His Lady in Breeches

XV. On the Way to Willowfair

Maxine thought that the brothers' plans for a hunting trip meant she could have some rest, but to her utter horror and disappointment, Nicholas ordered her to assist them with their things for Agatha would be joining them for a picnic nearby.

Devonshire had servants, of course, but they had their own duties and responsibilities. Benedict's valet had to go to the village to procure important things while the other servants were tasked to help Agatha set up tables and chairs for the picnic.

Maxine was left to carry spare riffles and bullets, both for Nicholas and Maxwell. Benedict did not need a spare as he claimed he was not positive he would even be able to shoot the one he was carrying.

Maxine would not have minded at all if only Nicholas did not think it wise to bring an extra pair of boots. Boots! How did he expect the small wooden parts of Devonshire to be made of? Thorny spikes for grasses?

She was lagging behind the three brothers as they leisurely walked to the woods. Agatha would follow suit later as she was not expected to join the hunt. Or was she? She had forgotten to inquire Benedict's valet about that particular detail.

On the way, Maxwell kept looking over his shoulder. Was he checking on her? Was he thinking that she was listening in on their conversation? What else could she do to prove to the bastard that she was anything but a female valet who would not wish for anything but reach Willowfair and find her mother?

As they reached the edge of the woods, Maxwell stayed behind and walked up to her, his steps impatient. He was already frowning at her as he neared and she quickened her steps. "Give them to me," he ordered, his arm outstretched as he tried to reach for the riffles.

"I can manage, milord," she gritted through her teeth. Bloody hell, these riffles were heavy.

He glowered at her. "What is in the bag?" he asked, eyeing her extra baggage.

"Boots, milord?"

"Boots?" he incredulously asked.

"Lord Nick's, milord."

He rolled his eyes and snatched the riffles from her shoulders. "Give them to me."

"Milord, I can—"

"We shall not be hunting anything at your pace," he snapped at her before he turned to join his brothers. "Nick! Why the bloody hell did you need an extra pair of boots!" she heard him ask his brother.

"I can bloody carry anything I wish!" Nicholas snapped back. "And why are you carrying the riffles? Where is Max?" Nicholas looked over his shoulder with a frown.

Maxine sighed.

"Your bloody incompetent valet is lagging behind," Maxwell uttered, walking up to Benedict to join him. "Hurry on!"

Nicholas laughed. He turned around to face Maxine while he walked backward. "Can you shoot, Max?"

"Of course—" Maxwell started to answer but realized his brother addressed a different person. He stopped to glare at both Nicholas and Maxine.

Maxine focused her gaze on Nicholas. "I am afraid not, my lord. I fear I might miss and hit something else—or rather someone else," she said before pointedly looking at Maxwell, brow arched. At the back of her head she knew she must not provoke him, but his murderous glare was provoking her as well!

"Ah, too bad then," said Nicholas. "We could use another player to join us. Ben is not a good hunter, see?"

"With merely one riffle, I shall prove otherwise," the eldest of the brothers replied without looking over his shoulder.