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A be had fluctuated between the urge to strangle Cresson and to kiss him a few times over the course of the night.

Announcing the engagement had done things that inspired both.

Poor Millie had taken the brunt of it, of course. Weddings were always more about the bride than the couple, weren't they? Abe had always thought so.

But now it was public to everyone in the Fletcher-Cain house that night.

Public meant she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t said those beautiful, deeply romantic words yesterday morning— “ Oh. Yes, probably. ” And, as a delightful bonus, he’d gotten to offer her a strong arm and comforting presence as their little band of misfits had rioted at the news.

To his immense relief, she hadn’t denied it. She hadn’t even suggested that she wanted to.

So that meant she was his, didn’t it? That meant it was the yes that mattered, not the probably.

And there was, of course, plenty of delight to be found in chaos.

Silas had brightened like he’d just found out there was a second cake.

Ember had immediately called him a “ sleekit little divil, ” clapping her hands together like she’d feast on just this moment for months.

Lady Bentley had cried, “Well, really, Mr. Murphy!” whatever that meant.

And Dot had looked like she was going to kill him. For quite some time, actually.

He’d never say it, of course, but Dot Cain scared the absolute bollocks off him.

Poor Cresson clearly had not anticipated the fact that this was not only news to the gathered crowd, but deeply shocking as well.

That bizarre, toothy grin that had transformed him from familiar little brother to the newest buck at the club had dissolved off his face, surprise dimples and all, as the chaos had overtaken them, and he’d stood by that window where he’d said the thing that caused it, looking for all the world like he wished to become part of the wallpaper.

And good, Abe thought. How dare Cresson keep surprising him this week? He had quite enough going on already. And he hadn’t missed Millie’s little widening of the eyes at that smile either.

He’d punish Cresson later.

Or thank him.

He hadn’t decided yet.

“You all right?” he whispered to Millie when he could, and she squeezed his hand in return, nodding almost like she was happy about this.

Someone produced a bottle of wine, as though they’d summoned it from the air itself, and a host of glasses to pour it into besides.

Millie broke away from him, flanked on either side by Ember and Lady Bentley, who were chittering into her ear.

This, to Abe, seemed like the best moment to find a safe place to ride out the rest of the storm. He made it mere inches from Cresson and Silas only to feel a steel grip around his forearm and a firm steering farther into the foyer.

Dot Fletcher Cain pulled him into the hall and then rounded on him, zeroing in on his soul with those wide, clear green eyes. “Care to explain?” she said.

“Explain?” he repeated, a nervous giggle rising in his throat. “What’s to explain?”

She frowned at him. “Last I heard, you were having a tiff,” she said impatiently, “which was also the first I’d heard that Millie was being courted. By you.”

“Well, of course by me,” he returned, feeling a little indignant. “Was some other fellow trying to crowd in?”

“Abraham Murphy,” Dot snapped, “that is not the point.”

She sighed, releasing his forearm and slumping against the nearest wall, pale pink marble at her back, and massaging her own temples.

“I know it isn’t any of my business,” she admitted after a moment, hands flopping to her sides, “but it looks so familiar, Abe. This is how I got engaged to Freddy, once upon a time. Suddenly. And inexplicably.”

“Well, now wait just a minute,” Abe said, puffing up like a damned pigeon. “If you’re implying I’m after her money—”

“I’m not,” said Dot, sounding almost bored.

Abe deflated like a punctured balloon.

The two of them stared at one another for a moment, the sound of clinking glass and laughter trickling in from the foyer.

“I’m not Freddy,” Abe managed to say, forcing himself to sound serious for once. “Even Freddy’s not really Freddy anymore.”

“What?” She looked exhausted.

“Not the point, not the point,” Abe said, blowing air through his lips. “Let me start again. Firstly, this is the first I’m hearing about any money. If money had been my goal, then I’d be a poor bloodhound indeed.”

“Mhm,” Dot said, crossing her arms.

It made him realize he was still doing this wrong.

“It just happened!” he exploded, his hands flying out in front of him, fingers cracking away from his palms with the force of it. “First, I was just flirting with her. I flirt with everyone. I flirt with you, don’t I!”

“You do,” said Dot Cain, still a little bored, still very impatient.

“She just … sneaked up on me. One day, it was a bit of fun, and the next I was writing to my mother for advice, all right? This is humiliating!”

“Is it?” she asked, her expression changing a little, her head tilting as she pushed away from the wall.

“Yes, it bloody well is!” he snapped back.

And then she smiled. She smiled and started to laugh.

“Oh,” she said, touching her lips. “Oh, good.”

Abe felt his own jaw go slack, felt the gathering of his own eyebrows bunching together like the front line on a battlefield.

“It hasn’t been sudden. Or inexplicable,” he insisted, even though it seemed like this entire conversation had already ended without his consent. “It’s been going on all damn spring.”

She nodded, sighing in a relieved, happy sort of way. “If you say so.”

“I do say so!” he called, scrambling after her as she turned to walk away. “I say so vehemently!”

“Oh, Abe.” She sighed as he fell in line beside her. “I do like you.”

He sought out Millie amongst the clatter, wanting to immediately march over to her and tattle.

She was talking to Silas now, her eyes sparkling a little as she nodded and laughed, a glinting remnant of golden wine flashing in the glass she held in her hand.

It knocked all the air directly out of his lungs.

She turned to him just for a moment, a flick of her eyes across the room, and Abe felt something in his chest fold in on itself like a bloody concertina.

Well, he thought, shit.

Meanwhile, it was Cresson who ended up ambling beside him, sighing at his own contribution to this mess, his own wine glass half empty. He looked at Abe, at the look on his face as he stared across the room at this woman he wanted to marry, and Cresson blinked three times.

“You’re kind of an idiot,” he said to Abe. “Aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Abe confessed.

Cresson snorted. “I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or deeply terrifying,” he said. “Considering how much I used to look up to you.”

“The hell do you mean, used to?” Abe snapped, but Cresson was already gone.