurst, I believe."

"By the sparkle in your eyes, I believe you do enjoy the place," she said with a laugh. "Which leads me to wonder why you are here."

"I've missed you, of course! You would not visit me in Wickhurst so I must suffer the journey here to be with my dear sister."

She arched an eyebrow. "Or mayhap you are in hiding?"

"Of course not. From whom?"

"The Everards?" she asked and laughed when she saw her brother's horrified look.

"However did you come up with such nonsense?"

"Brother, you must know that one of our maids is related to one of theirs." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I know what you did for Ysabella and Lord Wakefield." She pointed a finger at him. "And I was led to believe the brothers did not appreciate your role in the match."

Samuel shook his head, causing his blonde hair to move with it, and rolled his eyes. "Those two would still have ended up being married without my help."

She scoffed, a smile lingering on her lips. "I did see the photos on the Herald."

Samuel groaned. "Please, let us not talk about the photos."

"Whyever not? They are quite a good change for the paper. You must be happy."

"I have to suffer the wrath of all the Everard brothers. They do not believe the photos depicted the truth. They even claim them to be farce!"

"But they are clear enough and given enough time for improvements, I am certain the articles will soon be more sensational!"

"They do not think the photos look like them!"

Maxine laughed. "Well, of course they would say that. They must have been moving while the photos were taken!"

"Well, they are a restless bunch, I tell you."

She smiled when she remembered Nicholas Everard's photo on the Herald. He did look like a woman at first glance.

"I did see the photos of the engagement ball as well. Lord Wakefield's face seemed to have a little discoloring around one eye."

"You mean a bruise," Samuel wryly uttered. "It was not ink as Ysa would lead many to believe."

Maxine gasped. "A bruise!"

"You must be warned, dear sister, that all Everard brothers are not to be trifled with."

"You mean they did that to Lord Wakefield's face?"

Samuel shrugged. "One of them did. Levi—the second oldest brother who happens to also be Wakefield's dearest friend. He was not enamored by the fact that his friend broke his own rules and dallied with his sister."

"But that is—"

"The reality of men," Samuel finished. "You ought to know what they did to Lord Ashmore, Margaret's husband."

"Well, considering what he did to their sister years before, I believe he did deserve it."

"How did you know about Lord Ashmore and Margaret?"

"You know people talk when they are in the Theobald parties, brother. I hear the gossips and put the pieces together."

Her brother laughed. "And what have you been playing as in the recent one? A footman? A maid?"

"Both, actually," she admitted with pride. "But then, you would have known if you attend the parties."

"You do know I hate them," Samuel uttered, coming to his feet. "I am quite tired. Wickhurst had drained the life out of me, I tell you, with all their gossips and scandals."

Maxine smiled at her brother. "Then go and have your respite. I shall see you when you awake. How long are you planning to stay?"

Samuel yawned as his feet led him to the door of the drawing room. "Three days, I am afraid."

Her shoulders sagged. She had been hoping Samuel could stay longer.

But her brother had a life somewhere else.

While she had none but here.

*****

The three days that Samuel spent with them in Theobald had been wonderful. For three days, Maxine felt how it was once more to be living with her brother. Their eldest, Gabriel, rarely visited for his wife would most often not allow it. The woman was Maxine and Samuel's favorite topic when they were alone and chose to be vile in private.

During the afternoons, when their mother would retire for a nap and their father busy inside his study, she and Samuel would roam around the plantation near the estate. Not once did she share with Samuel the talk she had with their father about her mother for she knew Samuel's sentiments about the woman. She chose instead to listen to him talk about the many things he had encountered while working for the Herald as one of its secret and private writers.

Samuel did not write for the gossip section as it would give their mother a faint, but he did write for the politics section which could prove to be dangerous as well. He would not discuss politics, but he did enjoy talking about trivial matters at work.

But Maxine wanted to know more of her brother's life—of why he left Theobald when he could have written from here.

The answer, of course, was obvious.

Her brother was in Wickhurst because he had found something else. He was aiming for the one thing that he could be proud of in his life, the one thing that he had to work for, he one thing their father could not give him—a legacy of his own.

So Maxine did not beg for him to stay another day when he climbed into his carriage to drive back to Wickhurst. She would not dream of begging for him or anyone to stay.

She never asked for anyone to do so, in fact.

Back in her room, blankly staring at the copy of the Herald, she wondered if the woman who brought her into this world had ever wondered of how life would be like if she did ask for Maxine to stay when she gave her away.

...she gave birth to you in Willowfair and gladly handed you to me without as much as giving you a glance...

Was it true? Did she truly not want her?

What if she changed her mind?

What if she wanted to reach out but was afraid to do so?

What if she was waiting for her like Maxine had been secretly doing so for years?

An insane idea was slowly taking form inside her head as she stared at the copy of the Herald in her hand.

It had been months since she had seen Ysabella Everard and the man who later turned out to be her husband in her corridors. Since then, the two had married and were the topic of many articles.

And since then, nothing had happened in Theobald—nothing significant that Maxine would remember for the rest of her life.

While everyone was busy living their lives, Maxine had been but a mere witness of it all.

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, considering the consequences of the insane plot her brain was suggesting.

Setting the Herald down beside her, she walked up to the mirror and stared straight into her eyes.

"What do you want?" her reflection asked her.

What do you want?

*****

A week later...

The woman stared at herself in the mirror.

Pale grey eyes stared back at her, daring her to do what she planned to do.

Drawing a deep breath, the woman in the mirror gathered her long, black mane over one shoulder. She positioned the scissors, narrowed her eyes and snapped the blades close.

The sharp snap was followed by a lingering silence.

Staring down at the long strands in her hand, she gulped.

Bloody hell, she did it.

Dropping the thick strands on the floor, she finished her task, although it was proving to be a difficult task.

Once she thought she had done enough damage, she stared at herself in the mirror.

Same pale grey eyes, same thick eyebrows, and same square jaw. But all in all, the look was entirely different.

A smiled crept on her lips. It would have to do, she thought, ruffling her now short hair which hovered just above her shoulders.

Straightening her back, she tucked her shirt under her breeches and turned away from the short-haired man she had created.

She grabbed her bag from under her bed and prepared to leave.

Clad in her breeches and boots, her bag over one shoulder, she went to her table and read the note once again.

Dearest Samuel,

I have decided to follow a friend's advice—LIVE.

Do not find me for I will find my way back. I am not certain when, but I shall return.

I have longed to do this and now I found the courage to do so.

Please allow me this chance.

I have to find her.

For now, fret not. Tell father and Lady Theobald that I shall take care of myself and it is not anyone's fault.

I love you all.

Yours,

Maxine

Satisfied, she turned away to open her window.

She threw the rope she tied to her bedpost from across the room out of the window and looked down.

She closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

She'd be on her own. She was used to being alone.

Before fear won over, Maxine carefully climbed out of her window and into the night.

It was time to leave Theobald.