Lady Olivia was several years Millie’s senior, though younger than her brother. She no longer had the freshness of youthful beauty but had taken pains to cultivate a more sophisticated appearance. But women of her wealth and standing need not marry for their security or place in the world.
“I think you ought to listen to your guest, Olivia.” Lord Neil came through the room with an arrogant laziness, and he took a chair near his sister’s head. “You will find what she has to say fascinating, I am certain.”
“Oh? Very well, then.” Olivia sat up and wrapped her robe more tightly about herself. “What is it, Miss Wedgewood?”
Millie took in a breath; she did not look to Lord Neil. She had no wish to betray that he was actually on her side of the matter. “I have considered our arrangement, Lady Olivia, and I am afraid I cannot go through on my end. I wanted to tell you directly, so that we might end things before your mother’s house party guests arrive. I should not wish to cause a scene of any kind. I will pack my things and take my leave right away.”
Beneath her honey-colored curls, Lady Olivia’s expression barely changed. She appeared as bored as she had when Millie entered the room, and hardly more awake. “Is that all? What happened? Were you found out?”
“Not at all.” Millie kept her hands at her side, though bringing them together to twist her ring about her finger usually calmed her. Showing weakness of any kind in front of Lady Olivia could leave Millie in greater trouble. “But the arrangement is no longer prudent. I cannot, in good conscious, do as you asked regarding Sir Isaac.”
“Really.” Lady Olivia stood slowly, languidly, and came toward Millie. Lady Olivia was much taller than Millie’s petite form. She moved with all the grace of a swan, too. Everything about her spoke of privilege. “Perhaps you will rethink this when I tell you what I have learned about you, my dear.”
Every hair on Millie’s arms stood on end, while each muscle in her body grew taut. “There is nothing especially interesting in my past,” Millie said, barely keeping her words even. “Everyone knows about my sister.”
“But not everyone knows where she is now. I do.” Lady Olivia did not hide her feline grin when Millie’s jaw dropped. “Did you not know where she is, Miss Wedgewood? And that is but one thing I have learned.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I have sent a note requesting that Stephan Maritain and his wife attend our house party. They have agreed.”
Millie’s knees went weak, and she watched Lady Olivia come closer the way a mouse watched a cat prepare to pounce. She swallowed. “The Viscount, Lord Carning.” Her words came out hoarse.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Lord Neil asked, sounding bored and far away.
Millie had forgotten he was there, listening. She went cold all over but directed her eyes to his. “He is the man my sister was to marry.”
“Not just any man. The grandson of a duke, poised to one day inherit the title.” Lady Olivia walked behind Millie, circling her. Toying with her. “He has given me his word to help you, my dear, and your family. It has been, what, six years since your sister disappeared with her Welshman?”
Millie’s stomach turned. “Yes.”
“Lord Carning has graciously agreed to forget the past and put your family back in his good graces. If you insist upon going back upon our agreement, perhaps I could persuade him to remind people of the past. Of the insult you offered to his family. And leaving my home, quitting my offered friendship, would also be a rather black mark upon you.” She stopped when she had come all the way around Millie and stood closer. Her green eyes were cold as stone. “How would your dear mama take that bit of news, Miss Wedgewood? More debts might be called in. What few cards and invitations trickle into your mother’s grasp would cease. Are you prepared to be a complete outcast?”
Lord Neil cleared his throat, loudly, before his sister had quite finished the question. “Olivia. Are you threatening Miss Wedgewood? I believe she said she would like to go home. Torturing her hardly becomes you.”
“Really? I find it most suitable.” Lady Olivia smirked and turned to look at her brother over one slim shoulder. “You know nothing of my plans, brother. I suggest we keep it that way. Miss Wedgewood and I entered into an agreement. It would be quite unacceptable for her to go back upon it now. Dishonorable, in fact.” She turned back to Millie and tilted her head so that it nearly rested upon her shoulder. The effect of her chilled smile at that angle disconcerted Millie. “Do you still wish to go home, Miss Wedgewood? Or would you rather stay here, and enjoy our house party?”
