Chapter Three
Millie had been fully prepared to take notes regarding potential furniture placement for her sister Eliza’s upcoming ball, but as she trailed Eliza, and Eliza’s step-mother-in-law, Mrs. Vane, around the combined rear parlors of D’Acre House, the ladies repeatedly deferred to one another on every issue without making a single decision.
Which begged the question—was everyone in Millie’s life conspiring to try her patience?
So long as her sister and her sister’s predecessor continued to praise one another, not even the basic layout for Eliza’s first soiree as marchioness would be settled., The ball might never happen.
Not that Millie cared. By late April, she intended to be safely back in the country.
“Well, Eliza,” Mrs. Vane said, “just because I preferred the Broadfield in the North Parlor doesn’t mean you can’t move it to the South.”
“But, Caroline, you are a much more experienced hostess. Besides, Adrian trusts you completely.”
“Where Emily is concerned, yes,” Mrs. Vane acknowledged. “But Adrian trusts you, too. And I doubt he has a strong opinion about pianoforte placement. Besides, this is your home now, and you should decorate for the upcoming ball exactly as you see fit.”
Millie would have rolled her eyes if the mirrors on the wall weren’t present to pick up her reaction. “Perhaps,” she cut in impatiently, “you could move the piano now, see what it looks like, and then make a decision?”
Two pairs of exasperated eyes moved in her direction.
She stiffened. “Aren’t humble scribes permitted commentary?”
“Your tone suggests we are wasting our time,” Mrs. Vane replied. “May I remind you that a newly married lady’s first ball is crucial to her success?”
“And you volunteered to transcribe our ideas,” Eliza reminded. “If you are finding the process tedious, you are welcome to entertain yourself in another fashion.”
“I do believe I will.” Millie handed back her paper and pencil and turned toward the main hall.
A half hour on hypothetical piano placement? Surely her impatience had been justified.
Why, just last Season, Eliza would have rolled her eyes at such a protracted discussion, too.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Eliza had always been the sister with whom Millie had shared witty, under-breath mocking while their other sisters went to ridiculous lengths play-acting at being ladies and having beaus. Now, all Eliza could talk about were dance areas and decorations, guest lists, and proper vendors.
Millie huffed.
Of late, she didn’t recognize Eliza at all.
Millie rounded the corner only to pause on the morning parlor’s threshold. Inside the room, Lenora, Nettie, and Emily huddled together on the sofa exactly as they had been during the morning’s calls.
Asquith had come, much to Lenora’s delight. Blackwell, too—to Nettie’s. Ladies had filled the room…all of them curious, Millie suspected, to see if Lord Willard would make an appearance.
He had not.
Millie still wasn’t sure how she felt about his absence. A tad anxious, perhaps? Slightly let down, though certainly not in any devastating way.
Her interest in him, after all, was not that of a young lady expecting a courtship.
On the other hand, she did feel as if someone had stolen a book from her…one she’d been anxious to finish, too. Lord Willard was a plot unresolved, a mystery without resolution. And, of course, for her plan to work, Willard had to participate.
“Blackwell’s jaw is wrong.” Nettie pointed to Emily’s drawing. “He has perfectly proportioned features.”
“Actually, I think this could be my most accurate sketch yet,” Emily replied. “Your perspective can’t be trusted.”
“Why?” Nettie demanded.
“L’amour yeux—love eyes.”
“Blackwell is fine.” Lenora squinted. “But you haven’t got Asquith quite right. He has a narrower face and, on the rare occasion he truly smiles, a slight dimple on the right side.”
“The dimple, I can add, although I’m not sure I’ve noticed one.” Emily tilted her head. “But I have neither rubber, nor breadcrumb, so I cannot smear away the slight rounding of his cheek.”
“A crumb from Nettie’s cake should work,” Lenora suggested.
“Heaven forbid.” Nettie moved her dish safely out of Emily’s reach. “Not even for a correct likeness of either man.”
Lenora sighed. “You did, however, perfectly render the curve in Asquith’s eyebrows.”
This time, Millie did roll her eyes.
If the alternative to discussing pianos was watching Emily attempt to capture Asquith’s and Blackwell’s likenesses to either sister’s satisfaction, she’d rather go back to the ballroom, thank you.
In any case, both sisters were wrong about which of this Season’s eligible young bachelors was most attractive. Neville was the handsomest, classically speaking.
