30 April 1895

Maximilian Walker fiddled with the diamond ring in his pocket, the metal warm from the heat of his body. He refrained from pacing the room as much as he wanted to, recalling all the letters he'd read from Rosalie... the few that he'd skimmed before leaving for Paris. Anything more than two or three felt like a violation of her privacy, rather like being a voyeur. But he'd been so desperate to have some piece of her left with him when he hadn't been sure if she was even alive... He was willing to admit that he'd yearned to know what was in her mind, even if it was that of her thirteen-year-old mind.

"Do sit down, Max, you're looking rather pale," Lord Winthrop chastised, though his tone was edged in affection. "I'd hate for you to keel over in the middle of a proposal. That would make for a good story, I suppose, but–"

"Your daughter is here, my lord," said the butler.

"Come in, Rosie," said Lord Winthrop. The nickname made him want to laugh, thinking of her stubborn refusal to have anyone address her with it. Perhaps she reserved it solely for her father.

Rosalie entered the study in her pale blue gown like a pinpoint of light in the dark, stuffy room, covered in mahogany wainscoting and towering shelves of leather-bound books. "Father." She pressed a hand to her chest when she saw Maximilian, her blue eyes widening with surprise. "Mr. Walker. I had not expected to see you here."

"I, ah, invited him here." Was it only his imagination, or were Lord Winthrop's eyes glossy with tears? "I do believe he has a proposal for you."

Maximilian swallowed. Why was he so nervous? It was only Rosalie Winthrop, a girl he had known since he was thirteen, since she'd saved him from certain death and oppression at the hands of a crooked ship's captain... a girl he had befriended so easily he'd almost missed that he was falling in love with her... a girl who had pushed him off of a dock out of excitement...

Yet he realized, even as he scolded himself for being nervous, that it was just Rosalie. It was only Rosalie. There could never be any other woman for him. And that made this moment all the more terrifying.

"Rosalie Grace Winthrop," he began, clearing his throat. "Fate, and providence, have brought us together over the past decade or so. And my own obstinance and foolishness, I suppose, have drawn us apart just as many times. But in spite of it all... I know that God has had a plan for us, and I thank Him every day that He brought you into my life. You are the only woman I know who loves so deeply, who has such a kind heart, and I wish to do nothing else but spend the rest of our lives together, serving the Lord. Rosalie, will you marry me?"

Now he was definitely certain there were tears in Rosalie's eyes, her hands clasped over her mouth. His heart squeezed in his chest, twisting itself into a knot. Trying to breathe deeply, he attempted to lighten the air with a joke.

"I'm afraid that each second is beginning to feel like a year, Rosalie. If I have to wait any longer for an answer, I shall be old and grey before–"

The rest of his sentence remained unfinished as she launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck, heedless of her father's presence. "Yes, I shall marry you!"

He stumbled backwards, reaching out a hand to steady himself, but it landed on Lord Winthrop's hatrack, and he found them both tumbling to the carpet. Her blonde hair came undone from its chignon and splayed over his face. Maximilian sneezed, and Rosalie gasped, pushing away from him and resting her elbows on her knee. "Oh no... I've ruined your proposal, haven't I?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Accepting it was all that I required of you. Clearly, I need to improve my balance if I'm going to spend any more time around you, or I'm afraid more hospital visits will be in my future."

Lord Winthrop cleared his throat, standing up from his desk. "I love the two of you dearly, but I'm afraid that if you do not get up off the floor there shall be more hospital visits in your future."

Rosalie planted a hand on her collarbone, her eyes wide. "Papa, are you threatening him? How very protective of you."

The twinkle in Samuel Winthrop's eye let him know that he was joking. "If a man cannot be protective over his own daughter when she is about to be married... when can he be?"

Maximilian stood somewhat unsteadily, and righted the coat stand before offering a hand to Rosalie. She took it, and he marvelled at the sensation of her fingers twining with his. "Apologies, sir."

"One cannot expect to withstand the hurricane-level of force that exists in my daughter's exuberance, so I assure you, there is nothing to forgive." Lord Winthrop smiled.

Rosalie looked half-outraged, half-mirthful. "You are quite witty today, Father."