Millie’s stomach rolled, but she lowered her chin and shuddered as she answered, “I will stay.”
“What of Sir Isaac?” The nobleman’s daughter stepped closer, whispering her words. “What of our agreement?”
“Livvy—”
The woman turned a glare on her brother, hissing like a cat. “I have asked you not to call me that anymore, Neil.”
Millie’s heart grew cold, gripped in icy dread. What choice did she have now? “I will do as you ask, Lady Olivia.” She caught a glimpse of Lord Neil coming to his feet, wearing a concerned frown. But he said nothing. She did not blame him. Things had turned quickly. She drew in a breath and dropped her curtsy again. “I am sorry I disturbed you.” Then she turned and left the room, forcing her steps to remain slow until she closed the door behind her.
She ran. Down the halls, her slippers making hardly a sound on the plush carpets upon the shining wood floors. She ran to her room, flew through the door, and directly to Sarah. There was no one else who would understand. But Sarah, arms full of clothing as though she had begun to pack, took one look at Millie and dropped everything in order to embrace her mistress.
“What happened?” the maid asked, dread in her words.
Millie cried and told the whole story through her tears.
The man who had destroyed her family was coming. She spoke his name and Sarah immediately sat down upon the bed, shocked.
“Not him,” the maid whispered. “He’s terrible.”
They both knew it was an understatement. Terrible did not begin to describe Lord Carning. Sarah had seen the sort of man he was, and her presence alone had saved Millie from far worse than social ruin the night Millie had told him about her sister running away.
“You can’t be in the same house with him, miss,” the maid whispered, her whole face pale beneath her cap, nearly the same shade of white. “Under the same roof.”
“What choice do we have?” Millie asked. She climbed onto the bed, her tears spent, and covered her eyes with one hand. The ache she had felt before had grown into a harsh pounding in her head.
“Write to your mother. Tell her what’s happened. Then we catch the post coach when everyone else is sleeping.” Sarah shook her head even as she spoke, doubting the plan as it formed.
“Mother will not suffer more damage to her reputation.” Millie turned on her side and drew a pillow close, wrapping her arms about it in a vain search for comfort. “I have to do what Lady Olivia asked. I have to find a way to break Sir Isaac’s heart.” She closed her eyes against those words, finding tears stinging anew. “I thought he had started to like me, too.” The admission was weak and meaningless now.
Because no matter how much the man did or did not care for her company, she had to hurt him. Or allow her family to sink too low for anyone to pull them out again.
Chapter 12
July 21, 1815
Millie penned her acceptance of Lady Inglewood’s invitation when she woke the next morning. Dread pulled at her limbs, making each of her movements slow and ponderous. Every stroke of the pen was a lash upon her conscience. Sarah took the folded note with her lips pressed tightly together, her face pale.
“I am sorry, Sarah,” Millie said quietly, her pen falling from her limp fingers to the desk. A drop of ink fell onto the wood. “This is a mess of my own making. There is no other way to look at it.”
Sarah lowered her eyes to the paper in her
hand. “But what if—what if you don’t have to do this? What if we find another way?”
Millie dabbed at the ink upon the finely polished wood, staining her thumb. “What other way?”
“You’re supposed to hurt Sir Isaac. Humiliate him, somehow. Isn’t that right, miss?”
“Yes.” Millie rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, then took out her handkerchief to rub off the ink. She had dozens of handkerchiefs stained with ink, from her work creating the delicate black designs on pale wood. She kept them all for use in her art. One more would hurt nothing.
“What do you think he did to Lady Olivia, that she harbors such a desire to cause him pain?”
“I would think it’s obvious, miss.” Sarah’s nose wrinkled and her lips pulled back in an expression of distaste. “She tried to win him for herself, and he spurned her. I can’t say that I blame him at all, miss.”
