Maxine knew that Willowfair was not as big as Wickhurst, but it had its own charm and flair as one of the most affluent towns.

She had never been here—as she had in all places of the Town apart from Wickhurst—but she could picture herself walking its streets. It was not as busy as Wickhurst. As a matter of fact, it was quieter here.

Although the people who roamed the streets wore the same clothes and the buildings seemed as tall and large, there was a different kind of calmness.

"You must be tired," said the driver as he guided the horses to turn right. "You slept late and you woke up too early."

She swallowed. She had lied to the man, of course, for she did not spend the night in the room she was supposed to. He merely concluded that she came in late while he was already sleeping and woke up earlier than him and she did not correct him for how could she? How could she ever explain why she slept in her master's brother's rented room?

But the driver was correct when he said she must be tired for that was what Maxine was at that very moment.

Spending the night inside the same room as Maxwell Everard was probably the longest night she had to suffer. Not merely did her mind refuse to give her rest, but her senses did not also let her sleep. The bastard slept soundly the entire time. She counted the hours until she thought it was time to shake him back to his senses and demand that he give her the key, which he did by throwing it on the floor before he returned to sleep.

"You did eat your supper, yes?" the driver asked. "I made certain they put it aside for ye when you did'na return."

"Yes," she wryly uttered. She ate it for breakfast.

The man clucked his tongue. "I could not imagine what you'd have to go through in Willowfair, lad. These bloody balls could truly drain a valet. And they do intend to stay a few more days after that, aye?"

She sighed. She could already picture herself running about to fetch everything for Nicholas. He was a very picky dresser. She merely had to experience waiting on him as he prepared for two balls in Wickhurst and they were not very fond memories. He would change his coat every bloody minute and find things in his shirt he did not like before he left which would lead to more running and fetching whatever it was he wanted.

But she had packed the best suits for him and she hoped he would find them satisfactory as she had plans of her own.

The carriage drew to a stop outside a large townhouse. "They rented this place?" the driver asked.

Maxine nodded. "Yes, for the ball."

"Bloody rich bastards."

Maxine grinned. "It is fully staffed as well."

"Bloody rich bastards indeed."

She scoffed and jumped out to open the carriage door.

"Ah, finally!" Nicholas cried out, stretching his arms and legs on the pavement. "I am too bloody tired."

"You did not do anything," Maxwell snapped as he stepped out of the carriage.

"The bags, Max," Nicholas ordered, following Maxwell up the stairs to enter the door held open by a serious-looking butler. "I meant Max my valet, Max, not you," he added with amusement.

"Bloody tarnation, Nicholas, shut up or I'll make you," Maxwell replied over his shoulder.

Maxine watched as the two brothers disappeared into the townhouse. The butler stepped out and said, "Do you need help?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she shamelessly replied.

The man nodded. "I shall have the footmen come out and help. You must be tired."

She merely smiled. Thank God for kind servants!

"Let the footmen take the bags, sir," said the butler. "You must have all the rest you can before the rest arrives."

Maxine stopped cold. "The rest?"

"Of course! The rest of the Everards!"

She felt blood rush down to her feet. "T-the Everards?"

The butler looked at her with confusion. "You are not aware? They always stay in the same townhouse for the Macy ball."

She cleared her throat to catch her breath. "This is the first I am aware of it."

"Ah, you seem new. Mind not, sir, you have a full staff to help you!"

Maxine gulped. She felt a pat on her shoulder. She turned to see the driver staring at her with pity.

No, she was not to be pitied for she felt far worse than that.

She was beyond horrified!

*****

"How is Ben and Aggie?"

Maxwell veered his eyes toward Emma and waited for Nicholas to reply. When his brother did not, for he was currently having a conversation with Cole Devitt and Margaret, he sighed and uttered, "They are fine."

"Fine?" Alice Everard asked with a frown. "Fine is not a good word, my dear."

"Max saying fine means Ben and Aggie are doing marvelously great," Ysabella said from one corner. Her husband, Wakefield, nodded in agreement.

"And my grandchild must be marvelous as well, yes?" their mother asked, her blue eyes glimmering.

"Of course," he said, eyes now roaming around the parlor. "Where is Ralph?"

"He is out, of course," Emma replied with a sigh, opening her book with disinterest. "Work, he said."

"He is meeting McKenzie Haverston," Margaret added, standing to her feet. "Which reminds me that we must leave, Cole," she added to her husband.

"Meg, we just arrived," Cole reminded her.

Margaret narrowed her eyes. "And Fiona is excited to see the Haverstons, her cousins most especially." She looked around. "Where are the girls?"

"Upstairs with their governess," her husband replied.

"Fetch them."

"Are they not staying here with us?" Ysabella asked.

