Chapter Four #3
“Er, yes.” The man turned to the mandarin and spoke quickly—rather urgently, in fact—to the mandarin. The man responded, his tone as cool as the duchess’s, and Max felt his lips curve in a smile. There was nothing more entertaining than watching his mother put down a man who richly deserved it.
Ignorant of what was coming, the mandarin gracefully made it to his feet—not to bow, but to nod imperiously to the duchess as if directing a servant.
Then he spoke in clear tones which made the captain pale in horror.
There was more conversation, but the mandarin didn’t repeat himself except to stare coldly around him as if the room was no more acceptable to him than a pigsty.
Given that his mother had decorated this room herself, the man couldn’t have been more insulting if he tried.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but the mandarin says, um, he has indicated…”
“Do tell me his exact words.”
“Er, he, um, he said that he will inspect the miss’s room now. Um, to see that it is acceptable.”
“Of course,” his mother said with an arched brow. “And what else?”
“Er—”
“Try to be exact.”
“Exactly? Well, he said that his accommodations had best be of the finest quality or he shall report the insult. That, um, the Wong cohong will not share commerce with any country that gives him insult.”
Max wasn’t surprised at the man’s nerve. He clearly had a backwards sort of logic that offered a bribe at the same moment he demanded overwhelming deference. This nuance wasn’t lost on his mother either.
“Max,” she drawled, “have we, as a family, ever heard of the Wong cohong before today?”
“No, Mother.”
“And had the prince heard of them?”
“He did not appear to.”
“Very well.” She gestured to their butler. “Chiverton, please show the mandarin to his accommodations—”
“Yes, Your Gr—”
“—in the stable loft. I’m sure a bed could be made for him there, yes?”
Chiverton didn’t so much as blink. Indeed, he bowed and intoned, “Yes, Your Grace.”
It was the captain who choked, though Max thought there was a gleam of appreciation in the man’s eyes. Nevertheless, the captain was forced to try and moderate the insult. Max didn’t care to tell him that any objections would fall on deaf ears.
“Er, Your Grace, he is tasked with seeing that the lady, um, performs appropriate to her, um, role, so to speak.”
“Her role?”
“Her wedding, Your Grace. He can’t go home until he sees that. And he’ll carry tales. England enjoys good commerce with them. Silks, Your Grace. Some that, uh. Well, the tea and spices are top notch…” His voice trailed away beneath her withering stare.
“Do you know, Emmaline,” his mother began.
“What, Mama?”
“I find I prefer good English cotton. So much more comfortable. I believe I shall make it popular.” Her gaze skipped over the mandarin to the wingback chair. “Max, do help Miss Wong to the guest bedroom. I believe she would prefer to rest.”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “He, um, will want to inspect her room. So he can report back.”
The duchess waved an airy hand. “By all means. Show him her bedroom and then show him his.” And with that, she departed the parlor.
Max did his best to hide his grin. He was well aware that he might regret his mother’s impolitic reaction.
After all, Prinny had given tacit support to the man.
The prince might view an insult to the mandarin as an insult to the Crown.
But for the moment, Max appreciated his mother’s absolute confidence in the management of her household.
And so he was smiling as he once again scooped up Miss Wong.
She hissed as if in pain, but the sound was quickly silenced as she pressed her face—clacking beads and all—into his shoulder.
In return, he settled her more securely against him and found she fit nicely in his arms. Indeed, holding her like this was unexpectedly delightful.
Sadly, there was no time to revel in the feelings as—for the second time that day—he found himself in a strange procession.
Chiverton led the way, walking as if he were in Windsor Castle.
Max came next, careful not to step on the trailing swaths of Miss Wong’s dress.
His sister was behind him, gesturing to the mandarin that he should follow her.
He did with his nose lifted into the air.
Then behind them all trailed the captain, with every appearance of wanting to escape before he had to explain about the stable.
The bedroom was freshly cleaned and aired, the fabrics done in soft yellows, and the bed was large enough to please a royal. Max set Yihui down carefully in a chair by the window and heard her sigh as her feet stretched out beneath her gown.
He did a doubletake at the sight.
Her feet were so tiny! They appeared barely the size of his fist, tightened down by silk ribbons that seemed strained to near bursting.
The outline was of a strange, blunted shape, and he couldn’t tell if it were the ribbons or something else that created that impression.
Had her feet been snapped in half? Horror choked him.
She must have seen him looking as she twitched her skirts down, her eyes canted away in embarrassment. Then before he could say anything, the mandarin bustled in, shouting as he stepped in front of Miss Wong.
Max reared back, if only to give space between him and the man’s tobacco-laden breath. Then the officious man waggled a finger before Max’s eyes.
The captain rushed forward. “Begging your pardon, but he says you cannot see before the wedding. It is improper.”
“To see what? She is fully clothed.”
“Her feet, milord. They do put a great deal of stock in feet.”
Then they shouldn’t have broken them. Max folded his arms to keep himself from strangling the man. He had to get these people out of here so he could order a doctor. But his uncertain diplomatic position kept him silent. As well as the captain’s sword. Though he did glance at Emma.
“I think you and Mother should stay back,” he said in an undertone. Emma nodded her understanding, and she and his mother stepped away. Then he heard Yihui’s breath increase in fear. Odd that he could be so attuned to her.
“I won’t leave you,” he said quietly, and he had the satisfaction of hearing her exhale in relief.
Meanwhile, the mandarin made a show of inspecting every corner of the bedroom.
He opened the wardrobe and sniffed in disdain at the modest robe and slippers set there for guests.
He tested the strength of the window and even looked under the bed as if for rodents.
And every moment that he spent there increased Max’s desire to wring the man’s neck.
Eventually the mandarin finished. Speaking through the captain, he declared the room adequate. He agreed to be escorted to his accommodations, and Max was happy to follow. He couldn’t wait to see the man’s reaction when he was escorted to the stable. Even Chiverton displayed an expectant smile.
He waited to leave, though, making sure everyone departed. Then he turned to her. “Shall I carry you to the bed?” he asked. “Should I call for a doctor?”
She looked up and he thought her lips curved in a smile. Maybe. He really wished she’d take off those damn beads.
“No. Thank you.” Then she glanced at the door. “No one will come? I will be alone?”
“No one.” He smiled reassuringly, inordinately pleased that they could communicate. “I will return soon so we may speak.” And with that, he bowed deeply and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Now on to dealing with the mandarin.
He rushed down the hallway, picking up the tail end of the procession that was now descending the stairs. He got halfway before he pulled up short.
There, framed in the doorway, stood a very statuesque, very tight-lipped Lady Kimberly. His other fiancée.
Damnation. He should have taken the time to shave.