That did seem a likely cause for Lady Olivia’s bitterness. “No. I would not blame him either. Though she certainly appears harmless enough, at first acquaintance.”
“Until her claws come out.” Sarah shuddered and tucked the note in her apron pocket. “I’ll see that this goes to her ladyship at once, miss. But might I offer up a suggestion?”
“Hm?” Millie’s mind had drifted into imagining the rather satisfying scene of Sir Isaac rejecting a woman as beautiful and well-connected as Lady Olivia. “What suggestion, Sarah?”
“I think you ought to tell Sir Isaac what’s happening. He could maybe find a way out of all the mess.” Sarah offered a hesitant smile, followed closely by her curtsy. “I’ll be back in a trice, miss.”
The maid left Millie alone in her room, nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Millie rose from the little table by the window and went to look outside. Her room was placed as to give her a view of the stables, placed a distance from the house, and nothing else particularly lovely. She opened her window to let in some air, then leaned against the sill.
Telling Sir Isaac would only create a bigger problem. He had already been suspicious of her when she first arrived. What would he think once he learned her entire reason for being in Suffolk was to humiliate and hurt him? It would hardly garner his trust. He would see everything she had done as her attempt to win her aim.
With her head leaning against the windowpane, Millie considered her options anew. She had sent a letter to her mother that very morning, sparing no detail in what Lady Olivia had threatened. Any advice her mother might have would be welcome. Given that Mother only wanted to return to a position of prominence, however, made it unlikely she would do more than encourage Millie in her task of hurting Isaac.
As the hours passed, Millie’s thoughts lingered upon the man she had tried to only think of as her quarry. His crooked grin. His sweetness toward his nephew, and his sister. He carried himself with such confidence and had the baring of a soldier. He was handsome, too. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. He had a lightness in his eyes, and she suddenly wished she had seen more of it in his actions. But life had dealt difficulty to him, and that weighed upon his shoulders.
An abhorrent task lay before her. Humiliate him. Hurt him. Satisfy Lady Olivia’s desire to see him suffer.
When the hour for the bonfire came, Sarah helped Millie to dress for it. There were no silks for beaches and bonfires, but a comfortable blue muslin gown. No jewels in her hair, but a matching ribbon to assist in holding the plaits and twists of her copper-colored tresses in place against the beach’s wind. Then a shawl, soft and gray, to keep her warm.
Millie looked herself over in the mirror, then turned to offer a smile to her maid. “Thank you.”
The maid curtsied. “Good luck tonight, miss.”
Millie needed more than luck. She needed cunning. She needed cleverness. And a heart of stone.
But maybe not yet.
The house party began tomorrow. She would have no choice but to take up her assignment from Lady Olivia in full. For one last evening, Millie gave herself permission to simply be herself.
* * *
Isaac walked through the gardens of Inglewood Keep, each terrace leading him closer to the beach path. He kicked at a rock that dared leave its place beneath the shrubbery. He wore the same clothes he had on the day he met Miss Wedgewood spying upon his property. Comfortable. Old. Not at all befitting his status, but perfect for an evening upon the beach enjoying the surf and a bonfire.
On the lowest terrace, Esther would have lanterns and a meal spread upon tables. Many of their friends and neighbors would be present. Esther and Silas, Jacob and Grace, Isaac, the Ashfords, Jacob’s unwed sisters, his married brother, and possibly Miss Parr, whom Grace and Esther both were attempting to befriend and guide before she went to London next Season.
People he had known nearly the whole of his life. Friends, most of them. Ready to share laughter and memories, to sing while they sat around the bonfire and forget about all their responsibilities until the morning.
Yet for all the pleasure such an evening promised, Isaac’s thoughts lingered on Millie’s plight. Had Lady Olivia sent her away, as Millie thought she might? What cause would the marquess’s family have to give their assistance to someone of such low rank in the first place?
