Chapter 33
Max was long gone by the time Etta went down to breakfast. A note slipped under her door had read simply: We must talk – later. It was unsigned. She supposed anything more would arouse suspicion with the servants, but it was thrilling to see his elegant, masculine handwriting nonetheless.
At breakfast she discovered that on his way out, Max had invited her family to go and see a balloon ascension that morning – and he’d promised a surprise.
Etta had expected the huge striped balloon and the crowd of awestruck spectators, but as their family’s carriage drew up to the crowded park just outside London and Charlie offered her his arm, she spotted Max there with something – someone – unexpected.
She was tempted to be jealous, but there was no mistaking the tall, dark-haired woman sitting next to Max. She stared first at the stranger, then at Max. ‘You never said you had a sister.’
Both Max and his hitherto completely unmentioned sibling grinned, Max apologetically and his sister in amusement.
‘Oh, that’s exactly what I’d expect from the both of you,’ said the woman, looking between Max and Charlie fondly.
‘Out of sight, out of mind. I daresay neither of you remember the time you went through my desk and ruined my best watercolours either. Or the time Charlie put all my dresses on and got caught by Nanny.’
‘You must be misremembering, Lizzie,’ Charlie said, bowing neatly in greeting.
Max grinned. ‘Miss Bainbridge – let me remind you of my older sister, Lady Elizabeth Mackinnon.’
‘Delighted to meet you again at long last,’ said Max’s sister.
‘It’s fair enough, you know, since I’m tucked out of the way in Scotland with my husband most of the time.
We can’t have seen one another since you were perhaps six years old, when I went off to Finishing School in Switzerland.
I’ve come to London to our house here for my confinement, though. Do excuse me for not getting up.’
Etta noticed for the first time that Lady Mackinnon was indeed heavily pregnant as they shook hands. ‘Gosh, I’m surprised you’ve come so far away from home. I suppose there aren’t any hospitals nowadays, are there?’
The other woman looked at her curiously. ‘No, not for— well, I shall see our doctor, of course. Besides, I wanted to see the balloon. I’m most interested in aeronautics.’
Etta felt her brows rise involuntarily. ‘Are you? Most women I meet around London seem most interested in ribbons and glaring at me in the park.’
‘Ha! Oh no, not I. Gosh you were completely right when you told me how amusing Miss Bainbridge is, Max. Well done.’
Etta looked questioningly at Max, but Charlie was calling him over to inspect the balloon.
Before Etta could say another word to him he was completely out of earshot.
He seemed to be dissuading a determined Charlie from attempting to climb in the balloon basket.
Etta wondered what he was thinking – if he was regretting what had happened last night.
What was the etiquette for this kind of scenario? Her mother’s copy of Debrett’s had left her as clueless as she’d been before she picked it up that morning.
Max’s sister turned back to her. ‘Call me Lizzie – everyone else does.’
‘Only if you call me Etta.’
Etta couldn’t deny she was massively pleased to find herself a new friend who was anything but insipid. Etta quizzed Lizzie on everything aeronautical. Even in 2023, Lizzie would have known a lot. She was livelier than her brother, but shared the same deadpan humour that Etta loved about him.
Huh. Loved about him. Interesting word to think of there. She tucked it away for later.
‘So, you’re quite a favourite with my brother, then?
’ said Lizzie, her voice ripe with gossip.
Etta couldn’t help smiling in return. Lizzie nudged her.
‘I warn you, you’re in for a rough ride.
He never does what he’s told. My father wishes for him to marry someone very traditional, like Miss Maria Marley. ’
Etta snorted. ‘Why, does your father not like him very much?’
Lizzie’s eyes widened, and Etta briefly worried about having gone too far; then her new friend laughed, openly and loudly, just like her brother.
‘Not right now, he doesn’t, but the old curmudgeon’s bound to come around. He’s all bark but no bite – Max always gets what he wants in the end.’
‘I’d love to meet your father. I bet he’s one of those old guys you can charm the pants off just by being a little too honest,’ said Etta.
She heard Lizzie cough on her wine. ‘Um, not quite, I’m afraid. It’s better to handle our father with kidskin gloves, we’ve found.’
Etta was unconvinced. Older people loved her. She’d spent a summer in her teens volunteering at a care home and always homed in on the battle axes.
After the balloon set off – most impractically, Etta and Lizzie agreed, compared to the intriguing idea Etta had floated of a powered winged craft – they all headed off for lunch at a nearby inn.
