Page 9

T he garden was still quiet at this early hour.

Torches had been lit down a scenic path that ended in a vine-covered pergola.

There was a smattering of painted benches along the path for dancers to rest their weary feet after hours of dancing, but as the dancing was still in its first turn, Millie expected them to remain empty for some time.

The sun had only just dipped below the horizon, and a few early stars were peeking out through the fading warmth of the dying daylight.

It smelled fresh out here, the warmth of the breeze picking up the perfume from tight flower buds and spring blooms and sending it sprawling out over the walking path.

The breeze and the quiet seemed to console Miss Lazarus a little, which was a good start. The net overlay on her skirt was fluttering around her prettily, the white fabric glowing in the low dusk light. She was staring at her feet instead of the beauty around her.

Millie did not press her to speak right away.

She knew that was not the way to console someone in the throes of a fresh hurt.

Instead, she did her best to ensure they were alone in the garden, stopping only once at a trick of the light that looked like a man on one of the benches farther down.

When she looked again, there was no one about, save a few sparrows searching for seed.

It was silly. For a moment she had thought it was … but no, no, that would make very little sense. And she had to stop thinking about him so much, anyhow.

The music from the house was muffled out here, just a hum against the wind and rustle of leaves. Their footsteps on the gravel path created a calming sort of cadence against the night.

“I’ve always cried too easily,” said Miss Lazarus, sucking in a deep breath. “My sisters tease me for it. I keep thinking I should have gone to Mrs. Arlington’s School for Girls when my papa offered it years ago. It would have prepared me for tonight. Maybe it would have toughened my skin as well.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Millie replied, following the girl to the nearest bench and following her lead to sit, side by side. “I think there’s a lot more to be concerned about if you can’t cry at all than if you cry too easily.”

Hannah gave a little laugh, dry and uncertain, but a laugh all the same. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot imagine some of the girls in there crying, even in total privacy. And here I am doing it in front of the whole of London.”

“Only the sparrows,” Millie corrected, “and me. If you need to cry, you ought to do so until the need has passed.”

“No,” she answered, blowing out through pursed lips. “No, I’ve done enough crying. I suppose I should get angry now at what happened, but I don’t think I will.”

“That’s all right,” Millie said, patting the girl’s knee. “Anger rarely serves us, anyhow.”

Another breeze blew through, sending about half a dozen little birds from their food search into the sky, their brown feathers catching the motion of the unseen wind.

“Did you see the girl in the yellow gown? The one with the red roses in her hair?”

“I think so, yes,” Millie answered. Truthfully, that girl had been difficult to miss.

She was one of those beauties that stole the focus of any room she was in.

The young woman in question had been sparkling and spinning in the center of the dance floor when Millie had arrived, and had not seemed to move from that position in the time since.

“Gretchen Waters,” Hannah Lazarus said with a sigh. “That's her name. She danced the polonaise with Mr. Danvers, the only gentleman who asked me for a dance tonight.

“It doesn’t mean he prefers her—” Millie began.

Hannah cut her off, haste and a little panic in her voice, “No, of course he may dance with whom he pleases. But, when it was time for my dance, the quadrille, I couldn’t find him in the crowd.

I was sad to miss my opportunity to dance, but that isn’t what made me cry.

Once the music began, I found him, but not in the crowd.

He was dancing with Gretchen again. And he looked besotted. ”

“Ah.” Millie frowned, feeling a sympathetic ache tug at her own chest. “I suppose he has shown that he is no gentleman after all.”

“Then why do I still want my dance with him?” Hannah sighed, lacing her fingers together in her lap.

“What does someone so desired want with him, anyway? She doesn’t know me from Adam, and still I feel as though she somehow did this deliberately.

Why else would she give two dances to a man of modest means and plain face? ”

There was no answer to be had, of course. Not without speaking to Miss Waters directly, anyhow.

“From experience,” Millie said, “I often danced with men I did not choose because my mama willed it. Perhaps it was the same for Miss Waters. In any event, it is not she who crossed you, it is Mr. Danvers. I suggest you proceed through the evening and perhaps the Season as a whole as though he no longer exists.”

Hannah considered it, a slight smile teasing at a corner of her lips. “I can try.”

“All any of us can do is try.”

“I think I am doomed to be a wallflower, Miss Yardley.”

Millie smiled. “If you are, is it really the worst thing? One can learn a lot from the periphery. But I think you might surprise yourself, all the same.”

A twig snapped nearby, accompanied by the crackle of disturbed leaves and a sharp, grunted “ Och!” in a distinctly masculine voice. It made both ladies startle and turn their heads toward the pergola.

Perhaps it hadn’t been a trick of the light after all. She had seen someone when they entered the garden. Millie frowned.

“You ought to head back inside,” she said to the younger woman. “There is still time tonight to find a better dance partner if you wish, and if not, that is just fine too.”

