Maxine thought that the brothers' plans for a hunting trip meant she could have some rest, but to her utter horror and disappointment, Nicholas ordered her to assist them with their things for Agatha would be joining them for a picnic nearby.

Devonshire had servants, of course, but they had their own duties and responsibilities. Benedict's valet had to go to the village to procure important things while the other servants were tasked to help Agatha set up tables and chairs for the picnic.

Maxine was left to carry spare riffles and bullets, both for Nicholas and Maxwell. Benedict did not need a spare as he claimed he was not positive he would even be able to shoot the one he was carrying.

Maxine would not have minded at all if only Nicholas did not think it wise to bring an extra pair of boots. Boots! How did he expect the small wooden parts of Devonshire to be made of? Thorny spikes for grasses?

She was lagging behind the three brothers as they leisurely walked to the woods. Agatha would follow suit later as she was not expected to join the hunt. Or was she? She had forgotten to inquire Benedict's valet about that particular detail.

On the way, Maxwell kept looking over his shoulder. Was he checking on her? Was he thinking that she was listening in on their conversation? What else could she do to prove to the bastard that she was anything but a female valet who would not wish for anything but reach Willowfair and find her mother?

As they reached the edge of the woods, Maxwell stayed behind and walked up to her, his steps impatient. He was already frowning at her as he neared and she quickened her steps. "Give them to me," he ordered, his arm outstretched as he tried to reach for the riffles.

"I can manage, milord," she gritted through her teeth. Bloody hell, these riffles were heavy.

He glowered at her. "What is in the bag?" he asked, eyeing her extra baggage.

"Boots, milord?"

"Boots?" he incredulously asked.

"Lord Nick's, milord."

He rolled his eyes and snatched the riffles from her shoulders. "Give them to me."

"Milord, I can—"

"We shall not be hunting anything at your pace," he snapped at her before he turned to join his brothers. "Nick! Why the bloody hell did you need an extra pair of boots!" she heard him ask his brother.

"I can bloody carry anything I wish!" Nicholas snapped back. "And why are you carrying the riffles? Where is Max?" Nicholas looked over his shoulder with a frown.

Maxine sighed.

"Your bloody incompetent valet is lagging behind," Maxwell uttered, walking up to Benedict to join him. "Hurry on!"

Nicholas laughed. He turned around to face Maxine while he walked backward. "Can you shoot, Max?"

"Of course—" Maxwell started to answer but realized his brother addressed a different person. He stopped to glare at both Nicholas and Maxine.

Maxine focused her gaze on Nicholas. "I am afraid not, my lord. I fear I might miss and hit something else—or rather someone else," she said before pointedly looking at Maxwell, brow arched. At the back of her head she knew she must not provoke him, but his murderous glare was provoking her as well!

"Ah, too bad then," said Nicholas. "We could use another player to join us. Ben is not a good hunter, see?"

"With merely one riffle, I shall prove otherwise," the eldest of the brothers replied without looking over his shoulder.

They had now reached the edge of the woods.

Feeling quite lost, Maxine stopped where the picnic had been set up as the brothers trudged on ahead into the woods. She had never hunted before, nor was she prepared to know her task as a valet when the masters were out for such sport.

"Stay there and wait, Max," Nicholas cried over his shoulder and she nodded with enthusiasm.

Good. There was no way she would survive a hunt. Maxwell might suddenly be possessed and think of her as his prey.

*****

Nearly four hours later, the three brothers emerged from the woods with two dead rabbits.

"Rabbits?" Agatha asked from her table. "We heard numerous shots ring out earlier and you merely managed two rabbits?"

"Do you have anything bigger than a fly in Devonshire?" Nicholas asked, shaking his head with disappointment. "I caught these two," he said, motioning for Maxine to retrieve the rabbits.

Maxine obliged, albeit unwillingly. She heard Maxwell scoff as she carried the dead rabbits away to the side. Ah, bloody hell, why did men love killing things!

"Benedict tried his best but missed every prey, of course," Nicholas was saying, taking a seat around the picnic table. He crossed his leg over the other as he finished, "And Maxwell decided to sit on a rock and wait for the hunt to be over."

"You did?" Agatha asked Maxwell with a laugh.

"No use wasting bullets for mere rabbits," Maxwell replied, sitting beside Benedict.

"What have you been doing while we were trying to prove our manly spirits in the woods?" Benedict asked his wife.

Agatha smiled. "I just arrived an hour or so ago. Ayah was quite restless and she refused to sleep."

