A Secret Seduction (The Mayfair Literary League #8)

1. Prologue

Prologue

London, England 1872

“ H e’s perfect!” Miss Millicent Davies blinked back tears as she stared into a pair of beautiful blue eyes that looked right back at her as if he knew her every secret. Her every wish. “Absolutely perfect.”

Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, her palms were damp, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath as she studied his handsome features. The moment nearly overwhelmed her physically and emotionally.

“Isn’t he just?” Phoebe Stanhope, the Countess of Bolton, broke the spell by agreeing about her new son, admiring him over Millie’s shoulder.

Millicent, or Millie to her friends, looked up from the baby to smile at Phoebe, who positively glowed with happiness. “Yes. He’s adorable. So precious.”

“May I hold him?” Lady Tabitha Shaw, better known as Tibby by the league members, asked eagerly.

“Of course.” Though Millie was reluctant to hand over the warm bundle in her arms, she did so anyway. She had no doubt every member of the Mayfair Literary League wanted to hold the baby before the end of their monthly meeting, hosted by Phoebe for convenience.

They had yet to discuss the book they had read in preparation for the meeting, but no one seemed to mind.

Millie pressed a hand to her still pounding heart. What had come over her just now? She’d held numerous babies, including her own nephews and nieces, over the years. As the youngest of four daughters, she was now an aunt to five boys and girls of varying ages. Babies were nothing new.

Perhaps it was the realization that, at the age of six and twenty, her chances of holding her own baby were growing slimmer with each month that passed.

She was an aunt. Frequently a chaperone. Not a wife, and certainly not a mother. If she weren’t careful, spinster would be added to the brief list.

It was April, and the Season was just beginning. Yet already she found herself accompanying one cousin or another to watch over them rather than simply attending events as a guest. How could she refuse when she’d had more than her share of opportunities to catch a man’s notice?

All for naught.

At least, no one with whom she would consider spending the rest of her life.

Her advantages were few, it was true. She was pleasant looking, though not especially attractive. Her body was more straight than curved. She had no title and a rather modest dowry. The latter was not a surprise since she was the youngest of four daughters. And then there were her bookish tendencies, which greatly concerned her mother.

All in all, she didn’t compare favorably to the new wave of debutantes who entered Society each year.

“You look wonderful, Phoebe,” Harriet, Viscountess Garland, said as the ladies continued to take turns with the baby.

“Indeed, you do,” Frances Sinclair agreed.

“Thank you.” Phoebe heaved a contented sigh, then sank into a chair and adjusted her skirts. “Becoming a mother has been the most challenging and rewarding endeavor I have ever undertaken.” She sniffed as she glanced at her son, now held by Lady Winifred Godwin. “And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“I am so pleased to hear that,” Tibby said, her grin infectious. “Because Michael and I are expecting come late summer.”

The ladies all gasped in surprise, immediately swarming Tibby to offer hugs and congratulations. Millie was the first to do so as she sat next to her, thrilled by the news. Rebecca and Winifred quickly joined her.

Then Millie stepped back to allow her other friends the same chance, her attention returning to the baby. Her heart ached with longing as she watched him raise one tiny fist in the air, the sweet gesture causing her to press a hand to her chest at the pain there.

The time had come to make some decisions regarding her future. Did she continue the path to spinsterhood, content with chaperoning her cousins and being an aunt to her nieces and nephews? Or did she allow her father to find her a husband, and hope it was someone who would provide companionship in the years to come?

Her father had arranged husbands for all three of her older sisters, and they were content with their lives, at least for the most part. After all, “no marriage is perfect” as one of her sisters liked to remind her.

Yet as Millie looked around the room at her friends, she noted they all had marriages that appeared nearly so.

She was the last single member of the original book club. Lady Marian had moved from London to live with her sister in the Cotswolds. Lady Lucinda and her sister, Lady Jane, were spending a year in Italy with relatives. Phoebe had received a letter from Lucinda which stated they were enjoying it immensely.

Millie was the only unattached woman in the room.

That was not what she’d envisioned when Phoebe had first proposed the For Better or Worse agenda two years ago.

The agenda was meant to push them out of their comfortable existence and into making a bold move—nothing untoward, of course—to catch the notice of their secret tendre .

It sounded simple enough but was anything except that.

Millie knew so firsthand. Last summer, she had thought the man who held her regard might be interested in return, only to learn he was involved in a wager where a group of rogues attempted to be the first to dance with twelve wallflowers at twelve different balls in order to win a substantial sum.

To Millie’s dismay, she had been one of those wallflowers.

The dance she’d shared with Winston Chadwick, the Marquess of Linford, had been delightful, as had the few conversations they’d shared during those few weeks. Those moments had given her hope.

Until she found out about the ridiculous wager.

“What has you so pensive, Millie?” asked Eliza Carstairs, the Duchess of Trentworth, who also happened to be Winston’s sister.

Heat stung Millie’s cheeks, for she had yet to admit to Eliza, or anyone in the league for that matter, who her secret tendre was. She tended to think Phoebe and Tibby might have guessed his identity, and her cousin, Prudence knew.

But most definitely not Eliza.

“Oh, nothing really,” she began, trying desperately to think of an excuse but reluctant to lie. “I suppose I’m just trying to imagine how wonderful Phoebe must feel.”

Eliza smiled, her expression softening as she watched Phoebe. “She looks so happy, doesn’t she?”

“Indeed.” Millie reached out to touch Eliza’s arm. “As do you. Clearly, married life agrees with you.”

“It does.” Eliza’s green eyes shifted to meet Millie’s. “I was certain that marrying Philip would be wonderful.” She leaned close as if to impart a secret and whispered, “And I often tell him I was right.”

Millie laughed. “Something every man enjoys hearing, I’m sure.”

“Most certainly.” A companionable silence settled over them as they watched the others who continued to admire the baby.

“Millie,” Eliza began, hesitation quieting her tone, “I must ask if you have considered moving forward with the For Better or Worse agenda.”

Stomach clenching, Millie opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. “I have, but I don’t believe it would work in this particular case.”

A delicate furrow marred Eliza’s brow. “Are you certain? Given that so many of us found success, I wonder if there is a move you have not yet thought of.”

There were so many options that had crossed Millie’s mind over the last few months that she was nearly dizzy with them. Yet none seemed possible.

Or perhaps it was more that she wasn’t capable of them. In truth, she didn’t know.

Eliza leaned forward to catch her gaze. “What if we asked the group for ideas? Someone might have a suggestion.”

“Thank you, but no.” Millie forced a smile past the wedge of worry in her throat. “I wouldn’t want to bother them when I’m certain of the outcome. Any effort would be for naught.”

“I think if you asked, each of us would admit to that same feeling before making our bold moves.” Eliza shook her head. “Forgive me for pressing you. Please know that I only want to help. If there’s something I can do—”

She touched Eliza’s arm again, this time to stop her before she could finish the offer. Other than saying something positive about Millie to her brother to help him see her in a more favorable light, she couldn’t think of anything. “Thank you. I truly appreciate it. But I fear this tendre is simply not meant to be.”

Millie ignored the heaviness in her chest the admission caused, telling herself it was for the best that she made other plans that didn’t involve Winston. Just as she’d told Eliza, some things were not meant to be.