She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile and accompanied the young lady back up the path, until she could watch her go back through the glass doors into the ballroom.

She waited a beat and then turned on her heel and marched back into the thick of the garden, the torches sputtering with the speed in which she passed them.

When she had almost reached the pergola, she put her hands on her hips and said with no small volume, “You can come out now, Mr. Murphy. In fact, I think you had better.”

Abe shuffled out of the hedges with as much dignity as he could muster, attempting a bright smile and an air of surprise.

“Miss Yardley! Fancy seeing you here.”

She blinked at him, unimpressed. “Mr. Murphy, what on earth are you doing?”

“I’m enjoying the party!” he said, closing the distance between them. “What else?”

“You are not dressed for the ball,” she pointed out. “And there are leaves in your hair. Did you climb the garden fence to get in here?”

“What? Oh, this,” he chuckled, snatching the bastard leaf in question from his temple. “I just had a stumble.”

She stared at him, her expression unchanging. She looked rather magnificent like this, actually: stood akimbo with diamonds in her dark hair and a gauzy toga-like dress hugging her generous curves. She looked like a vengeful goddess come to pass judgment on his sorry arse.

She scoffed, shaking her head at him. "Am I to believe this to be yet another coincidence? You are very obviously following Lady Bentley. Why?"

"Oh, is she here tonight?" he said thinly, biting down on an urge to giggle as she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't suppose you'd believe I'm still on the trail of the jewel thief?"

“Jewels aplenty for the stealing out here in the garden, are there?” she said, each word bone dry.

“Well, I didn’t have an invite, you see,” he answered, scratching at his chin. “This seemed like the best way to observe quietly, in case the brigand strikes again.”

“Mr. Murphy, I imagine if you made your chivalrous intentions known to the hosts of this ball, they might have allowed you in through the front door. As it stands, I think we both know you are not hunting a jewel thief here tonight.”

He bit his lip, considering this. “It isn’t a bad idea. Perhaps next time you’ll have to suffer me in the main ballroom.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“No,” he answered, pleased with himself. “I know it isn’t. Why are you out here mothering debutantes instead of dancing inside?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”

“Hm.” He linked his hands behind his back, pacing around her so that she was forced to turn to keep an eye on him. “And aren’t you breaking the rules, being out here all alone in the night with me? What would people think?”

“They would think you know very little of the rules,” she snapped, twisting and then stepping back to keep him in her line of sight. “You ought to leave, before I alert the household to your intrusion.”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Minnie?”

“Millie,” she corrected immediately.

“Millie,” he said with a wide grin, stepping close enough to her to see the firelight from the torches reflected in her eyes. “Of course. I shall remember to call you Millie.”

She set her jaw, tapping her fingers against her tightly crossed arms. “You knew my name.”

“I did?”

“We both know you did,” she snapped.

“Hm,” he said noncommittally. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back to consider the cloudless sky, dotted with more and more emerging stars as the darkness settled over them. “Say, does Lady Bentley know whose gambling house you reserved for her night of revelry?”

That threw her, he noted, stealing a glance back at her from his would-be stargazing.

She wrinkled her brow at him and frowned. “Yes, of course she does. I told her Ember was a dear friend.”

“Ah, but does she know how that friendship came to be? Does she know Ember used to be her son’s mistress? Does she know how the two of you met?”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, a fascinating blend of ice and fire playing on Miss Yardley’s features. He wasn’t sure if she was enraged or frightened or offended or some other thing altogether.

“I won’t tell her,” he whispered, leaning forward to pour the words into her delicate ear. “I promise.”

She shivered, taking a quick step backward, unable to hide the gooseflesh that had risen on her pale shoulders and throat.

His eyes followed the path of her shivering skin, wondering if it was his voice or his nearness that had such power.

Perhaps it had been the warmth of his breath.

He felt drawn to touch it, to see if he could raise more of those delicious little bumps.

He wondered if they would appear when he kissed her.

And there was that scent again, like crisp, freshly sliced pears sparkling in the air.

“I’m going back inside,” she said softly, her voice pulling him out of his reverie.

She sounded breathless, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and she was already moving to leave.

“Wait!” He spoke quickly, reaching out to grab her hand before she had time to completely turn away from him. “If I’m going to call you Millie, I suppose you must call me Abe. it is only fair.”

She gave an incredulous little laugh but did not pull away from the touch. Her hand sat, warm and unbearably soft, in his grip. “Oh. Must I?”

“I insist upon it.”

She considered him for a long, quiet moment, her pretty face inscrutable. “Do not get caught out here,” she said, and gently pulled her hand free.

He watched her turn and saunter down the gravel path, her thoughts a true mystery to him after this encounter. His heart was thumping against his chest, stimulated by the sparring and undeniably filled with the desire to chase after her and make her stay just a little longer.

“Good night!” he called after her, conceding his defeat.

She paused, turning her head slightly with a curve to her rosebud lips.

“Good night,” she said. “Abe.”