She spent the rest of the afternoon in her room rehashing conversations and rereading letters from Stephenie.
Her father and his friends used the office to interrogate Chandler. There would be consequences to his actions. Apologizing to the locals might not be enough to keep him from hanging.
Millie paced in her bedroom. She needed Stephen's notes from her father's office. The familiar strokes of his quill reminded her of Stephenie's letters. She wanted to compare them.
Cora burst into the room waving pages of paper. "Don't ask me how, but I got them."
"Thank you. I knew you could do it."
"Sure. Now are you going to tell me why you insisted I retrieve these papers?"
"No. Just go into the hallway and keep watch. Let me know if someone comes this way."
"But–"
"Cora, please do this for me."
Cora sighed. "Fine, but one of these days I'll be old enough to get into my own trouble."
"Indeed you will," said Millie, shoving her younger sister outside her door.
Grabbing Stephenie's letters from her desk drawer, she spread them side by side with Stephen's notes, studying the strokes. The similarities were unmistakable. The writing looked to be from the same hand. How was this possible? Could Stephen be related to Stephenie? She decided there was only one way to find out. Ask.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stephen rolled over on his cot and faced the wall. Fresh bandages covered the side of his head and blocked part of his vision. Begging for permission to have his time with Millie had failed. The doctor assured him he would have all the time he needed after he was unhampered by his injury.
"Stupid physician," Stephen muttered. The doctor was unmarried, so what did he know about courting. Stephen worried that Millie would find another man to accept her affections if he was laid up too long.
The door opened and with it came the barest scent of roses. Stephen closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before turning over.
Millie stood before him with papers twisted in a vise-like grip. He attempted to sit up as she slapped them on the bed. She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "What is the meaning of this?"
Stephen shuffled through the stack. The notes he'd made in Henri's study lay on top. At the bottom were Stephenie's letters. He closed his eyes against the hurt on Millie's face.
"It's true then? You know about my letters?"
He opened his eyes and stared at her unblinking.
"I told Amelia you had to know something but she said I needed proof, and now you've given it to me. Your expression says it all."
Painfully, he stood and faced her. She pummeled his chest with her fists. "How could you? How could you follow me around and integrate yourself into my life and lie to me like that?"
He grabbed her hands and held them tightly to his chest. "Don't you remember what you told me? That sometimes we don't tell the truth when we should and that someday I might be in a similar situation and need forgiveness?"
Tears slipped from the corners of Millicent's lovely eyes. Leaning forward Stephen kissed her wet cheeks and she lowered her lashes and sighed.
"Today is that day," he confessed.
Millie nodded and he released her. Standing made him so dizzy he sat on the edge of the bed and cradled his head in his hands.
"Stephen? Are you all right?" Millie exclaimed with concern.
He lifted his head and offered a brief smile. "Give me a moment, sunshine."
She knelt before him. "I shouldn't have accosted you while you're in such a fragile state."
Stephen shook his head and laughed harshly. "Don't be concerned. I'll live."
"Can you tell me why your handwriting matches the handwriting of my best friend and pen pal, Stephenie?"
Stephen prayed for wisdom. "Because I am Stephenie."
Millie jumped backward. "Why are you lying to me?"
"I'm not lying." He reached and grabbed her hand, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. "Have you not noticed that I know things about you that no one else does? Like I know you hate the nickname Little Dove. I know your favorite flower is a rose and that you're allergic to orchids. I know your favorite color is blue. I also know you think your hair and eyes are plain and that you long for a man to find you beautiful."
"Stop," she whimpered.
Stephen continued, "What about your dream of teaching children to play the piano? Or your desire to have at least three children of your own so you can name them–"
"How?" she asked breathlessly.
Stephen ran his hand through his hair. "Fate."
"What?"
"Your first letter was delivered to my home by mistake. During the transport from Louisiana to South Carolina some letters rubbed away on Stephenie's name and the postmaster made a guess that the correspondence was sent to me. I didn't realize the mistake until I'd read almost the entire first letter. At which point, I realized I had to know more about you."
"Why?" she asked breathlessly.
"I don't know. I just knew when I finished reading the letter you'd touched me like no one ever had."
"What about chasing me in New Orleans? You didn't know who I was. You were infatuated and kept following me, trying to catch me."
"You just spoke the crux of everything."
"What?"
"I was following you. I was after you. Don't you understand it was always you?"
Stephen placed his hands on her upper arms and drew her close. He crushed his lips against hers, wanting to express his pent up passion.
Breathless, he pulled back and laid his forehead against hers.
"I love you Millicent Jane Beaumont and I would love nothing more than to call you my wife for eternity."
Chapter Thirty-Four
After weeks of renting a room in Bayou Sara, Stephen stood before Henri to ask for Millicent's hand. Soon, he needed to return home. He worried about his father and how their plantation had fared in his absence.
He waited nervously in Henri's study. When Mr. Beaumont stepped into the room, Stephen cleared his throat to speak, but Henri interrupted.
"I know you want to marry Millie. She's furious with me for making you wait these few weeks to get to know each other. If I have to hear the pen pal story one more time, I might lose my mind."
