Dear Future Husband

48. The Hotel Westminster

"Help... me..."

His blood ran cold. It was Edgar, or Edwin, or whatever name he was using now. At his side, Rosalie froze, and he yanked open the door, urging Redmond to bring her with him.

"No!" she said. Her blue eyes were wide, pleading. They wrung every drop of pain and heartache from him. "I won't leave you."

His heart clenched in his chest. "I will return to you, Rosalie. I always have."

She must have seen the resolve in his eyes, because gave his hand a final squeeze in lieu of a reply, and left reluctantly with Redmond.

Smoke filled the dining room, engulfing the twelve-seater table and assortment of chairs. He pulled up his shirt, breathing through the sweat-dampened collar, and knew he had made his decision. Trying not to cough, Maximilian stumbled his way towards Edgar, keeping low to the ground. The man's voice had rung out in his nightmares and haunted the fringes of every good memory for years. Yet he could hear God's voice, as clear as the drumbeat of his own pulse.

I still have a plan for him, as I do for you. My Son died for his sins and yours alike, Can you trust me, Maximilian?

Yes. Hard as it might have been, he could.

"Please..." Edgar said, his voice thready. "Don't... leave me. I'm under the... table. It fell on me when I... struggled with Dennings."

"Where are you?" he said, his voice muffled through his shirt.

"You, boy?" Edgar sounded shocked. "Why would... you return for... me?"

Following the sound of his voice, he seized the older man underneath the shoulders and began dragging him out from under the heavy oak table that had indeed, fallen sideways on him. A smear of blood on the floor was faintly visible through the smoke, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth and continuing. When he was freed from the enormous table, Edgar staggered toward freedom, leaning heavily on Maximilian's shoulders. Finally, they made it to the door, and he shoved it open, breathing the fresh air of the garden.

Eyes stinging with smoke, his skin soaked with sweat, he barely noticed when Edgar spoke to him between hacking coughs. "Why did you save my life?"

He sighed, doubled over with his palms on his knees, and caught his breath enough to speak. "Ask the Father. I am only His servant."

***

Maximilian Walker's eyebrows had been singed off while pulling Edgar Wakefield out of the house fire.

This alarming observance was brought to his attention by Rosalie, who was sitting on a settee next to him in the lobby of the Hotel Westminster, where Redmond had gotten a room. Her mother was nowhere in sight, and hadn't been seen since they had made that dastardly escape from the burning townhome of Lord Dennings. Meanwhile, after fleeing with Rosalie and Redmond, he hadn't seen Edgar since.

Thankfully, Redmond had assured him that he'd alarmed all the servants before the fire had reached its peak, and had rushed them out of the exits safely. He still shuddered at the memory of the fire, though he'd had a change of clothes and a real doctor to tend to him in the days since.

"Did you just say that my eyebrows are singed off, Miss Winthrop?" he asked, turning to look at her. Redmond was supposed to be chaperoning them, but had abandoned the task in favour of speaking to the concierge to procure train tickets back to London.

"Indeed, I did, Mr. Walker." Rosalie's primness, and the way she folded her hands in her lap, made him smile. It was so unlike her–so unlike the girl he knew–that he almost wondered how much she had changed in the years they had spent apart.

He wished for a lifetime to learn.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to abandon me entirely as a suitor and find a more appropriate gentleman," he said with a teasing lilt. "I am entirely unsuitable now that I lack the proper amount of facial hair."

She broke into a laugh. "Well, maybe it is your penchant for reckless, bordering on foolish deeds, that disqualifies you for the position."

"Reckless and foolish deeds? I have no idea what you could be speaking of!" He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning ignorance. Rosalie had already fussed over him in the French hospital, a heartwarming combination of chastisement and concern in her tone. He was only grateful that her father had not seen fit to come to Paris, seeing as they would return to England in a matter of hours today anyway.

"I may have a taste for adventure, Maximilian, but... I am afraid a taste for danger, especially when it involves your life, is too much for me," she said, twisting the pink gloves she wore.

"I understand," he said. "But I felt, in the moment, as though God were calling me to save him. Something about leaving him there, to die alone... Even after al the horrid things he's done to me, and Lord knows there are plenty..."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Who am I to question the Lord's calling?"

Just then, Redmond returned carrying the train tickets in an envelope. "The two of you are not married, and your father would have my head, Rosalie, if I allowed you to be seen in such a scandalous position in public. Truly, I fear I gained half a head of white hair simply following you around Paris, Maximilian."

"A half head? That seems rather exaggerated," he said. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," Rosalie said brightly.

Trunks in hand, they made their way back to England.