"No, we are staying with the Haverstons in the duration of our time here. Fiona needs to be with her family, dear."

Maxwell watched as his sister gave their mother a peck. Before she left, she turned and walked up to him. "Did you talk with Ben?"

Maxwell frowned. "How did you know?"

"How did I know about Osegod?" she whispered.

He waited for her reply.

"I have my ways," she said with a shrug. "What did Ben say?"

He saw their mother looking at them from her chair. "Why don't we talk about this at a more convenient place?"

Margaret sighed and nodded. "Very well, then. I shall see you soon." Her sister looked over her shoulder and murmured under her breath. "I do not wish to go to the Macy's because the Trilbys will be there, but I have to put a face for Cole is in need of connections."

"I understand."

His sister looked him in the eye. "We cannot have Osegod attached to us, Max."

He nodded. Margaret did the same and turned away to leave.

"Well, who would like to go to the park?" Ysabella asked, jumping to her feet. Her husband turned the other way, pretending to study the painting on the wall. "William?" Ysabella asked.

"Yes?" her husband asked absently, feigning to grow a deeper interest on the painting.

"The park?"

"What park?"

"The park I wish to go to. Now."

"We just arrived, Ysa," he said, still looking at the painting.

Maxwell shared a look with his mother who seemed to enjoy the moment.

"I will take you," said Nicholas, jumping to his feet.

"I will stay," Emma said.

Ysabella frowned at her husband. "William?"

Wakefield finally tore his eyes off the painting to face his wife. He gave her a smile. "Of course, darling, whatever you wish." He stood up with a groan.

"But wait for me," Nicholas said, ringing the bell. The butler arrived. "Do tell my valet to bring down my coat."

"You have found a valet?" their mother asked when the butler left.

"Yes," Nicholas said with a smile. "He worked at Theobald."

"Must be a good one then," their mother said. "Rachel and Eustace hire only the best."

Maxwell could not help but scoff.

His family turned to look at him with a frown.

Nicholas grinned. "Max does not like my valet."

"Why?" Emma asked.

"They share the same name," his brother replied with a laugh.

"I wager you hired the man because of that one shallow detail," Ysabella said, taking her husband's hand in hers. She pulled Wakefield toward the door. "We shall wait for you outside, Nick."

Just as Ysabella and Wakefield were exiting the door, the valet came rushing in. Maxwell watched as she jumped away from Ysabella and bowed her head as the couple passed by her.

He frowned when he saw her sigh of relief the moment Ysabella and Wakefield were out of the room.

"Ah, there you are, Max," Nicholas uttered with a laugh.

"You must be so happy every time you summon your valet," Emma wryly uttered, watching the valet help Nicholas into his coat, a bloody difficult thing to do in Maxwell's opinion as the valet kept her head bowed as though she was suffering from a bad neck injury.

Their mother merely laughed as Maxwell scowled at Nicholas.

"Thank you, Max," Nicholas said, chuckling. "Are my clothes ready for the ball tonight?"

"Yes, milord," the valet replied, head still bowed.

She was far too nervous in the presence of his family. Why?

"Good, then," Nicholas said, "Do have your rest for now. I shall be back later after a walk in the park."

"Yes, milord," she replied, bowing before leaving the room.

Nicholas looked at Emma, Maxwell and their mother with a satisfied grin. "That was my valet named Max."

Their mother laughed, Emma rolled her eyes and returned to reading, and Maxwell gave his brother a murderous, dry look.

Nicholas walked out of the parlor just as Ysabella shouted for him to hurry.

"I pity the valet," their mother said with a chuckle.

"Why?" Emma asked.

"Why, of course your brother must be letting him do the smallest of things simply because he enjoys ordering Max around!"

Maxwell shook his head and stood up. He went up to his mother and kissed her dark head. "I will take a nap. And I hope to sleep until the ball is over."

His mother lightly slapped his arm and pointedly uttered, "Do that and consider yourself without a mother."

He turned to Emma. "Is your dance card empty?"

"I shall remain empty," his sister said in a bored tone.

"Good," he said as he walked to the door.

"I can never expect grandchildren from the both of you!" he heard his mother's frustrated cry when he stepped into the corridor. The woman might be telling the truth.

*****

Dressing Nicholas Everard for a ball could be considered one's greatest feat, but for Maxine it merely meant freedom for hours thereafter. The man would not be home until the wee hours. She had long surmised the fact that Nicholas Everard was born to enchant the streets during the night.

She may fancy him for his good looks and kind heart, but she could never imagine herself as a wife to someone such as him. It was never nice to wait until he arrived from wherever he spent his nights.