"She is not sick, is she?" her husband asked with worry.

"No. She is sleeping now as we speak." Agatha motioned her hand at Maxine. "I was asking your valet, Nick, where he came from when the three of you arrived."

"Truly?" Nicholas asked.

Maxine nearly groaned with frustration. Benedict Everard's wife had been paying her too much attention since she arrived at the picnic site.

"I was previously employed by the Theobalds, milady," she replied, ignoring Maxwell's intense gaze from the side.

"The Theobalds? They live merely a few miles away from here."

She swallowed. "Yes, I believe so, milady." She focused her attention on Lady Devonshire.

The woman was not precisely beautiful, but something in her was striking. Mayhap the eyes? Agatha Everard had the most striking topaz brown eyes she had ever seen.

A knowing smile lifted the woman's lips. "You must feel quite discomfited by my questions. I beg your pardon."

"It is fine, milady."

"I am always curious about service people as I have been one myself."

Maxine was aware of it, of course. Benedict Everard had caused quite a big scandal by marrying his sisters' governess many years back. It had made Maxine curious when she read the articles. There were really still people in the Town who would risk everything for love.

It had brought many bothersome questions then. Had her mother not loved her then? If she did, she would have risked everything to keep her, yes?

But there were very few people like Benedict Everard. He had the riches and the status to cause a scandal and survive it. Mayhap her mother never had a choice. Or mayhap she simply did not want anything to do with her.

"Max waited on me last Theobald weekend party. I asked if he would like to be my valet in Wickhurst. He arrived months ago," Nicholas was saying, drawing Maxine away from her thoughts.

"But I must ask, valet," Maxwell started, shifting in his seat to face her.

"He has a name, Max. It is Max," Nicholas corrected before laughing.

Maxwell glared and ignored his brother. "I was trying to ask where he came from. And I do not mean the previous employment, of course."

Maxine swallowed. She wanted to throw the man a murderous look but she could not do so in the presence of his family.

"Willowfair," she replied.

"Willowfair!" Nicholas uttered in surprise. "Truly?"

"Yes, milord," she said. "I was born there, but I can barely recall anything as my father took me to Theobald when he... where he was employed as a footman."

"Ah, like father like son, eh?" Nicholas asked.

She nodded. "Yes, milord."

Until the picnic was over and the family decided to continue their small rendezvous inside the estate as suggested by Benedict after he noticed that his wife had left her spectacles in the manor and demanded that she retrieve them at once before she later complained of headache, Maxine avoided Maxwell's assessing gaze.

But as they walked back to the manor, Maxwell brushed Maxine aside to carry the riffles, grudgingly saying, "You could barely carry dead rabbits," before walking away.

Maxine let it pass as what he said was true. She had never encountered a dead animal before.

She could not remember how she managed to walk fast to the kitchen to deposit the rabbits or how she found the room she had to share with the driver to change her uniform to be free of the smell.

The one thing that made her day end fairly well was the thought of Willowfair.

She had to endure yet another long journey, but she would eventually get there.

The driver was snoring in his sleep when Maxine closed her eyes with a smile.

*****

"Max can handle himself, Max," Nicholas uttered as they both stood in the doorway of their brother's estate, ready to leave. "Ah, I do love that he is called Max. Is it not funny?" his brother added with a laugh.

"I merely said he is too inept," Maxwell wryly uttered. "Look how he handles the luggage, for God's sake."

"He is a good valet," Nicholas said, patting his shoulder. His brother started to climb down the stairs to enter the carriage while the valet and the driver finished securing the bags. "Cease complaining about my valet. And he shall be fine riding with the driver."

He followed his brother into the carriage. "I would not lift a finger if he falls to the ground."

"He will not. And who lets their valets ride inside the carriage? Have you bloody lost your mind?" Nicholas asked with an incredulous scoff.

Maxwell sighed and looked out the window. Agatha was carrying Ayah in her arms, Benedict beside them. He gave a short wave and leaned back against his seat.

"Well, you managed to convince Benedict to postpone any engagement with Osegod," Nicholas said as the carriage drew away.

"Yet he is still willing to hear the bastard out," he grumbled.

"A matter I find satisfactory. We cannot let a good opportunity pass, brother."

"You mean to say an opportunity to walk away from the wrong path?" he asked.

"Always cynical, Max. Always cynical," Nicholas said, shaking his head and clucking his tongue in resignation.

*****

Maxine jumped off the carriage the very moment they stopped outside a tavern in the village of Cromwell.

