Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,77
to another—even if that other was a servant paid to suffer it.
Gingerly, he walked towards the mirror and making sure he was stood with his right side to the wall, he moved just the edge of the sheet to one side. The waistcoat wasn’t too bad and his cravat was straight if a little boringly tied. The black coat his sister had also selected fitted well around the shoulders.
So far so good. And probably best if he left it there.
Except for some reason he couldn’t.
He let his eyes move upwards.
Good grief, his hair had got long! So long it practically touched his lapels. And since when had it decided to curl? As there was no way he could envisage facing anyone without it to hide behind, he supposed it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as if he could grow a beard instead. Thanks to the burns, he no longer needed to shave the ruined side of his face and half a beard would be both pointless as well as ridiculous.
He risked tilting his chin slightly and was amazed the pasty invalid he had come to expect was no longer present. Thanks to all the digging he had a tan. Not as deep and as brown as his skin was prone to turn in the hot sun of the Caribbean or during the summer heat around the horn of Africa, but the good side of his face was golden and it looked healthy enough. And he didn’t feel sick at the sight of it.
Yet.
Perhaps he should risk a proper look? See if Eleanor was right and the damage wasn’t entirely hideous. Perhaps if he learned to accept himself as he was, a bit of his old self-confidence would return and then maybe...
And perhaps he was simply just chasing windmills and should leave well alone. He pulled the sheet back down, but stayed where he was. Then practically jumped guiltily out of his skin when Smithson rapped on the door.
‘Mrs Baxter has sent me to remind you that, as the host, you are expected downstairs immediately to be there to greet your guests as they arrive. Which would be in five minutes, my lord, so you are in grave danger of being late.’
Max had forgotten he was the host. Like so many things, he was grossly out of practice with social etiquette and dreading this meal because he couldn’t escape it. He used to be a charming and much sought-after dinner companion, so he supposed the skill must still be there somewhere. Buried deep inside and probably in dire need of an airing, but he would attempt to locate it for Effie even if he was still furious at his sister.
* * *
He found Eleanor in the drawing room, thankfully alone. ‘What the hell do you think you are playing at?’
‘I am sure I do not know what you mean?’
‘Inviting Effie to stay? Putting her in the Rose room? Making her my fiancée was one thing—I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt on that one—but the rest smacks of blatant matchmaking when I warned you not to interfere!’
She gave him a withering glance and then rolled her eyes. ‘Inviting her to stay was basic common sense and you might as well know I’ve told her to be your shadow for the duration, too, Max, as leaving you alone with those men is bound to be problematic.’ It galled that she had a point. ‘And as for the Rose room, surely, as your fiancée, it would be expected she be given a room to reflect her new status in the household?’
‘I doubt the antiquarians will waste their time wondering which room she is sleeping in.’
‘Then you underestimate Sir Percival.’ Not what Max wanted to hear. Her voice dropped to a whisper as they heard the distant sounds of movement beyond the door. ‘Surely you noticed the passionate glint in his eye when he first saw Effie?’ He had and he didn’t like it. ‘I shall be keeping my beady eye on him and reminding him she is spoken for.’
‘Thanks to your interference. Make sure that is the last of it, too.’