"Oh, I'd nearly forgotten something!" Lord Winthrop clutched his lunettes, perching them on his nose as he rifled through some papers. "I'd scheduled a meeting with Mr. Flynn for this evening. Would the two of you like to attend?"

"Mr. Flynn?" Rosalie said. "The man who was with us in Paris?"

"He did not tell you of his true identity, then?" Lord Winthrop said. "Mr. Flynn is a dear friend of mine, but more importantly, he is an agent of the crown who has been most instrumental in finding your dear Mr. Walker as well as many other legal matters."

"Legal matters?" Rosalie echoed, looking far more confused. "Is the man a barrister, or a spy?"

"A mix of both," Samuel Winthrop said airily. "He will be informing us about Edgar Wakefield's true identity, as well as what he was involved in with your mother... and Lord Dennings."

"Then, yes, I would like to attend," she said. "Thank you for the invitation, Father."

Part of Maximilian felt as though he ought to shield her from this dark era of his past, which he wanted to leave far behind him, to forget that he had ever been involved in such nefarious activities. Then again, who was he to hide this part of his life from her? If she was to be his wife, they would share in everything. And he recalled how poorly it had gone for him the last time that he had attempted to keep her away for her own safety.

"I assume you will be there as well, Maximilian," Lord Winthrop said.

He took a deep breath, holding onto Rosalie's hand. "You would be correct."

***

"Congratulations to the two of you," Redmond said, lifting a champagne flute to toast to him and Rosalie that night over supper. It was a quiet, cozy affair, which he appreciated, since he'd had quite enough excitement for the day, and was fairly certain that Rosalie's knocking him to the ground had bruised his left shoulder, not that he would admit it to her.

"Thank you, Redmond," he said, taking a bite of buttered bread. Rosalie echoed the sentiment, cupping a mug of hot chocolate. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold, having gone sledding that afternoon with him and Daisy.

"Samuel, I am sure you approved of the match? Or else I am sure Maximilian would not be alive, let alone dining with us?" Redmond joked, turning to his friend.

"I can think of no finer man for my daughter," Lord Winthrop said easily. It seemed as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders ever since he and Rosalie had returned to Paris.

"High praise," Redmond said. "Now, shall we get to the point? I have prepared quite the dossier on Edgar Wakefield, who was born Edwin Porter–"

"Porter?" repeated Rosalie.

"Yes. He was born Edwin Porter, the, erm, illegitimate son of a laundress and Lord Dennings–"

"Lord Oliver Dennings?" asked Maximilian.

"No, the late Lord Dennings–Oliver's father. Later, his mother died and he went to an orphanage. Shortly after, he was adopted into the Wright family alongside your mother, Rosalie. She took the name Eliza upon adoption. After that, the family died in a fire, leaving only Eliza and Edgar alive. Many suspicions surrounded that fire, as the two of them would have stood to inherit the family fortune, since the Wrights had no other children. However, after many disputes, a distant relative inherited the money, as the Wrights had not officially adopted little Edwin and Eliza.

"After that, Edgar was adopted by the Wakefields and took on the name of Edgar. Eliza, however, disappeared and reinvented herself as a governess, taking the name of Cornelia Wright. One night, she poisoned one of her young charges–"

"Poisoned?" Lord Winthrop and Rosalie echoed.

"Thankfully, the young lady lived, but she was ill that evening and unable to attend the ball. Thus, Cornelia dressed in the young lady's clothing and went to the ball in her stead, where she met Lord Samuel Winthrop. The two immediately had a whirlwind love affair and eloped in Gretna Green. She and Edgar, I suppose, have remained in contact this whole time."

"And Edgar? How did he find Lord Dennings?' asked Maximilian, leaning forward in his seat, balancing an elbow on the table.

"Well, the man entered his fine collectibles shop, which you'll remember is run by Wakefield and Sons, and the resemblance between them was quite startling, even for half-brothers. Edgar, knowing who Oliver Dennings was, and eager to make some money on the side to support his, erm, vices, offered a deal to the Duke. He would help the Duke smuggle artifacts through the collectibles shop while taking a cut of it himself. This was preferable to paying a bribe to every customs officer, so His Grace agreed."

"But Edgar grew greedy, and he wanted more," Rosalie theorized. "He wanted to be the Duke."

