Page 23

M illie wanted to sit back on the bench outside of the theater for another few hours … or days, perhaps. As long as she sat there, time seemed to slow.

Nothing more could progress as long as she refused to re-enter the world. And, while things were not exactly perfect in this moment, they were good enough that she could live within it forever and be happy.

She would sit here and dream of Abe, she thought. Of his kiss and his touch and his utter devotion to what was good and right. But she couldn’t do that while he was off slaying dragons and leave the beasts she’d roused roaming free.

Again, she had that absurd desire to return home to her mother. Lacey Yardley was not exactly a nurturer, but after she finished shouting at Millie for her foolishness, she might have some valuable ideas.

No. She sighed.

It would not do to burden her mama, especially when she had not bothered to visit her once since her return to London.

She had lapsed as a daughter. And as a sister, too.

And so she picked herself up and resolved to write to Claire as soon as she got back to the townhouse. As for her mother, she’d have to visit soon, once her mind was a little clearer. She’d have to find a way to make up for her avoidance.

As she walked, she thought about all the conflicting advice she’d received. Surely there was something between unmasking herself in the town square and hiding in a closet?

But what?

What was between those two things?

Maybe she could find a way to ask Lady Bentley for advice without dragging her into the know.

She turned the corner deep in thought, almost too deep to notice the hubbub at her own doorstep.

“I know it was you!” a man was shouting, kicking at the front door while two of the footmen attempted to drag him from the threshold.

“Everyone knows it was you, cavorting around the Season like some untethered slattern! And now you’ve endangered a child!

Come out here and answer for what you’ve done, Patricia! ”

Millie froze, her heart thudding almost to a dead stop against her ribcage.

The neighbors were emerging, some of the men making their way to the landing to get involved.

“Jim, I assure you I had nothing to do with it!” Lady Bentley was calling from a window above, her voice shaking with what sounded like real fear. “Please, gather yourself! I will help if I can—”

“I’ll have you held accountable if it’s the last thing I do!

” the man screeched over her, shoving a footman hard into the railing.

“You are responsible for any ill that befalls my daughter, out alone in the world. You are liable for the loss of her future, for the destruction of her prospects, and by God, you will pay! ”

Millie felt her feet move underneath her, spurring her forward before she’d even made the decision to enter the fray. This man wished Lady Bentley real harm.

He was screaming at the footmen now, insisting they get their lowborn hands off him.

One of their neighbors, a middle-aged knight with a paunch and thinning blonde hair, was elbowing his way into the melee, preaching restraint while his wife and daughter looked on in horror from their own townhouse.

“Bugger off, Blakely!” the angry man was screaming. “This isn’t your concern.”

“Mr. Waters,” the other man was saying, his voice oddly soothing. “Nothing will be solved by attacking the countess. Come now, Gretchen won’t be helped if her papa is in prison, will she?”

“Oh, they would not dare ,” the other man grunted, though some of his venom appeared to leave him. “They couldn’t. ”

“I assure you they could,” the other man told him, taking his arm and leading him from the townhouse. “And your poor wife has enough to manage just now, doesn’t she? Come along, we will get you a drink and a cool towel.”

“This isn’t over,” the other man said, loudly enough for his voice to travel to Lady Bentley’s window as he was led away. “I’ll be seeking recompense.”

“Yes, well, hopefully that will not be necessary,” said Sir Reginald, whose name only just recurred to Millie as they passed her by.

She mouthed her thanks to him as their paths crossed and received a short nod in response.

Glass crunched under her shoes as she hurried toward the house. The footman who had been shoved by Jim Waters had a bruise blooming on his jaw.

“Millicent!” called Lady Bentley, still framed in the upstairs window. “Come up here at once! That madman might come for you next.”

She pushed into the house, scattering a group of servants that had gathered by the door.

“Get some ice for David,” she snapped without stopping, gesturing at the injured footman. “And someone clean up that glass!”

“Ma’am,” answered a chorus of voices at her back.

She took the stairs two at a time, her skirt tangling around her legs in her haste. She all but fell into Lady Bentley’s bedroom, stumbling on the corner of the Persian carpet by the door.

“Are you well?” she heard herself asking. “Did he …?”

“He never made it inside,” Lady Bentley was already answering, pulling her curtains shut and leaning against the pane with a ragged gasp of breath. “He was shouting all the way down the block.”

“What’s happened to Miss Waters?” Millie asked, untangling herself from her skirts and sinking into the first chair in her path. “What on earth?”

“She’s run off, from what I gathered,” Lady Bentley answered. She cut a shaky path across the room and sank into the seat opposite Millie’s.

Millie was surprised, she supposed, but somehow she couldn’t muster even the faintest feeling of shock in the wake of the morning she’d had. “How could that be your fault?”

Lady Bentley rubbed her eyes, dropping her face into her open hands. “She was apparently inspired by that open letter that’s been sweeping the city, and left a note to the effect that she was going to seek destiny on her own terms. No one knows where she’s gone.”

Ah, there was something. Millie felt it flickering in her gut like the striking of flint. She swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. Thank goodness she was sitting, she thought, for if she were not, she’d surely collapse.

“He thinks you wrote it,” she croaked with what was surely the last of her free will.

“I think that is apparent, my dear,” Lady Bentley answered thinly. “And now that he’s screamed it for half of Mayfair to hear, I believe everyone else will too.”