She waited until Nicholas and Maxwell disappeared into the tavern before she stretched out her arms and legs. The driver did the same with a groan.

"I do not know why we must take the longer route," the driver said with a groan. It would merely take two days if we went back to Marsden, see?"

"Who ordered to take this route?" Maxine asked, wincing in pain.

"Lord Max, I believe."

"Of course," she said wryly. She could almost picture the man talking to his brother about taking a longer route to avoid imaginary enemies. What was with Maxwell Everard and his suspicious nature, really?

"Come on, lad," said the driver, pulling her by her coat.

"But the luggage—"

"—can wait," the driver said. "We must get supper first, aye?"

She heard her stomach grumble. "Aye!" she answered. "The luggage can wait then."

But merely minutes later, she and the driver returned to the carriage with disappointment. Food would not be ready in two hours.

"Two bloody hours!" the driver exclaimed as he climbed on top of the carriage to grudgingly pull the bags. He threw the first one down for Maxine to catch.

"I am famished," Maxine said when the last bag was on the ground. She sat on the one of Nicholas' luggage to rest. The driver was leaning against the carriage.

"Should've taken the basket of bread the maid in Devonshire offered," the driver said.

"Then why did you not?" Maxine asked in horror.

"Thought they were cooked with potion!"

"Potion? For what?"

The driver's face turned serious. "She had been lookin' at me as though I am an angel from aboveground, lad. You should've seen 'er face! She was try'na seduce me that's what!"

"Seduce you!" she cried out in disbelief. "But they were food, you fool!" Maxine could not help but laugh. "Potion," she added in disbelief.

The driver leaned closer to whisper, "Have you not heard? Lady Devonshire was once rumored to be a witch. Her servants must've taken a lesson or two, see?"

"You jest," she said with a laugh. "Witches are not real."

The driver shrugged. "And I was merely tryin' not to get in trouble with me wife, see?"

She scoffed. "Ah, yes, of course. I almost forgot you do not live with us in the estate. You come by every day for yer job, yes?"

"Aye," he uttered with a nod.

"And Lord Nick is fine with it?"

"'Cors he is," the man replied. "I know his schedule. I am by the driveway before he even wakes."

"What are you doing?" a voice rang from above.

Maxine and the driver jumped to their feet in alarm. She looked up and saw Maxwell Everard glaring down at them through the window.

"Working, milord!" she replied.

"That is not how it seems," he snapped. "Get the luggage upstairs!"

Before she knew it, he had disappeared from sight.

"Tell me, my friend," Maxine asked the driver, "who is my master, really? That bloody bastard or Lord Nick?"

The driver laughed and gave her shoulder a pat. "Go on before you find yerself out the door and without a post."

"But he could not fire me!"

"He might," the man said with a shrug. "Go and give the man what he wants and come join me for supper."

She nodded and looked down at the luggage before her.

With a groan, she bent down to resume her work.

*****

She deliberately took her time attending to her true master, delivering his luggage inside his room and helping him change his clothes, a task she once found quite difficult. It was fairly easy if one could get used to it, really. She simply had to focus her eyes on the back of his head as he stripped and put on new clothes.

"You may retire for the night, Max," said Nicholas after she had arranged his clothes. "I am not leaving my room until the morrow. My dinner shall be served here. I will not be needing your services."

"Very well, milord," she said.

He gave her one of his disarming smiles. "Good night, Max. And I do apologize for my brother. He is not your master, thus do not mind his cynical remarks."

"No need for apologies, milord. I have gotten quite used to your brother." A lie, of course.

Nicholas laughed. "Good for you then! I have never gotten used to him at all! The more I spend time with him, the more I am inclined to believe he is from aboveground!"

Maxine smiled and bowed.

Leaving Nicholas meant going to his brother. As much as she wanted to join the driver down for supper, she must deliver Maxwell's things first for she was certain the man would not give her rest if she deliberately forgot about him.

Moments later, she was knocking outside his door. When it swung open, Maxine grabbed his bags from the floor and said, "Good evening, milord. I am here to deliver your things as you have strongly ordered earlier."

As expected, he was glaring down at her, his dark, long hair a curtain at both sides of his face. A very angry lion, Maxine silently noted.

She honestly expected him to grab the bags from her and slam the door at her face, but he did not. He took a step back and said, "Put them over to the bed."

Maxine prayed for patience as she drew a deep breath and entered the room. A shiver ran through her when she heard the door close behind her.

She deposited the bags on the bed and turned. "Good night, milord," she murmured, her steps hastily taking her to the door.

