25 April 1894
Rosalie's hand was warm in his, the thin silk of her glove leaching her warmth into his palm. He was torn between finding Redmond Flynn and allowing the three of them to make a quick getaway, or facing down the men whose invisible hands had guided the course of his entire life.
As if sensing his conflict, Rosalie squeezed his hand, reaching onto the tips of her toes so that her mouth brushed the shell of his ear. "Somehow, I don't think I want to leave yet. And here, I thought this dinner party would be boring."
He smiled but winced at the jolt of pain that lanced through his face at the expression. "With you, darling, life is anything but boring."
As they stepped away from the table, his bruises aching and clothes still smelling faintly of smoke, Maximilian noted those present in the room, looking as though they were part of an elaborate and violent tableau. Lord Dennings was twirling a pistol and appeared moments away from challenging Edgar to a duel. Lady Winthrop was standing behind her brother–accomplice?–Edgar, and brandishing a bottle of wine like a club. Edgar, meanwhile, wielded a scalpel that he must have found in the "doctor's" case he carried.
"How dare you come into my house, Edwin," Lord Dennings said with cool, deadly venom. "And the nerve of you to send an agent to harm my son."
The dossier he had read on Edgar Wakefield so many months ago flashed into his mind once more. Edwin Wright. Was this the man standing before him, looking so uncharacteristically cowed?
"What would I want with your useless brat of a son anyway?" Edgar–Edwin?--sneered.
"You are his uncle, and you wish to kill him and take his place, as you are the bastard heir to Marlborough without him in the picture," snapped Lord Dennings. "And this viper–this temptress–is only in my home because you sent her here."
"That isn't true at all!" cried Lady Winthrop, her blonde curls bobbing as she stomped toward Oliver Dennings. "It is nothing but a falsehood. Edgar wants to kill your son. I wanted him to marry my daughter."
"The two of you only want my title, wealth, and estate!" roared the duke.
Maximilian almost felt a shred of sympathy for the man. After all, he was mislaying blame on Edgar for trying to kill him, when in reality he was sure it had been a botched attempt by Redmond to create a distraction for Maximilian and Rosalie to escape. Then again, his sympathy vanished when he thought of the man he might become if he had been under Lord Dennings' tyrannical thumb during his childhood.
"Your Grace!" Redmond bolted out of the door leading to the servants' passageway. "The kitchen is on fire!"
Lord Dennings sighed. "Not this nonsense again. Honestly, what sort of incompetent staff have I hired? Are you all a lot of frogs?"
Just then, Edgar rushed forward and made a swing at Redmond with his scalpel, a clumsy move that Redmond immediately blocked. "Are you, Lord Dennings, harbouring agents of the crown among your household servants? This man is a man of the law! How can you–"
"I have had enough of your antics, Edgar. Consider yourself fortunate to escape with your–"
Just as he was about to finish uttering his threat, Lord Dennings was knocked flat onto his face by a wayward burst of flame that erupted from the fiery gates of hell–that was, the underground servants' entrance, from which plumes of smoke were shooting into the air. He landed on top of Edgar, who made a noise that gave Maximilian good reason to think he had fallen on his own scalpel. The two men wrestled in a heap of limbs, each struggling to escape the burning heat.
Dropping her wine bottle with a crash, Lady Winthrop made for the nearest exit, apparently not caring if her only daughter survived. Maximilian pulled Rosalie toward the French doors leading to the garden, and felt Redmond's strong hand on his shoulder steering him toward safety. Just as his hand touched the crystal knob, he heard a croak.
"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.