They had sat in silence for a time, regaining their respective composure.

Irene had come in with tea and dry toast, the latter of which had finally broken the quiet.

“Irene, darling,” Lady Bentley had said with a hand to her brow, “I think we all deserve something sugared and dense tonight. Toss the dry toast and send Cook out for toffee pudding.”

“Yes, my lady!” Irene had said with just the right amount of enthusiasm before bustling out.

“Sweets can save the world,” Lady Bentley said dryly, managing a shaky smile at Millie. “Don’t you think?”

“I think even the end of days could be softened with a good dollop of toffee,” Millie agreed, feeling absurdly less burdened, if only slightly.

“I didn’t write it, if you were wondering,” Lady Bentley said, her bright blue eyes glowing against the backdrop of afternoon light. “But after that, I wish I had.”

“I know you didn’t,” Millie replied, dropping her head against the cushioned back of the chair and forcing herself to focus on the three strikes of the nearby clock tower. “That man could have harmed you. We ought to report him to the constabulary.”

There was a pause, a rustle of passing birds by the window.

“Don’t underestimate my ability to harm him right back, darling,” Lady Bentley said, though her voice had cooled. “I will do what I must to protect myself.”

Millie’s eyes opened, a creeping feeling of unease touching her shoulders. She straightened, meeting her mistress’s eyes. “That wouldn’t help matters.”

“Maybe not,” Lady Bentley said. “But it would certainly make me feel better.”

The only solution, Millie heard Abe say in her mind, is exposing the true culprit .

“We should offer aid in tracking down Miss Waters,” Lady Bentley continued, giving a lazy wave of her hand. “No matter how vile her father is, the poor thing has no idea what she’s plunged herself into.”

“Why would she run off?” Millie mused, lifting the lukewarm tea to her lips. She didn’t sweeten it at all and appreciated the shock of bitterness on her tongue, like smelling salts for a daze. “She was painfully de rigeur . Her future was nothing but promising.”

Patricia Bentley laughed, though it did not sound as though she was amused. It drew a confused stare from Millie.

“I was Gretchen Waters, once,” she explained, reaching for her own tea and the tiny cup of cream.

“The pressure to choose correctly is immense. And one does not become the darling of the debutantes without a truly grueling amount of work behind the scenes. You saw her papa. What do you think life was like before every ball for that girl? Do you think she ever got to choose so much as her own gown or hairstyle?”

“Sir Reginald’s daughter is also a darling of the ton ,” Millie argued, “and he seems more than decent.”

“Sir Reginald’s daughter would be a stunning beauty in nothing but burlap and twine,” Lady Bentley said with a shrug.

“And have you met the chit? She’d be a general if she had been born a boy.

Miss Waters was a practiced hand, not a natural, and tightly controlled.

You can trust me on this. As I said, I was just like her once. ”

“I suppose,” Millie said with a frown. “Still, many a girl would have killed to be in her shoes.”

“They always say that. It’s only because they don’t know what it’s like. In fact, I’d bet the comfort of my dotage that she was about to be married off to some vile old man or wealthy rotter against her will. That’s what makes a girl run off, you know.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Millie wrinkled her brow, taking another gulp of bitter black brew.

“No,” she answered, frowning. “Yes? I don’t know.”

“What can we do?” Millie pressed, a chill clawing at the base of her spine. “To stop Society from blaming you for the letter? You didn’t write it. But I … am gathering that won’t matter much.”

“It won’t,” Lady Bentley replied with a quirk of her lips. “What do you suggest?”

Millie chewed on her lip, swallowing the urge to groan. If she had known how easily they could shift the blame to an innocent third party, would it have impacted the other conversations she’d had today?

Was Society really so damned gullible?

And if so, what was to stop them from accusing others? Was it too late for that? Would it work, or would it …

She sat up. She set her cup down. She drew in a deep breath.

Would it work, or would it only cause confusion?

“What if,” she said, so quietly a single passing sparrow might snatch the voice from her throat, “what if we sowed confusion?”

Lady Bentley crooked an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

Millie forced herself to swallow, navigating around the lump in her throat. “What if we … spread rumors … accusing three or four likely culprits? If we can stage convincing suspects, it might muddy the accusations against you.”

“A whisper campaign?”

Millie blinked. “I … I don’t know? Is that what such things are called?”

“It is.” Lady Bentley leaned back, tapping a manicured nail against her cup, apparently deep in thought.

Outside the window, the grate of broken glass on wood could be heard as the household staff cleaned up Mr. Waters’s mess.

“It could work,” Lady Bentley mused. “If we are careful. But who would we accuse?”

“Only women,” Millie said firmly, drawing a surprised curl of the lips from her patroness. “I would not give the credit to any man.”

“A debutante?” Lady Bentley suggested. “A servant?”

“A powerful married lady who regrets what was done to her,” Millie retorted. “Or a spinster, a wallflower.”

“Yes. Oh, yes, this could serve us well, and protect the true author besides,” Lady Bentley agreed. “We’d need to recruit whisperers, of course. And Waters might still attempt to sue me for the vanishing of his daughter.”

Millie scoffed. “I can speak to my father about that. You could easily countersue for defamation or some such. Don’t you worry about that .”

For the second time that afternoon, silence settled over Lady Bentley’s bedroom.

This time, it was charged with an unfamiliar, buzzing energy.

To Millie’s ear, it sounded like whispers.