Stephen fought his laughter.
"So, yes, you have my permission but only if you promise me one thing."
"What?" Stephen would promise the moon if it meant he could marry Millicent.
"You must promise to bring Millie for a visit at least once a year."
Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course. I would be happy to bring her every year."
****
Three weeks after Millie's father gave his blessing for her and Stephen to marry, she peeked around a hedge. Stephen waited beside the minister. He shifted from side-to-side and she smiled at his nervousness. Cool evening air rushed around her ankles, but it was refreshing.
The wedding should have occurred inside but Millie refused. This might be her last time to enjoy the garden of her youth.
Mother and Amelia had decorated the garden. Rows of chairs faced Stephen and the minister. Green ivy covered an arbor beneath which the minister clothed in his black robe, stood beside Stephen. Torchlight reflected off the strands of her soon-to-be husband's coal black hair and she marveled at how handsome he looked in a suit of the finest quality. To the left of Stephen the church choir sang beautiful hymns. The music swelled in Millie's breast and gave her confidence.
Hanging lanterns swayed in the breeze, their light glowing and highlighting the flagstone path. Red roses trimmed the edges. Millie clasped her father's elbow and together they stepped to the pathway. The choir silenced.
With each step the ivory colored silk of her gown reflected lamplight. She watched Stephen's jaw drop and couldn't remove her gaze from his, such was the love emanating from his eyes.
The sound of the wedding march filtered from the open windows of
the house. She'd taught the song to Mary for just this occasion. Her first pupil made her proud.
As Millie walked, she rehashed all she'd learned about Stephen as well as herself. While you may believe you are in control of your destiny, sometimes events happen contrary to your carefully laid plans. And when you least expect it, there may be someone special waiting for you.
The corners of her lips lifted when Stephen took both her hands in his. Forever, Millie would be grateful that her letter went missing and was delivered to Stephen in error.
The End
Amelia (Excerpt)
Southern Hearts Series, Book Two
Chapter One
"Two years?" asked Priscilla incredulously.
"Indeed. And her parents are none too happy about it, either. I heard Stephen promised Millicent she could come home at least once a year, and then he up and forbade her from coming at all."
Amelia hastened from the mercantile leaving Priscilla and her unnamed friend behind. Mother always said eavesdropping brought nothing but trouble. In this case, she was right.
"What are you doing?"
Cora's voice rang behind her and Amelia jumped. "Must you always sneak up on me?"
"I wasn't sneaking up on you, Miss Prim."
"Cora, I asked you not to call me that."
"Well, if the shoe fits."
"If the shoe fits? Where do you come up with these sayings? Maybe Mother should speak with your friends' parents. Clearly your influences need adjusting."
Cora planted her hands on her hips. Tall and slender, she reminded Amelia of a bean pole. "I'm sixteen and mother trusts me. You're just jealous of how cultured my friends are."
Amelia rolled her eyes and climbed into the family carriage. "Where are Father and Isaac?"
"I think they're at Mr. Hopkins' place."
"Oh." Amelia hid her curiosity. What possible reason could they have for visiting the Hopkins' family?
Cora stood at the open door of the carriage. "While you were out and about, did you overhear any…" She paused and lowered her voice, "…talk?"
Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. Rumors had circulated throughout the community like a wildfire on a dry hill since Millie denounced her portion of the Beaumont Plantation and moved to South Carolina. The town's inhabitants believed Millie had left in disgrace; only her family knew the truth.
Pure as the driven snow, Millie had married Stephen Green knowing he would care for her and she would have no further need of her father's support. She had released her rights to the Beaumont fortune, which allowed Amelia and Cora to have larger inheritances.
Avoiding Cora's question, Amelia started talking about the new fabric bolts in the mercantile. Soon, their father, Henri Beaumont, and Isaac, their household servant, returned to the carriage.
Henri said, "Cora, climb in so we can retrieve your mother."
"Where is she?" asked Cora, as Isaac assisted her into the coach.
"At Miss Trudy's."
Amelia covered her mouth to hide her shock. Trudy Turnbuckle, the old biddy, instigated most of the town's gossip. One didn't need to purchase a newspaper with her around. The young people in town had aptly nicknamed her – The Press.
A few minutes later, Isaac pulled in front of the Turnbuckle home and Alice Beaumont stomped out. Red-faced and swinging her arms in an angry gait, she threw open the carriage door, climbed inside with her husband's help, and plopped against the leather interior with a loud thud.
"I never!" she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Henri frowned as Isaac pulled from the driveway and set the horses on their way toward home.
Cora fidgeted and leaned over to Amelia. She whispered, "I wonder what happened."
Amelia lifted her hand to shush her sister, but it was too late. Her mother faced them, her face angry and as pink as a radish.
"Do you want to know what happened?" she asked.
Amelia shook her head. "No, I don't think–"
Her mother cut her off. "I'll tell you what happened. That woman, oh, she makes me so angry; why, she told the entire town that Millie has stayed away because she's upset with us. She even insinuated we have an issue with Stephen! The nerve! Why would she pretend to know information concerning our family? As far as I know, we haven't spoken to Miss Trudy or any Turnbuckle since last year's Christmas dinner at church."
