Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,47

have killed him to send word? Something? Anything? Just to let her know he wasn’t drowning in a deep pit of despair all alone.

Then go seek him out.

The obvious solution to her problem had also been there since late morning and was the loudest and most insistent current thought in her head. She had been ignoring it out of pride, knowing doing that would tip him off to the fact that she cared about him. Much more than was probably wise. Max had become her friend, companion and, to herself at least, she was prepared to acknowledge she had developed a teeny bit of a tendre for him against her better judgement and entirely at odds with her cynical attitude towards romance. Hardly a surprise when he filled his coat and breeches so well, when he had a voice which made her insides melt like butter and expressive dark eyes which called to her soul.

The wretch.

She absolutely did not want him to know that.

Effie was an acquired taste. She understood that. And understood only too well she was quite capable of sending him running for the hills if she mishandled things by thinking out loud—something she had always done with alarming frequency throughout her life and which managed to damage every fledgling friendship she had tried to nurture. Her inadvertent openness and obvious desire to be accepted was a bit too much and nearly always put people off. It was the reason she was never invited to anything beyond the events everyone was invited to any more and why she had been left on the shelf to gather dust. For now Max tolerated her and that meant the world.

So did his sister...who seemed to enjoy her company and spoke to her in a manner which suggested they were friends, too—or at least she thought they were. Eleanor had asked only yesterday if she could borrow Effie’s copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s The Italian because there were apparently only serious books in Rivenhall’s extensive library and she was in dire need of something salacious. Those were the sorts of things friends did...

The Italian!

She could deliver the book! Why hadn’t her enormous brain thought of that simple solution earlier? It was perfectly innocent and perfectly believable—meaning she wouldn’t have to come off the least bit clinging or needy at all. If anything, it made enquiring about Max an afterthought at the very most and, as long as she didn’t look desperate, he would be none the wiser that she cared.

Deciding she had no more time to waste on worrying, Effie rushed home to fetch the volume.

* * *

Dashing back across the pasture with it in her hand, within half an hour she was knocking on the front door and less than a minute after that she had been greeted by a slightly drawn but smiling Eleanor, who welcomed her with open arms.

‘Effie, how lovely to see you!’

‘I brought your book.’ Be subtle. ‘I was going to give it to Max today, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him so thought I should deliver it instead of taking it back home. I didn’t want you to have to suffer another day with nothing salacious to read.’ Undoubtedly too much information, but at least her features felt nonchalant.

‘That is very thoughtful. Would you care for some tea?’

Not having any of the answers she had come for yet, Effie enthusiastically nodded and Smithson was dispatched to fetch it. The tray came back with just two cups upon it, which threw up more questions about the new lord of the manor which she had to bite back so hard it hurt.

‘How is your quest going?’

‘Good. I believe we have located the door and while I cannot conclusively prove the house is round, it’s already a semicircle. But we... I...am making progress.’

‘Splendid.’ Eleanor took a sip of her tea to cover her suddenly uncomfortable expression before smiling over-brightly. ‘I am glad it is all moving in a satisfactory direction.’

Effie’s bad feeling was getting worse because Eleanor still looked distinctly uncomfortable and her conversation was suddenly stilted when she was normally so open and sunny. Unless Eleanor had decided to tire of her