"Not on the bed, valet. Put them on the floor."

She made a sharp turn to return to his luggage and drop them on the floor. She started for the door once more, steps filled with intent. All the while, she kept her head bowed to maintain composure and patience.

"I am not done with you, valet," Maxwell Everard's voice said and she looked up to find him leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

Maxine was desperately crying inside. What had she done to deserve this? It would be a very good welcome to have Nicholas Everard act like this toward her, but not this one brother—never! He scared her beyond belief and her courage had almost reached its limit.

It would kill her if she lost all control and she would shiver with fear in front of him. Or worse, beg him to spare her!

"I am not going to murder you," he snapped, taking in her reaction. He motioned his head to one side of the room. "Sit."

Maxine turned her head and found a small table with two chairs. On top of the table was a tray of food.

She cleared her throat to conceal the involuntary grumbling of her stomach.

Maxwell Everard spoke once again, his voice cold and authoritative. "I said sit down, valet."

Maxine dragged her feet to the chair.

Bloody hell, the food smelled good!

"I assume you wish to interrogate me, milord?" she uttered when he did not speak. "Can you please do it fast for I have not taken my supper yet and I am famished," she added, stealing a look at the tray before veering her eyes back on Maxwell.

He pushed away from door and walked toward her. He took the other seat across the table.

She scoffed in disbelief. "You wish to interrogate me while you have your supper? Truly, milord, I do not wish to suffer from both hunger and your irrelevant interro—" the rest of her words were left unsaid when Maxwell pushed the tray toward her.

"Eat," he ordered.

She blinked in surprise, not believing her ears.

Irritation crossed his emerald green eyes. His dark mane and thick brows did not help smooth his features either. "Eat, valet."

"When I said I am famished, milord, I did not mean you ought to give me your supper."

"I have already taken my supper," he snapped. "Eat."

She looked down on the tray. And suddenly she remembered the conversation she had with the driver. Was the food mixed with potion, perhaps?

She mentally shook her head.

Of course not, you fool! It must be poisoned, her mind shouted.

"I said eat, woman! How bloody stubborn could you be?"

"But why are you offering me food?" she could not help but ask.

"Because you have to be full as you answer my questions," he reasoned. "Eat."

Her jaw tightened. "I have lost my appetite."

His right brow cocked high with warning.

Maxine sighed and stared down at the food with longing once more. "Are you certain this is not poisoned?"

"What?" he incredulously asked.

She did not answer and picked up the fork and knife. If this food was poisoned, she prayed that she would have enough strength to stab him with the knife later before her last breath. She cut a piece of meat and was about to take put it in her mouth when she paused.

"What now?" Maxwell Everard snapped at her.

"If you truly plan to interrogate me, would you care to ask the questions while I chew? I would hate to answer with my mouth full."

"Stop with the sarcasm, woman, and eat."

"You must realize this is awkward, yes?" she asked.

"You do not have the right to feel awkward," was his fast reply.

She fed the piece of meat into her mouth and almost closed her eyes at the taste. It had been quite a long time since she had eaten meat! Why did she leave Theobald again?

Maxine was surprised Maxwell Everard managed to wait until she was halfway through her supper before opening his mouth.

"You say you are looking for someone. Who?"

She sighed with disappointment. Of course, he could not wait until she finished. This man truly did not like wasting time, did he?

Maxine took her time chewing her food, enjoying Maxwell's impatient glare. Swallowing, she reached for the glass of wine and sipped.

"Answer," he ordered.

"My mother."

She hastily forked more meat before he could recover from his obvious shock.

He frowned. "And why do you find the need to pretend to be a man?"

Ah, an easy question. She swallowed, drank wine and answered, "Because the world is less cruel to men."

"And where do you suppose your mother is?"

She chewed more meat and this time she took more time as it was a bigger chunk. Swallowing, Maxine gave her reply, "Willowfair."

His brow rose once more. "So you were not lying."

"When I said I came from Willowfair? Of course I was not." She stuffed her mouth with a bigger piece of meat. Mayhap she must finish this supper as soon as she could. Another set was waiting for her downstairs anyway.

"This travel is convenient for you then."

"Very much so," she replied with her mouth full.

His face was even curious now. Surprisingly, the anger had diminished. "And what do you intend to do once you find her?"

"Talk to her and return home," she honestly replied before she gulped the rest of her wine.

"And where is home?"

Her eyes slanted with annoyance. "I'd rather not answer."

