Olivia Twist(21)

Max chuckled before answering, “Ah yes, that scruffy little mutt. I think I only argued to distract you from his dilapidated state. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t live through the night.”

“He was pretty beat up, wasn’t he?” Olivia shook her head as Max led her to a bench tucked into a stand of trees, their brilliant orange and crimson wrappers shivering in the wind. “But he was scrappy! I knew he’d fight his way through.”

“That he did,” Max commented as she tucked her skirts around her legs to make room for him on the narrow seat. She patted the cool stone, inviting him to sit, before he settled his lanky frame beside her.

“Oh, but you hated that I chose to name him after Brom Bones.” Olivia pictured that tiny pup, large chunks of his black-and-brown fur missing, blood soaking the rest. He’d captured her heart from the moment she’d found him shivering in the alley behind Millie’s Bakery.

“If you were going to choose a name from “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” with those skinny legs and giant paws, Ichabod would’ve been a preferable appellation. I could never understand why you’d want to name a pet after a villain.” Max shook his head, as if he were still in disbelief.

“But Brom Bones isn’t a villain at all. He’s simply misunderstood.”

“That’s what you said then too.” Max plucked a scarlet leaf from his coat, his thoughts seeming far away. “That was the day I knew I wanted to marry you.”

Olivia’s breath hitched, and she had to force herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “Why?”

“Because as I watched you tend that battered little mutt, you were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He swallowed, his throat bobbing convulsively as he took both her gloved hands in his. “Olivia Brownlow, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He lowered to one knee before her and she searched his face. This was Max, with the same neatly combed brown hair and lanky limbs he’d had since they met at twelve. He was kind, had impeccable manners, and always wore just the right cravat to complement his waistcoat and jacket. She admired Max. She even loved him, but she didn’t feel fluttery inside at the prospect of seeing him, or find excuses to touch him, or long for his company. She wasn’t in love with him.

Olivia was unsure what she wanted for her future, but a lifetime as Max’s wife—designing the perfect place settings for dinner parties, keeping his house running with precision, throwing extravagant balls—didn’t appeal to her in the least. Especially now.

If she said no, she would not only crush the hope in her friend’s eyes, she’d lose the opportunity to support Uncle Brownlow when he needed her most. At their current rate of expenditures, Uncle feared they would need to downsize homes again and lay off the staff within six months.

But as she remembered Max’s thin lips on hers, a shudder scraped across her skin. “Max, I—”

“I know you see me as a friend, Olivia. But I believe in time that I could be more. Your uncle shared with me your past . . . that your mother ran away with your father, a lowborn inventor.” Olivia shifted on the bench, the cold of the stone seeping through the layers of her dress. “It was a bit of a shock, as you can imagine. Especially how your mother died. Horrible stuff.”

Unable to understand why her uncle would share this part of her past, Olivia sat frozen, Max’s words like nails driven into her brain. Decorum and social standing were everything to the Grimwig family. How shocked would they be if they knew she’d been raised in a workhouse and then lived as a thief on the streets?

He moved back to sit on the bench beside her, keeping her lifeless hands in his. “But I’ve worked through it, and there’s no reason why Mother and Father need to know. No one needs to know. It can be our secret.”

“Secret?” she muttered. “And you’d still stoop to marry me?”

“Well, yes. Your unfortunate birth is not your fault. I understand, since your mother died in labor, that your occasional breaches of comportment are due to your lack of feminine influence.” He smiled with confidence. “But not to worry; my mother is an excellent teacher, and I’m sure she’ll take you under her wing.”

“Unfortunate birth?” Olivia pulled her hands from his and stood.

“Olivia?” Max shot to his feet and reached toward her. Olivia stumbled back, grabbing on to a branch to break her fall. She moved away from the tree and continued to put distance between them, walking backward and shaking her head in denial.

“No, you don’t understand.” Max followed her. “Olivia, I swear I won’t tell anyone . . .”

Olivia picked up her skirts, turned, and ran blindly down the path.



He couldn’t do it.

Jack stalked down the darkened hallway, too annoyed to keep to the shadows, as he knew he ought. There had been no mark planned for this party, but he needed a distraction from what surely was about to transpire below stairs.

He had known for days about Maxwell’s intentions and couldn’t do anything to stop the inevitable, but he’d rather pull out his fingernails one by one than join the engagement celebration and act as if it was a match made in heaven. A match made in hell, more like. That bloomin’ tosser couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper sack, let alone keep up with a force of nature like Olivia Brownlow.