Page 14 of The Wallflower Manifesto
Very, very curious.
Miss Yardley released her pent breath with a little huff and took up her reticule in her lap, reaching inside to retrieve a stack of money folded carefully into tissue paper. She clipped the damned thing shut before he could make out much of the other contents, but he thought he spotted a small tin of rouge oil and an ink-filled leather journal.
A scent like sliced pears escaped the little silk bag in a gust as it was snapped shut. Her perfume, perhaps?
“Thank you kindly,” Ember Donnelly said with a smile and a shake of her curly head. “Did you decide on a night?”
“Should be exactly a week from now,” Millie replied with a sigh. “I still need to track down a box of high-quality cigars. I’ve no idea where to buy such things.AndI have to prepare for the Wharton ball tonight.”
“I can take you somewhere for the cigars after we eat ,” Ember said cheerfully, thumbing quickly through the bills before relocating them to her waistcoat pocket. “I keep a stock of all manner of vices at the club, you know. But you’re on your own for the ball.”
Was Miss Yardley renting out a gambling hell for Lady Bentley? What possible, deliciously scandalous purpose could a dowager countess have for wanting to reserve such a venue?
Abe cleared his throat and turned the page in his file, still not having read a single word.
“I’m sure you have,” Millie replied with some amusement. “I regret we have not spent more time together before now. You must have many stories to share.”
“Oh, I do,” Ember assured her. “Inheriting the Forge was akin to moving to another world when I was widowed. I’d be happy to tell you all the scandalous details sometime.”
“I think you should join us on Thursday, actually,” Millie corrected. “Lady Bentley says the Spinsters adore a good bit of scandal.”
“Ah, to be a spinster,” Ember sighed wistfully, lifting a morsel of sausage to her lips with her fork.
“Dot will be there too,” Millie added brightly. “She says she hasn’t seen much of you since you moved to St. James.”
“Not by design, I assure you,” Ember replied. “It’s just been very busy since the relocation. I miss all the Fletchers terribly—Dot, Percy, even that damn cat. I’ve an urge to sneeze just thinking about her, and yet I want to scratch behind her ears and tell her what a good cat she is all the same.”
Abe winced. He was familiar with the cat in question. He was reasonably certain it was a witch or some manner of malignant fae in disguise.
Then again, all cats fit that description, didn’t they? This one was just embracing her role with unseemly enthusiasm.
Silas had named the creature Queen Mab. As far as Abe was concerned, that meant he was in on it.
“Is everything correct?” Cresson cut in as the ladies’ conversation veered toward the new Cain baby and the plumpness of her cheeks.
“What? Oh, yes,” Abe said, snapping the file shut. “Right as rain. These shouldn’t take more than a week or two. I am anxious to get the jewel thief notes, however. Any way you can speed that up?”
“I can give you what I have as of now if you want to come back to the office with me,” Cresson said, his voice sounding a little thinner than usual.
In fact, Abe noted, he was holding his coffee cup so tightly that his knuckles were white. And there wasn’t even anything in there anymore. He’d quaffed it as soon as the ladies sat down.
He blinked at the other man, who was already setting about the business of buckling his leather case.
“Now?” Abe asked, looking down at his uneaten breakfast with a frown.
Cresson gave a curt nod. “Yes. Now. I’ve business elsewhere this afternoon.”
“Have a lovely day, gentlemen,” Millie Yardley said to them, her voice holding a hint of dismissal. It was the first time she’d looked directly at Abe since he’d called out to her, and she looked rather more pleased at the prospect of his departure than he’d have preferred. She gave him a smug little smile. “Thank you for the table.”
Abe winked at her, which stole her smile away, and snatched a sausage link from his plate as he was forced to follow Cresson to the barman, where he counted out payment for their breakfast and the ladies’ too.
“Is she really his mistress?” Cresson asked in a hushed voice as his change was tallied, throwing a sidelong glance at Abe. “And she’s friends with his wife’s sister?”
“Who? Oh, Miss Donnelly?” Abe chuckled. “Like her, do you?”
Cresson colored again. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s all right, Joe. She’s a handsome woman,” Abe wheedled, grinning widely. “You might have spoken to her while she was sat next to you, though.”