"You have been doing quite well, valet. Do not raise my suspicion once more."

"Where I return home is far from Wickhurst and the Everards. That is all you need to know, milord, as I am quite certain that is all you are concerned about."

"And how can I be certain that you do not go home to a place where they are awaiting for your report?"

"On what, milord?" Her face crumpled with disbelief. Truly, how pathetic could this man's imagination get? "Report on what? On how the Everard brothers waste their time? How they throw up into a spittoon? On how their brothers-in-law were fetched by their wives after a night at Grey's? On how you all hunt rabbits?" she asked, assuming an innocent look on her face. "Is that the report you wish me to relay on—who is it again that you believe I shall be reporting to?"

Maxwell's eyes narrowed. "Do not test my patience, woman."

Maxine clapped her hands to together, feigning a happy smile. "Ah, mayhap you wish me to report about the life of the Everard servants? I do have a ton to say about them, see? One maid fancies a valet she barely knows, a footman fancies that maid, a butler fancies that maid as well, the housekeeper is a bad cook, the other maid is besotted with one of the brothers—a matter I am inclined to correct very soon—and what else? Ah, of course! I almost missed the important detail about the carriage driver!" She slapped a hand on the table, her face forming a sardonic smile. "He snores in his sleep!"

Without warning, Maxine stood up, ignoring Maxwell's deadly gaze.

"I have enough of your suspicions, milord, so please, if you can, do give me the time to reach Willowfair so I could prove to you that everything you think about me is naught but farce and uncalled for," she managed in a calm, controlled voice. She turned and walked to the door, ready to eat another supper with the driver downstairs.

Maxwell Everard was quietly listening to her tirade but his voice stopped her when she reached the door.

"Where have you been sleeping in the entirety of this journey?" he demanded, voice bare and dry.

"In a room, of course."

"You said the driver snores."

"He does. Would you like to hear it? You are welcome to come by our room later if you wish to—"

"And where are you going now?"

"Downstairs, milord," she said, turning the knob and pulling the door open.

She squealed in surprise when it slammed close before she even took the first step out. She whirled to find Maxwell standing behind her, a frown on his face. "You are a woman."

She understood what he meant, of course. She scoffed and lifted her chin. "And you are the only one who is aware of the fact, milord. For everyone else, I am a man who is expected to sleep in the same room with another male servant."

"And you have been sleeping with whom in Nicholas' estate?"

"Albin the footman, of course." She shrugged. "He does not snore if you wish to know."

He reached behind her and locked the door. He pocketed the key. "You sleep here tonight."

Her mouth dropped in horror. She looked over at the bed. She whirled back around to try the door. The bloody bastard locked it indeed!

"I shall bring down this door if you do not open it."

"You can barely manage to carry two bags up and down the stairs," Maxwell Everard uttered, loosening his cravat. "Trust me, woman, you cannot break down that door."

With as much patience she could muster, Maxine drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. "As much as it is tempting to sleep on a bed, milord, I do not think it is proper at all that we share the same room!"

He frowned. "Who bloody said you will sleep on my bed?"

She blinked with confusion.

"Get the covers from the closet and sleep on the floor," he ordered, throwing his cravat to the side.

"I do have a cot in the room I share with the driver, milord. What makes you believe I would prefer to sleep on the floor, in your room, with your presence?"

He whirled to face her, his eyes murderous. "Because I order you to."

"You are not my master—"

"Ah," he said, his face lighting up with a sudden smile, "but I am the only one who knows of your secret."

Maxine's jaw tightened. Her hands balled into fists.

"Why are you doing this?"

He merely raised his brow and shrugged. She started to panic. What did that shrug mean? She found she could easily read him, but that one gesture she found quite confusing.

"They might find out and—"

"Should I go out and knock on Nick's door? I am certain he would like to hear about your secret." He was taking his shirt off. Her heart started to hammer.

"I have supper waiting for me downstairs," she said in desperation.

He threw his shirt to the side. "You just had one."

"But I am still hungry and—"

Maxwell walked to his bed. "You sleep in this room, woman, or we both go out and face Nicholas."

"As I have said, milord, they might find out and wonder why I slept—"

He took the key from his pocket and slid it under his pillow. He grabbed the other pillow and threw it at her. She caught it as he said, "Then do your bloody job and get up early before everyone here starts thinking I am a nancy. And turn the bloody lights off."

Maxine turned to face the door. She tried the knob once more. Leaning her forehead against it, she vowed to someday take her revenge on Maxwell Everard.