"Very astute of you, Miss Winthrop," said Redmond.

Rosalie beamed with pride. "Thank you, sir. But... I have a question."

Redmond gestured for her to ask, reminding Maximilian of a schoolteacher.

"Edgar wrote some letters to a maid that I found... they threatened her, asking her to find any information that I might possess. What could he have been looking for?" she said with a frown.

"Edgar's ties had cast a wide net," said Redmond. "He might have been trying to find something of your mother's—something valuable. Or he might have wanted to know if you knew of Maximilian's true parentage. Now, as I was saying... Edgar grew greedy. He wanted to kill Maximilian..."

Redmond paused, and a shudder went down Maximilian's spine.

"So that Lord Dennings would have no heir. That is the reason he had you squirrelled away in the orphanage, Max. It's only to his chagrin that you ran away, and wound up here."

"But why did Edgar want me to work with him?" Maximilian said, confusion still swarming in his brain like flies over a corpse.

"Well, Lord Dennings wasn't sure yet that Edgar really wanted to kill you–he only learned that in the past few years–and so he decided to keep an eye on you and Edgar, by keeping the two of you together, and having you followed."

He recalled all those years ago, the man who had chased him down in Hong Kong and told him to leave. Was that his father's man? "Well, what happens now? Am I the rightful heir to Marlborough?"

"An excellent question indeed," said Redmond. "Technically, your middle name is Walker–you are, technically, Maximilian Walker Dennings."

He repeated the name. It tasted strange on his tongue.

"And, when your father dies, you would be Lord Dennings, duke of Marlborough, and I suppose that would make your wife Lady Dennings," said Redmond. "If Debrett's peerage is to be believed."

"I should consider it a trustworthy source," said Lord Winthrop drily.

"Do I need to become a duke?" he said. "I feel rather ill-suited to the role."

He'd spent all his life being looked down upon and spat on by men like Lord Dennings. Now he had proof that he really was one of them? It felt as though the world he had lived in for so long was being turned topsy-turvy, and he had no way of finding his balance.

"There is no real need for you to accept the title with any hurry..." Lord Winthrop said. "Your father is unlikely to die anytime soon–the man is only forty-five."

"I see," he said, but he barely felt that he could see anything at all. Only Rosalie's hand in his grounded him to his seat. "I... I have time, then."

He had plenty of time. His father seemed like a healthy man, unless... "Did he make it out of the house fire? In Paris?"

"Well, that's the thing," Redmond said. "It's still uncertain."

"It is?" His heart lurched. Though he'd barely known the man, and he'd seemed cruel and unfeeling... he had claimed Maximilian as his son, and defended him against Edgar which was more than he could say of some other men he knew. "Was his... his body discovered?"

"The police are still looking. They'll let you know, as you are his next of kin, but the house, the entire place, was in flames."

"How did this fire begin?" A frown pinched Lord Winthrop's brows together.

"Um..." Redmond blushed, looking pained. "I was attempting to provide a distraction for Rosalie and Maximilian to sneak out and make an escape, but I'm afraid I may have overestimated the amount of, erm, explosives that would be necessary to achieve such an effect..."

"You brought explosives into a house where my child was dining?" Lord Winthrop's voice was colder than he had ever heard it.

"A momentary lapse of judgment, I assure you." Mr. Flynn looked like he might begin squirming in his chair.

"I should hope so," said Samuel Winthrop in the same glacial tone.

"It was for our good," Rosalie tried to interject on Redmond's behalf. "You needn't be so harsh. No one was badly injured."

"Maximilian's eyebrows look a bit scorched," Lord Winthrop said.

"Perhaps, but the rest of him is intact," said Redmond.

"And he only scorched his eyebrows by helping Edgar out of the burning house," said Rosalie.

"Is that true?" Lord Winthrop turned slowly to Maximilian, his expression inscrutable.

He gulped. "Yes, sir. I understand if you are upset–"

"Upset? How could I be upset?" Before he could fully comprehend the look on Lord Winthrop's face, the man had engulfed him in a hug, clapping him on the back. "I shall admit to despising the man, but you did the right thing. A truly heroic thing, I might say. I'm proud of you, Maximilian."

A warm glow settled over him at the praise from a man whom he considered a father. For the first time, he truly felt as if he had a family.