Chapter Eight #3
“When I left the house, Harbury and Adrian had planned a quiet evening together while their wives went out. Why? I don’t know.
Likely reliving their youth, or some such male nonsense.
Let us hope their plans did not change. We can dispatch two trusted stagehands—one to Harbury to alert him we are on the way, and the other to Mrs. Vane’s, to tell Cassie and Eliza they are urgently needed.
And the family doctor must be called as well, to lend verisimilitude. ”
“Cousin Sarah,” Neville breathed. “You are a genius.”
She smiled sweetly, with only a touch of self-satisfaction.
“I know.” She raked him with another, knowing gaze.
“Neville, I know you are anxious but do remember to be discreet. Harbury is supposed to be ill, so when you get to the house, enter through the mews. I will make sure the gate is unlocked.”
“I will be there, of course.” Neville gazed at his cousin in bleak surrender. “There is one stop I need to make.”
“Is Asquith at the Albany?” Sarah asked, correctly ascertaining his concern.
“I don’t know.” He did know, however, that he couldn’t marry Millie without Asquith’s permission, and so he needed to conduct a search.
And, as they were all likely to be occupied with his plan to secure Millie’s future for at least the next couple of days, Neville also needed to pass on the Mrs. Cartwright’s letter to a Runner as soon as possible.
Presumably, the Runner would be able to verify the location of that house party before the trail went cold.
But he could not succinctly explain, so he simply added, “Finding Asquith might take some time.”
“Take all the time you need,” Sarah replied. “Asquith must be there.”
“Why does Asquith need to come?” Millie’s frown deepened. “Is the duke—or my sister—genuinely ill?”
“No, dear. But we must make people believe he is.” Sarah subjected Millie to the same scrutiny she’d just given him. “Take the light, would you, cousin?
Neville accepted the lantern.
“Millie,” Sarah said gently, “stay still for a moment.”
Millie complied as Sarah fussed with her hair, adjusting the pins and tucking away stray curls. Then, she leaned back and gave a nod.
“Chin up.” With two gentle fingers, Sarah lifted Millie’s face. “Harris will make sure Lord Willard is back in his box, but as we make our way down the stairs, you must look resolute, dignified, and thoroughly concerned for Harbury.”
Sarah dropped her hand. Millie wiped her cheeks, took a deep breath, and straightened.
“Like this?”
“Well done,” Sarah said approvingly.
With the work of just a few moments, Millie appeared much more like the young lady Neville had crossed swords with only a few short hours ago. Neville bit down on his closed lips, not sure whether he wanted to cheer or to weep.
“Neville, Millie and I will part ways with you now and find Lady Eltenham and my friends. Harris says you may use the Hart Street exit.” She threaded her arm through Millie’s. “Now, Millie, don’t be alarmed if I shed a frightened tear…”
Her voice faded as they left the room.
Neville watched them down the corridor. When they were halfway down, Millie glanced over her shoulder. Neville gave her a nod of reassurance he did not feel.
Yes. He’d wanted her to be his, but not like this.
He sighed. Then, he took one last look around the retiring room. He would always remember this as the place where everything had changed.
Whether for good or ill, he had yet to discover.
*
While Harris and Lady Sarah’s friends kept Lord Willard and his mother occupied, Lady Sarah and Millie successfully bluffed their way out of the theater while making sure a sufficient number of patrons witnessed their exit.
Patrons who would now be spreading word of the ladies’ mutual anxiety over duke’s supposed illness.
As they took their seats in the Pennington’s carriage, which would return to the theater later for Lord and Lady Pennington themselves, Millie finally had a moment to breathe.
Because Lady Sarah had lit the lights inside, Millie could not properly see the road. But she looked out the window nonetheless, unable to face Lady Sarah’s sympathetic scrutiny.
She’d been so, so foolish. In fact, she’d been so foolish for so long, she hardly remembered when her descent into doltishness had begun.
But that was a lie.
The first time she’d lost her footing had been the night Asquith had strolled into his mother’s parlor, trailed by his two handsome friends. She’d only given Lord Blackwell a passing, if appreciative, glance. And then she’d seen him.
Neville had filled her whole frame of vision. He was stylish without being a dandy. He was tall, but not too much taller than her. And he was built like a bull—the kind that would snort and charge and vanquish any threat to his herd.
She’d dropped her eyes, feeling as if she’d just been smacked hard enough to see stars.
She should know, too.
She’d had plenty of experience with the back of her father’s hand. Her slight, unpredictably volatile father with his thin lips, impossible standards, and ranting rages.
With Neville however, she’d immediately felt as if she’d be protected, even though she’d believed male protection was a lie. She’d held herself carefully apart from him because she’d been so troubled by her response.
She’d no reason at all to trust the strange sense of recognition she felt in his presence.
She’d given simple answers to his questions and mostly kept her gaze averted. But she could not seem to stop herself from glancing his way. Worse still, each time she glanced, Neville’s gaze grew warmer, heightening her alarm. That night, even Asquith had teased her about not being herself.
The teasing, as well as her own unsettling reaction to the man, told her that this Lord Neville was dangerous. Not, perhaps, in a traditional sense. But immensely dangerous to her.
She’d been so very thankful when, just a few weeks later, he’d shown his true colors, proving Millie’s fears justified by his unwanted interference in Adrian’s courtship of Eliza.
Neville, she’d believed, was only out to manage everyone’s lives, including hers.
She’d thought him just like her father—gentlemanly and convivial until someone he thought should obey him did not.
But she didn’t want to hide from Neville like she’d hidden from Mr. Wainwright.
Thereafter, she’d given Neville her best shot—determined he knew she was no one with whom he could trifle.
And then she’d followed him into the maze and that stupid raven had flown out of the brush and startled her into falling against him. Until that moment, she hadn’t known her body could heat and tingle and make her feel faint, merely from the brush of a man’s body against hers.
And how had Neville reacted as she was trying to sort out her reaction?
By shoving her away. As if she were vile, clumsy, and stupid. As if tainted by her very touch… Tonight, however, everything she’d thought she’d understood had been turned on its head.
Neville cared. Even more, he wanted her.
And she wanted him, too.
But neither caring nor wanting could protect her from the life her mother had led.
A part of her knew Neville was nothing like her father had been. A part of her understood he was truly good. But she wasn’t truly good. Nor would she ever be.
And wouldn’t such a man, a morally upright man, feel it his duty to direct her, mold her, make her conform to society’s standards? She feared—she very much feared—that when such a morally upright man kissed a woman, he would believe it a duty to offer for her hand.
She peeked over at Sarah, sitting by her side.
“Yes?” Sarah prompted.
“I do not wish to seem ungrateful…”
“Heavens, Millie! I need no mollification. Just ask me whatever you wish to ask.”
“Why did Neville say he had to go to search for Asquith?”
“Because, dear, and I will put this as gently as I can, we are in a family crisis, and the damage must be limited. For decisions to be made, all concerned parties must be present.”
In other words, for exactly the reason Millie most feared. Still, she clung to the hope she was wrong. “I understand the need for Asquith, of course. As my guardian, he must be there. But Neville?”