Max had thought ahead and booked them a private parlour, as well as a large spread of cold meats and cheeses.
Delighted, she plonked herself down next to Lizzie and started making herself a sarnie, chatting to her amazed new friend about the infinite sandwich-related possibilities the breadth of Max’s spread had opened up. This was the life.
And yet … a tingle of nervousness rattled across her skin. She couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of Max beneath her, her hands against his body, her mouth against his. She had all but handed herself to him on a platter. She hoped she hadn’t gone too far.
When Etta went to the ladies’ room, she felt Max’s eyes on her and wasn’t too surprised when she emerged to find he’d followed and waited for her in the corridor.
‘Miss Bainbridge, we need to talk,’ he whispered.
He looked cautiously around before pulling her into a dark corner.
She gripped onto his arms to keep from tripping.
‘Last night. I am heartily ashamed of my behaviour. Of my complete lack of control. I must reassure you that of course I’m going to ask your brother for your hand as soon as is prudent. ’
Her fingers stilled on his arms and she suddenly felt cold with panic. She stepped back from him.
‘You’re going to ask him if you can marry me?’ she whispered. ‘That’s a bit … intense … isn’t it?’
‘But you – you absolutely must of course marry me …!’ She could see fear begin to overtake him as, for the first time, he appeared to question himself. ‘Etta, we … coupled … or as good as.’
Etta was starting to feel claustrophobic.
Heat was flooding through her, creeping under her skin.
Yes, he was hot as hell. Hotter, even. And of all the people she’d met in 1817, Max was undeniably her favourite.
She liked him a lot – more than she was comfortable liking anyone.
But she hadn’t really known him that long, had she?
To marry him now … And because he felt he had to, out of obligation!
She hadn’t even given him a full test drive in bed yet, for god’s sake. What if he was all bark, no bite? Etta bit her lip, remembering his hard chest and dark eyes. She could always teach him, she supposed. That would be fun.
All the same, this had not been part of her plan.
She’d had a five-year plan, back in 2023.
It had been recommended to her in some book or other, so she’d bought a sunflower-patterned notepad in Paperchase specially.
The plan was to meet a nice man at a party or a pub.
An architect or graphic designer – someone vaguely arty, but not a vegan.
Maybe they’d share a blinding flash of eye contact then awkwardly look away.
She’d meet his Home Counties parents at the end of Year One.
Then perhaps in Year Three they’d share a one-bed flat in Ealing.
The hope was that by Year Five the graphic designer/architect would be a senior partner in his architecture/design agency, and they’d move out to Essex or Sussex or something ending with ‘ssex’ and have a lovely little two-up, two-down with Farrow and Ball painted walls and Scandi floor lamps.
Getting married to an extremely rich and privileged Regency nobleman she’d only known for a few weeks had not featured in the sunflower notepad.
‘Etta, please say something,’ said Max, trying to decipher her expression.
‘Eh-uh,’ said Etta, feeling like Jeremy Paxman ending a particularly vicious round of University Challenge. Oxbridge vs Lincoln, perhaps. Without another word, she turned and left.
If she was still in 2023, Etta would simply have been able to book herself an Uber and cry into a pillow for the rest of the day, but in 1817 she had to sit quietly through lunch, then claim to have a headache so she could retire home.
Her mother and brother clearly knew something was up between her and Max, but also seemed to recognise she needed some time to think about it.
‘You rest, my dear, and all shall be well. Nothing needs to be decided in a hurry, after all,’ her mother said kindly, as she pressed a lavender bag into Etta’s palm and kissed it.
Both of them were being remarkably generous, Etta realised, if they knew anything about what was going on.
It was 1817, after all, and now she thought back through the last weeks – or was it months, even?
– she guessed that she had been spending a lot of time with Max.
They had to know there was more to it by now.
And what would be so bad about being married to him anyway?
On the face of it, he was rich, generous, kind and definitely seemed like he’d be on board the ‘equal rights’ train.
She was sure being married to Max could be wonderful.
But like so many heroines of the romantic novels she adored, she couldn’t just marry someone ‘because we coupled’.
It would feel transactional. Like he was doing her a favour. Ugh.
She thought back to his face. His expression as he said goodbye to her after lunch. He’d looked how she felt. Awful. Was marriage to her really that terrible a proposition?