not envy either gentleman his task. As their carriage passed by, Kate gave him a little wave, which Max answered with a nod.
She rather thought Max Darby was more like Sir Milton than his brother Tristram was. Max was certainly more of a take-charge sort of person. In contrast, his brother looked almost as shaken as the two ladies.
"I think we should go straight home," she said to the coachman.
"Yes, miss," he replied, pulling his hat down firmly on his head. "Right away."
Max hurried into the garden when he returned home. He knew Kate would come, drawn by the same irresistible force to share the afternoon's hilarity with him. It was almost dark, but he felt sure she would be waiting. She was the sort of girl who would not be put off by a bit of gloom. Recalling the way those green eyes had sparkled when he had taken the monkey from her, he could not associate gloom with her in any setting.
"Kate?" he said, forgetting both propriety and their roles as Sir Milton and Iseult. This was no time for charades.
"Sir Milton?" came the reply, her voice already filled with laughter.
"What? No ... dash it! This is intolerable. I want to see you. I'm going to come around to the front door."
"Not now. It is not the proper time, and Mama has had enough excitement for one day. She is still a little delicate."
"Well, this is deuced inconvenient, Kate."
"I know. I. .. sh! Wait. Someone is coming. Hello, Mr. Taggert."
Max strained to hear her voice as she turned away.
"Afternoon, miss. Was you lookin' for somewat?"
"No, I was just out for a stroll."
"Oh. I thought ye might be lookin' for the gate. It's i farther down, ye know."
"Gate?"
"Yes, between this house an' the next. It used t' stay open on account o' th' two families were related. It's shut now, but if you want..."
"Oh, yes, please, Mr. Taggert. Could you unlock it for me?"
"I'd be happy to, miss. It's right 'ere."
"Thank you, Mr. Taggert."
"Yer welcome, miss. I'll see that it stays unlocked."
The gate creaked as it swung open, and then Kate stepped through the opening. Max extended his hands and she took them, letting him draw her close. Her eyes grew wide.
In the fading light, he smiled down at her and said, "I do hope you are not disappointed that I am not Tristram."
"Not at all, though I must admit that I am a bit surprised," she said, returning his smile.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her along the wall. "Come over here. Here's the bench where I sit."
When they were side by side, he kept her hand in his. Turning slightly so that he faced her, Max said, "I have to confess that I was not the one you spoke to that first night, the one who first called you Iseult."
"I thought you were different after that night. It wasn't just your voice. Your brother is more poetic. What happened to him? Did I frighten him?"
"No, he is just forgetful. When Tris is reading or writing something, he forgets everything, including the prettiest horsewoman I have ever seen."
Without a hint of coyness, she ignored his compliment and said, "So he is Mr. Poorman, the author of the Sir Milton novel I am reading."
"You're reading it?" said Max. "I hadn't thought about people actually reading the thing."
Kate chuckled and said, "You needn't sound so surprised, Mr. Darby. Some people do read novels."
"Certainly, but to think that you would have chosen to read that particular one at this particular time. It is quite astounding."
"Not really. When I spoke to the clerk at Hatchard's— who was reading it also, by the way—he mentioned that the hero was Sir Milton. That caught my interest immediately. When I discovered that the heroine was Iseult, I put two and two together."
"So what do you think of my little brother's writing?"
"It is most entertaining. I feel as if I am on the crusade alongside Sir Milton. Your brother is quite talented."
"Yes, he is the talented brother. My twin is the sensible one."
"And you?"
"Me? I am the hotheaded, impulsive,
She rather thought Max Darby was more like Sir Milton than his brother Tristram was. Max was certainly more of a take-charge sort of person. In contrast, his brother looked almost as shaken as the two ladies.
"I think we should go straight home," she said to the coachman.
"Yes, miss," he replied, pulling his hat down firmly on his head. "Right away."
Max hurried into the garden when he returned home. He knew Kate would come, drawn by the same irresistible force to share the afternoon's hilarity with him. It was almost dark, but he felt sure she would be waiting. She was the sort of girl who would not be put off by a bit of gloom. Recalling the way those green eyes had sparkled when he had taken the monkey from her, he could not associate gloom with her in any setting.
"Kate?" he said, forgetting both propriety and their roles as Sir Milton and Iseult. This was no time for charades.
"Sir Milton?" came the reply, her voice already filled with laughter.
"What? No ... dash it! This is intolerable. I want to see you. I'm going to come around to the front door."
"Not now. It is not the proper time, and Mama has had enough excitement for one day. She is still a little delicate."
"Well, this is deuced inconvenient, Kate."
"I know. I. .. sh! Wait. Someone is coming. Hello, Mr. Taggert."
Max strained to hear her voice as she turned away.
"Afternoon, miss. Was you lookin' for somewat?"
"No, I was just out for a stroll."
"Oh. I thought ye might be lookin' for the gate. It's i farther down, ye know."
"Gate?"
"Yes, between this house an' the next. It used t' stay open on account o' th' two families were related. It's shut now, but if you want..."
"Oh, yes, please, Mr. Taggert. Could you unlock it for me?"
"I'd be happy to, miss. It's right 'ere."
"Thank you, Mr. Taggert."
"Yer welcome, miss. I'll see that it stays unlocked."
The gate creaked as it swung open, and then Kate stepped through the opening. Max extended his hands and she took them, letting him draw her close. Her eyes grew wide.
In the fading light, he smiled down at her and said, "I do hope you are not disappointed that I am not Tristram."
"Not at all, though I must admit that I am a bit surprised," she said, returning his smile.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her along the wall. "Come over here. Here's the bench where I sit."
When they were side by side, he kept her hand in his. Turning slightly so that he faced her, Max said, "I have to confess that I was not the one you spoke to that first night, the one who first called you Iseult."
"I thought you were different after that night. It wasn't just your voice. Your brother is more poetic. What happened to him? Did I frighten him?"
"No, he is just forgetful. When Tris is reading or writing something, he forgets everything, including the prettiest horsewoman I have ever seen."
Without a hint of coyness, she ignored his compliment and said, "So he is Mr. Poorman, the author of the Sir Milton novel I am reading."
"You're reading it?" said Max. "I hadn't thought about people actually reading the thing."
Kate chuckled and said, "You needn't sound so surprised, Mr. Darby. Some people do read novels."
"Certainly, but to think that you would have chosen to read that particular one at this particular time. It is quite astounding."
"Not really. When I spoke to the clerk at Hatchard's— who was reading it also, by the way—he mentioned that the hero was Sir Milton. That caught my interest immediately. When I discovered that the heroine was Iseult, I put two and two together."
"So what do you think of my little brother's writing?"
"It is most entertaining. I feel as if I am on the crusade alongside Sir Milton. Your brother is quite talented."
"Yes, he is the talented brother. My twin is the sensible one."
"And you?"
"Me? I am the hotheaded, impulsive,
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