Moreover, he had a sturdy, muscular quality—a fearful symmetry, to quote a poem she’d recently read. He’d be quite impressive if his personality weren’t so insufferable.
She wandered back out into the hall and took up a place by the left window, just beside the double doors.
Last night, after Nettie had gone to sleep, she’d thought she’d heard people talking in the street.
She’d gotten up to check, but she’d seen only a solitary male figure and something about his shape had reminded her of Neville.
Silly, really.
Why would Neville have been staring up at her window?
She doubted he was even aware of which chamber she occupied.
In any case, whoever the not-Neville man was, he’d turned away, hunching his broad shoulders against the cold, and disappeared into the January night. After he left, the street had been empty.
Unlike now.
This afternoon, the road was full of people of all ages coming and going. She wished she could join the fray. But as a lady, she was not permitted to leave the house, not without a chaperone.
Heavens, how she missed the country.
If she were still at Willowhurst, she’d just lace up her boots and head out for a brisk walk. Or, better yet, a swift ride. Perhaps, she might even collect her rifle and offer to help the old gamekeeper rid the area of pests.
Any of those activities would serve to clear her head.
But they’d sold the manor home. And here in the city, she’d need heavy, awkward pattens rather than boots to go out—if she were allowed out at all.
Even the most inconsequential excursion required an escort.
And, no, the maid she shared with her sisters, she’d been informed, was not a proper chaperone. Which left her cooped up like one of those poor animals at the Exeter ‘Change on the Strand.
She was cut off from any pastime that could serve to brighten her days, especially those activities she’d relied on back at home, when the weight of her mother’s unhappiness threatened to pull them all into despair.
“Waiting for someone?”
Millie glanced over her shoulder and found her brother-in-law Adrian.
“Nothing like that,” she replied hastily. “Morning calls are over, thank heavens.”
“I know.” Adrian grinned. “Why do you think I emerged from my study?”
She shared his conspiratorial smile. “I knew you were purposely staying away.”
“In my defense, no one who called this morning had any desire to see me.” He studied her for a silent moment. “Feeling a little hemmed in, are you?”
“I don’t wish to appear ungrateful.” She hoped the look she gave him appeared properly demure, though she hadn’t Lenora’s gift for purposeful transformation.
“Please.” Adrian laughed out loud. “You don’t have to perform for me.
When I married Eliza, I married her for herself, and I was well aware she would never abandon her sisters.
Besides, if anyone should be grateful, it should be me, not you.
You and your sisters have embraced mine as one of your own. ”
“You may regret having Emily become an honorary Wainwright. Right now, the three of them are in there drawing pictures of—” She stopped herself.
As personable as Adrian could be, he might not react well to the knowledge that both Lenora and Nettie had set their caps for two of his friends. “Well, their ideal beaus.”
He smirked. “Quelle horreur! And where is my wife?”
“With Mrs. Vane. Both of them equally flummoxed by pianos, garlands, and”—she waved her hand dramatically through the air—“light.”
“Whereas you…?”
“Are definitively not.”
“La pauvre.” Adrian nodded sympathetically. “I recognized that expression you had when I first came into the room. You’re itching to get out, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she confided, relieved someone understood and sympathized without her having to explain. How odd, from a man.
“Well, I have a meeting with my solicitors this afternoon, so I can’t ride with you. I can, however, take you over to Harbury’s on my way. Perhaps spending the afternoon with Cassie would be better than milling away your time at the window?”
Doubtful.
Heaven help her if, for instance, she showed up unannounced and caught the duke brushing her sister’s hair! On the other hand, any chance to be out-of-doors for a spell was too tempting to deny.
“Are you planning on taking the curricle?” she asked hopefully.
“I wasn’t.” He chuckled. “A mite cold out there today.” He shuddered. “But I will, if you wish.”
She grinned back at him. “I do wish! I will get my warmest coat and hat!”
She went upstairs, put on a fur-lined coat, hat, and her thickest gloves. Then, she returned. She met Adrian on the street, where the curricle was ready and waiting, with high steppers attached and already nodding impatiently, eager to show off their abilities.
The conveyance—purchased so Adrian could drive his new lady about the park—was a splendid piece of equipment. Well-sprung. A true beauty. And, though the temperature might be a tad low, the sun was bright.
Adrian helped her into the carriage before climbing up himself. He then arranged a fine blanket of lambskin over her legs.
“Thank you,” she said politely. “You’re very thoughtful.”
“Nice of you to say so.” He spared her a quick glance. “I haven’t always been.”