Chapter 49
Etta opened her eyes and looked around. Oh yes, the church. She was safe, and she was dry, and she was angry. Very, very angry.
She stretched, feeling a rumble of hunger wrack her stomach, then counted her meagre possessions again. No money, no food, no hope. She was going to have to go crawling back to London somehow – probably a long, dangerous walk, with no Google Maps and with no food or water either.
She felt no small amount of self-pity, but even more anger. With herself, yes, for her rash decision-making. But also towards Max.
How dare he? How very, very dare he? He’d managed to avoid getting caught having a midnight tryst and insane drunken trifle sex with her, but he couldn’t avoid being seen snogging Clarissa Bloody Best in a corridor?
It was her own stupid fault she was here in this freezing cold church in Dover, she knew. She’d acted rashly and running away had never solved anything. But it was his bloody fault, too.
Etta got up, her back cracking in pain as she lowered her sore feet to the cold church floor, and looked around to see him right there in the church doorway: the architect of all her woes.
She leapt up from the pew, ready to take Max to task, but the world swirled around her, blood rushing to her head, sadness overtaking her rage.
He was handsome. So very, very handsome. And so very, very not hers.
It was the last thing she thought before her legs went from under her.
The first face she saw when she opened her eyes was Charlie’s. ‘Good god, she’s dead! Don’t die, don’t die!’
She was lying on the ground, Max’s coat under her head. She recognised the smell of him, comforting, against her face.
‘She’s not dead, Charlie – she fainted. Here, she’s coming round.’
Charlie grabbed Etta into a hug, pressing her against him.
‘Don’t worry, Charlie, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for leaving you. I was so upset, and then I was robbed and didn’t have any money to get back and … well, thank god you’ve found me, is all.’
Max looked relieved and almost tearful. Surely not?
She waited for him to say something – anything – but he just knelt there, completely still, staring at her.
‘And you!’ With a lot of effort, Etta raised an accusatory finger in Max’s direction. ‘You … You … Cheating bastard!’
‘Let’s get you home, Etta,’ said Charlie, helping her to her feet. ‘And you don’t need to worry about marrying Max, or seeing him again, if you don’t want to.’
At this, Etta turned her face away and began to cry herself, her world collapsing all over again as she remembered everything.
‘I can’t marry him anyway, Charlie. He’s engaged to Clarissa Best. He’s the only person alive in this world who understands any of it, and he’s gone and ruined everything by snogging the face off that … that … horrible friend.’
Charlie patted her arm awkwardly. ‘Well, about that …’
‘I bloody well am not marrying Clarissa Best! Not that harpy! How could you think that?’ Max’s voice rang out too loudly in the empty church, and he checked his tone. ‘I’d rather die!’
‘Go tell everyone and their dog then, since the whole bloody world was there with me watching you stab me in the back!’
Max looked incensed. ‘I can hardly help it if the awful girl launched herself at me when I was making my way back from the privy, can I? Doesn’t mean I have to bloody marry her!’
‘Because you’re a man, I suppose,’ Etta said in an accusatory tone.
‘Yes, and in this case I’m extremely glad of what you will no doubt consider a grievous double standard.’ Max paused, clearly trying to calm his temper. ‘Anyway, my father forbade it.’
‘He did?’ Etta eyed Max suspiciously, feeling a beat of hope thump in her chest. ‘So he knows about her, then?’
‘She had the audacity to turn up to our house.’ Max frowned. ‘You should know he hates Lady Best. He chased her and Miss Best out of the house. He’s off buying you a parure as we speak.’
‘What the hell is a parure?’
The two men looked at her appraisingly.
‘Full set of diamonds, sis,’ said Charlie. ‘Tiara, necklace, earbobs, you name it.’
Etta couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Why on earth would he do that?’
Max bit his lip. ‘It seems you made quite the impression on him at the refreshments table of the Baxter ball.’
‘On your father?’ Etta gasped. ‘Oh god. I didn’t realise that was him …’
She hardly knew how to continue; she dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.
‘Well, now the lot of you are trying to buy me!’
‘No, my father is. I can’t promise you anything more than my unending love and devotion, Etta.’
She staggered, still unsure on her feet, but Max was there to steady her; she felt his hand cupping her chin as he forced her to look into his eyes. She looked up to see him staring at her earnestly, Charlie fading into the background.
‘Will you, Etta? Will you forgive me?’ He took a breath. ‘Will you love me, as I love you?’
Etta stared back at him, her eyes dark with emotion, hair floating wild in the breeze of the draughty church. They drew closer together until there was barely an inch between them.
‘I will give you anything. Everything I have is yours.’ Max’s voice broke, as he stroked her cheek with one hand.
‘You must know you already have my heart, but you can have it all. My house, my vote in the Lords. Hell, if you’re really set on going to France, I will travel with you there – or anywhere else you wish to go. Please.’
A tear ran down his cheek; she reached up to wipe it away.
‘Do you really love me?’ she asked. ‘Do you really want to marry someone like me, Mad Hetty Bainbridge?’
‘No. There is no Hetty Bainbridge. I want to marry you, Etta. You have made my world brighter with every part of you. I cannot live without you: your outrageous remarks, your remarkable music – even that ludicrous tiger.’
Etta sobbed. ‘Then yes, of course. I can’t live without you either. Please take me home, Max. I love you.’
Before she knew it, she found herself being enthusiastically folded into the most passionate kiss of her life. She tangled her fingers into Max’s hair, willing the moment never to end, before a light cough from Charlie brought them both crashing back to earth.
Max leaned against a nearby pew with a light groan of relief. ‘Thank god for that. Oh, Etta. My Etta.’ He wrapped his jacket around her carefully and then paused thoughtfully. ‘Do you think Mrs Baggins will share the trifle recipe after this?’
Etta beamed and leaned forwards, giving Max one last, brief kiss loaded with promise. Life had never felt so bright.
Charlie made a noise of mild disbelief behind them. ‘What the hell is it with you two and that bloody trifle? Honestly.’