What She Doesn't Know by Beverly Barton Page A

I used to give Theron and you.” She sighed. “Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what I have in mind for you today. Don’t you think it’s past time for one?”

    Georgette vacillated between teetering nervousness and pitiful sobbing. Max had tried his best to persuade her to go upstairs to her room an hour ago, but she had adamantly refused. His mother had been extremely proud to be Louis Royale’s wife and had taken advantage of every opportunity to prove to the world that she was worthy of the title, so it was only natural that she would want to show everyone that she was truly the grieving widow. He didn’t doubt for a second that his mother had loved Louis with great passion or that that passion often bordered on obsession. She had seemed to need Louis to survive the way she needed air to breathe.
    Max had loved Felicia, had wanted her desperately, and in the end had allowed her to treat him shamelessly, but he had no idea how it felt for another human being to be the beginning and the end of his universe. The intensity and depth of that kind of love—the kind his mother and Louis had shared—frightened him in a way that nothing else ever had.
    “Louis would have enjoyed this,” Georgette said. “He did so love a good party.”
    “Indeed he did,” Parry replied. “And he was no cheapskate when it came to paying for shindigs like this one. I always admired the way he enjoyed his money.”
    “My husband was a very generous man.” She grasped Max’s arm. “I’m feeling a bit faint. Perhaps I should sit down.”
    “Certainly, Mother.”
    Max separated a bevy of chattering women to clear a path to the Queen Anne chair in the corner of the front parlor. He helped his mother sit, then knelt before her.
    “Are you sure you don’t want to go upstairs for just a little while?”
    She shook her head.
    “Then how about something to drink? I’ll find Yvonne and get her to make you a cup of mint tea.”
    “Yes, Max, that would be nice. A cup of tea. And be sure she adds three teaspoons of sugar. I like my mint tea very sweet.”
    “She never forgets,” he said. “Coffee black. Tea very sweet.”
    Max glanced around, searching for Mallory. Having seen her only once since their return home, he suspected she was hiding away in her room. He needed to check on her. She had been unusually quiet and emotionally remote since Louis’s death. His little sister was probably wondering, as was their mother, just how they could go on without Louis. Mallory had been his spoiled darling. After seeing to his mother’s tea, he’d go upstairs in search of his sister and try to persuade her to come downstairs and keep their mother company.
    Halfway to the kitchen, he encountered his uncle again, who had a fresh drink in his hand. Parry grabbed his arm. “Wait up.”
    Max paused, then gave Parry a hard glare.
    “When are you going to throw this bunch of snobs out of here and get on with what’s important?” Parry asked.
    “And that would be?”
    “Finding out what Louis’s will says. We all need to know if we’re going to get kicked out of this place.” Parry leaned closer, his breath strong with liquor. “If he left anything to Jolie, you ought to protest. Get some big-time lawyer who specializes in breaking wills. That girl doesn’t deserve a dime.”
    His mother’s brother had been the bane of his existence and an embarrassment to Mallory and their mother for years now. But the man was family and despite his outlandish behavior, Parry could often be charming and even on occasion endearing.
    “Do me a favor, will you, Uncle Parry?”
    “Name it, my boy.”
    “Go upstairs and see if you can find Mallory and persuade her to come down and keep an eye on Mother.”
    “Consider it done.”
    Parry patted Max on the back, his touch rather forceful. Max drew in a calming breath; then when his uncle walked unsteadily toward the foyer, he continued on his way to the kitchen. He found the room buzzing with activity, but