None of it made sense to him, but then, Isaac had never been overly concerned with what Society thought of him. After coming back from the war, Society held even less of a draw for him. The whole of Society’s machinations and rules had lost its appeal to him. It was meaningless, vying for popular opinion to turn in his favor.
Seeing all the helpless of London, all the men broken by the war, the women left widows and children orphans, had cured him of ever wishing to step foot into that town again. The nobility and other elite refused to see the pain and suffering all around them. Isaac could not wish to be part of that.
Yet others needed that approval. The Wedgewood family believed they needed it. He could not judge Millie for that, though it grated upon him that the path Millie’s family had chosen involved any member of the Marquess of Alderton’s family.
Laughter pulled him from his thoughts, and Isaac stopped just shy of entering the lowest terrace. Tall hedges on either side of the step, and an archway of twisting ivy, marked this part of the garden as separate, as a doorway marked a room. He drew in a deep breath and put a smile upon his face, then stepped through.
Esther had outdone herself. Though not yet dark, the garden was lined with torches. A small fountain merrily sang and reflected the firelight. Tables laden with covered dishes were surrounded by people filling their plates. A little over a dozen people conversed, laughed, and drank from elegantly curved cups.
Isaac took in a deep breath, though his shoulders already ached with how tightly he held everything within himself. If the group was any larger, he might find himself ill. Indoors, he often sought the edges of the room near the windows.
You are not trapped, he told himself, as firmly as he would a subordinate. You are in the open air. These are your friends. All is well. The war… Before Napoleon’s escape from Alba, his familiar litany included a reminder that the war had ended. Now, however, the Corsican was upon the Continent again, stirring up trouble.
Isaac shuddered, despite the warmth of the evening air.
A small hand touched his arm, fingers curling about his wrist. “Sir Isaac?” a familiar feminine voice whispered. “Are you well?”
His gaze fell to his side, to a familiar pair of warm brown eyes and hair that glistened a fiery red in the fading light of evening.
“Millie.” Her Christian name escaped him so naturally that it took him a moment to understand why her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline, and her cheeks colored. He felt his cheeks warm, too. He cleared his throat. “I apologize. Miss Wedgewood. You are still here.”
She must not have appreciated his tone. Her eyebrows fell as she narrowed her eyes at him, and removed her hand from his arm, which made him immediately regret the stumble in his words. “Yes, I am afraid so.”
>
Isaac reached for the withdrawing hand, catching it before she could tuck it out of sight. “No, you misunderstand. I meant to say that I am glad you are not gone. That you were not sent home.” He let out a shaky, awkward chuckle. “I did not think to see you again, after our meeting yesterday.”
She lowered her head, allowing him to glimpse the ribbons sliding through her hair like rivulets of water. “I know. I did not expect to be here either.” A line appeared between her eyebrows, though she smiled. “There was only a small misunderstanding between myself and Lady Olivia. I spoke to her. It seems I will be a guest until the end of her mother’s house party after all.”
“I am glad to hear it.” The moment Isaac spoke the words, he recognized the truth in them. She intrigued him. Amused him, even. Her conversation was unusual, but comfortable. Honest. And that smile of hers—
One corner of her mouth crept upward and revealed her dimple. “Do you know what I thought after our conversation yesterday?”
“No. Tell me.” His lips twitched, tempted to match her smile with one of his own.
“That you would rather not associate with one of my tainted reputation.” She looked down, pointedly, at their joined hands. “It seems I was mistaken.”
Isaac released her and stepped back, tucking his hand behind his back. “I apologize if I gave that impression. Your standing in Society has no bearing on our acquaintance. Your personal conduct and character are more important than whatever your popularity might be.”
She lowered her head, her expression changing to one of contemplation. “There are few enough who say such things, and fewer still that mean them.”
Isaac bent to catch her gaze. “You have my word, Miss Wedgewood. I mean every word I say.” Then he offered his arm, and she took it hesitantly. “Have you eaten?” He nodded to the laden tables. “Met everyone?”
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