Alice continued her rant without leaving an opening for response. Cora twisted her hands in the folds of her gown. Amelia arched a brow and commiserated with her mother.
As soon as they arrived home, Cora jumped from the moving vehicle. Amelia waited until the carriage came to a halt before excusing herself and hurrying to catch her sister.
Fists lifted into the air and mumbling, Cora stomped around the stone bench in the middle of the east garden.
"What did you do?" asked Amelia.
Cora froze.
"You might as well tell me. It's obvious you feel guilty."
Cora opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"You know if you said something about Millie and our personal affairs, you'll only feel better if you come clean."
"Wh-what?" she stuttered.
Amelia shook her head. "Don't worry; I'm sure you meant no harm. Mother will forgive you. Besides, we know the rumors aren't true. Millie isn't mad at us. Perhaps she hasn't visited because she is so busy with her new life. Regardless, I'm sure there is a logical explanation for her absence–"
"Amelia, what are you talking about? I never said a word about Millie."
"Then why are you acting so–"
"It wasn't me." Cora paused before adding, "It was you."
****
"Stephen, you must speak with him."
Millie's loud whisper echoed along the hallway reaching Charles' ears. The glass touched his lips and the liquor poured onto his tongue, burning like molten lava as it slid down his throat.
Two years had passed and the betrayal still felt fresh, the wound open and raw. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have left everything in Victor's clutches?
The voices diminished as Millie and Stephen exited the hallway. Charles collapsed into a plush velvet chair and stared at the roaring fire before closing his eyes. The light from the flames penetrated his closed lids. Air hissed as the wood shifted. The logs popped and crackled.
Why? That was the question he couldn't get past. Why had his uncle betrayed his trust? Why had he–
"Charles?"
He jerked upright and opened his eyes. Liquid sloshed from his glass and stained his shirt. He made an exasperated sound and placed the vessel on the table next to his chair. When he looked up, Stephen studied him, his lips drawn into a thin line.
"We need to talk."
"About what? About my living here? About my surly attitude? About how, when Millicent says jump, you do so without question?"
Stephen stalked into the room, his shoulders rigid. He stopped in front of Charles and slapped his palm on the table. The sound echoed through the high ceilinged room. "Leave Millicent out of this; it has nothing to do with her."
Charles jumped to his feet. "Then pray tell, what does it have to do with, because I want to know."
Stephen's voice rose. "It has to do with you lounging around feeling sorry for yourself. You need to be a man and get out there and make your way. This person," Stephen pointed at him, "is not you. Even after your–"
"Don't say it. Don't talk about my parents. This has nothing to do with them."
Stephen sighed. "Look, Millie and I want to help you, but you have to be willing to help yourself."
Defiantly, Charles crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you suggest? That I should march over to my property and demand that my uncle–"
Stephen interrupted. "Regaining your property will not happen overnight. In fact as much as I hate to admit it, it may never happen. No, what I have in mind is something much simpler."
The Ruse (Excerpt)
Andrews Brothers
/>
Chapter One
February 1802
London, England…
Luke Andrews, Baron of Stockport, waited patiently in the Elis Wold library. Lord Zedekiah Elis, Viscount of Elis Wold, would attend him at any moment, or so he’d been told.
Baubles lined floor-to-ceiling shelves and Luke perused them. An enormous amount of the items represented were dolls.
Luke plucked one from the shelf. The intricately painted figure sported a rouge mouth, bright blue eyes with dark lashes, and a crown of gold atop its overly large head. The doll back in place, he studied the rest of the collection. Their vivid colors and disproportioned bodies attempted to force a person to find them attractive. Silly frippery! What sort of family collects such absurdities?
Luke placed his hands in his pockets and felt for the box. Coins bumped his fingers and he brushed them aside. Rough edges touched his hand and he sighed with relief. Everything was in place.
Restless, he prowled past the crowded shelves to the window. At least the Elis grounds were well maintained and not full of ridiculous topiaries.
Luke sighed and turned from the window. Nothing could hold his attention for very long, not with the impending meeting ahead of him. His wandering feet took him to the fireplace. A fire roared, yet he experienced a slight chill. He stroked the hearth’s uneven stones, the warmth of the rock permeating his palm.
The fact that Lord Elis had not upgraded to a coal fireplace with a scuttle was a bit discouraging.
For lack of anything else to do, Luke looked for wood and was shocked to find the wood box empty.
He lifted his hand to pull the bell rope. The door opened and feeling irrationally guilty, he dropped his hands to his sides.
An elderly man, with a short crop of graying hair, a beak nose, and a slight stoop entered. He didn’t stop to say hello, but rather continued to a seat behind the rather substantial desk.
Once seated, he steepled his fingers and studied Luke. The appraisal caused a frightful set of nerves and Luke found himself unable to stand. He took a seat across from the desk and waited.
Millicent, Southern Hearts Series, Book One Page 16
