bit of a blond thing with great cornflower eyes and a wispy voice. On the back of a horse, she's something ferocious."
Max's eyes wandered to the blank wall outside the window as he reviewed the many escapades in which he, Dev, Reggie and the lumbering Dickon had been involved. Dev was married and now Reggie. The old days were gone.
"I'm glad for him, Dev. When you see him be sure and convey my sincerest wishes," he said.
"He mentioned that he hoped you would come north for the wedding. After all, it seems fitting for the four of us to have one more Bacchanalian feast," Dev announced, grinning when Max nodded in agreement. "By the way, my friend, what of your own marital plans. When last we spoke you were heading for London with an antidote of a ward and a yearning to be leg-shackled."
For the first time in their conversation, the frown returned to Max's face. "In actual fact, old chum, the antidote ward turned out to be a butterfly of outstanding beauty. A virtuous ward to be proud of. It seems I will have her off my hands quite soon. Tomorrow I believe she will be announcing her betrothal."
Dev noted the tightness of Max's mouth as he bit off the last words. There was something wrong here and he suspected it was the reason his friend had been so Friday-faced when he arrived. "Do not leave me in the dark. I wish to know all of the details of the beauteous, eh, Endurance, if my memory serves me."
Max laughed in remembrance. "I had quite forgotten. When she arrived, we agreed that Amity would be far more preferable. Although now that I think on it, as her guardian I have had a great deal to endure."
With halting words at first, Max began to tell of all that had transpired since Amity came to intrude on his well-regulated, bachelor existence. Dev noted how his friend's voice softened when he spoke of the girl and how often Max laughed over her unusual antics. It was apparent to Dev that Max was in love with his ward, but he was not sure if his friend even realized that fact.
"What an enterprising wench," Dev said as the recital came to an end. "Jobs for soldiers. What a novel idea."
"I was sure you would appreciate that part of the story, since Jena was involved in a similar scheme. Except as I recall she hired the most disreputable specimens it has ever been my good fortune to encounter."
"Quite a scurvy lot," Dev agreed, chuckling before he continued. "And you say that despite all Amity's activities, you have managed to arrange a marriage?"
"Not arranged. She had offers aplenty which for various reasons I turned down as not being quite the thing. The last offer was from a very eligible parti. Lord Bancroft Paige. Do you know him?"
"Blond curls and the face of a cupid?"
Max snorted in amusement. "That sums it up. Good family. Pots of money. She's a lucky girl."
These last words were said with a sneering tone that suggested to Dev that perhaps there was still hope for Max. "Don't sound as though you half like the man."
Max's forehead wrinkled as a frown took possession of his face. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I have nothing against the man, Dev. He's above reproach in many ways. There's never been a hint of scandal bandied about and I suspect all things considered he would make a good husband. I just do not feel he will be good for Amity."
"In what way?" Dev asked cautiously.
Max threw himself against the leather back of the chair. "In every way," he growled. "Without knowing Amity, it is difficult to explain what she is like. She’s volatile and impetuous, obsessively curious and free-spirited. She needs a strong hand to keep her from running off on some half-baked scheme, without keeping the control so tight that it breaks her spirit or she rebels. Beyond that, she needs someone who can enter into her activities with a sense of fun."
"The Bancroft Paige I remember does not possess many of those qualities," Dev remarked. "Rather a lofty type as I recall."
"Dry as a bone, Dev. Doubt if the man has a lick of humor anywhere in his whole body. He will be appalled once he discovers the kind of girl she is. He will have no idea what a treasure he possesses but will try to bend her into a mold of convention.