But waiting on Nicholas and helping him prepare for the ball had its advantages. For one, she managed to stay away from the rest of the family, including Ysabella and Wakefield who could potentially recognize her. Second, she did not have to suffer Maxwell Everard's calculating and provocative gaze.

"What the bloody hell is taking you long?" a voice boomed outside Nicholas' bedchamber.

"Have pity, Max! I am almost done!" Nicholas shouted back as Maxine carefully tied his cravat. "Are you certain you've practiced enough?" Nicholas asked her.

"Yes, milord," she said with confidence. "I have asked Albin for help."

Nicholas waited until she was finished and turned to the mirror. His handsome face alighted with delight. "Very good, Max!"

Her face flushed. "Thank you, milord."

The door shook as the impatient Maxwell rapped on it once more.

"Bloody hell!" Nicholas cursed, striding toward the door. He flung it open and for a short second Maxine met Maxwell's eyes. They had not talked since that morning he threw the key at her. Her eyes waved and she looked away to focus her attention on a candlestick.

"Let us go," she heard Maxwell snap at Nicholas and when she turned, the brothers were gone.

She stared at the empty space outside the doorway and waited until she could not hear anything at all but her breathing.

Everyone had left.

Jumping to her feet, she rushed out of Nicholas' chamber and briskly walked back to the room given to her. The driver was not in the room, of course, as he was driving the family to the ball.

Maxine drew in a deep breath and walked to grab her bag from under the bed.

She opened it and pulled out something covered with linen wrapper. She returned to the door, looked out into the corridor and smiled with satisfaction. She closed it once more and locked it.

Walking back to her things, she pulled at the linen wrapper and stared at the magenta gown before her.

It was time for yet another guise.

*****

Maxwell was looking out into the center of the dance floor, watching Ysabella and Wakefield dance a waltz, all the while intent on avoiding eye contact with a group of mamas and their daughters.

"Do they see us as a tableful of feast?" he heard Ralph ask Nicholas.

"No, they see us as a tableful of money," Nicholas uttered with dread. "How do I survive this night?"

"A pair is coming your way," Ralph said in haste.

"No, our way," Nicholas hissed in panic. He turned to Maxwell. "Would you like to dance, Max?"

Maxwell glared at Nicholas. His brother guffawed and pulled Ralph away, saying, "Come, brother. We must avoid hell at all cost!"

Maxwell saw a pair of mother and daughter stop in their tracks, disappointment on their faces as they watched Nicholas and Ralph rush to the other side of the ballroom. Before they could turn and see Maxwell, he turned to walk up to Margaret who had been standing with their mother and Emma and some acquaintances.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, standing beside her.

Margaret nonchalantly turned away from the group she was with. She motioned her head to the left. "He is with the Head of the Men of Courts of Willowfair, of course." He followed her sister's gaze and found Cole Devitt talking with an older man and a few others.

Tearing his eyes off his brother-in-law, Maxwell checked those nearby. Emma and their mother seemed not to notice them so Maxwell said under his breath, "Have you seen him?"

Margaret nodded. "He is with the Trilbys. Far corner, right side of the room."

"Is that why you are here?" he asked, nonchalantly looking around the guests dressed in their best gowns and suits.

"Why are you asking?"

He stole his sister a glance. "I know the League is investigating him."

Margaret appeared distraught but she quickly recovered with a smile. "I am not here for a mission, Max," she said under her breath. "And I have long decided to stay out of the Osegod case."

"Then you must tell Ben to cease interacting with—" he started to say, but his eyes caught something and he stopped.

"What?" his sister asked.

His jaw tightened as his eyes followed the woman across the room.

"Max?" Margaret asked.

"I shall be back," he murmured and without warning, took off.

He circled the dance floor, eyes still on the woman.

He could start to feel his blood boiling inside as he neared. She was quietly standing behind a stone pillar, unseen by most.

But he saw her and he could not deny that it was her.

She may have changed into a gown and made attempts to don her hair, but she was the same woman.

He walked around the pillar, out of her sight and stopped right behind her as she poked her head to the side, watching a group of guests standing in one corner. He looked down at her magenta gown and nearly scoffed when he saw her boots peeking through the hem below.

His eyes travelled up, feeling absurd that he was surprised she was shaped as a woman after all. Her bare arms looked fair and smooth that he almost reached out to touch them to be certain. Her hair she managed to pull up with pins.

She had done well, but not extravagantly enough to have allowed her entry into this kind of ball.

How she got in without an invitation was the least of his concern. His greatest question was what he must find answers to, especially when the subject of her interest were the very same people he and his sister were talking about moments ago.

"If you do not tell me who you are or why you are here," he started, a cold smile creeping up his lips when her shoulders stiffened at his voice, "I promise you shall be in a big trouble," he finished.