Page 17 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“How do you do?” Miss Lazarus muttered, followed with a sniffle.
“It’s a pleasure,” Millie replied, though privately she found herself rather surprised.
When Dot had said Hannah Lazarus reminded her of Millie, Millie had pictured someone physically similar, with a generous build and dark coloring. This girl was almost pixie-like in frame, a full head shorter than Dot, and crowned with glorious bright orange hair. Her eyes, while swollen with tears, were a crystalline blue.
What on earth did she have in common with this bright little doll of a girl?
“Hannah, this is Millie Yardley,” Dot continued, as though nothing at all were amiss. “My dearest friend. She will tell you, just as I have, that Society gets easier with time.”
Miss Lazarus was not interested in this line of conversation. “Dot, you never had a debut,” she said to her chaperone. “You never had to worry about Society untilafteryou were married. It is different for you.”
The girl slapped a tear away from escaping down her cheek and sniffed again.
Dot looked at a loss. Those things were true, after all.
“I had a debut,” Millie put in, as gently as she could. “And I am yet unmarried. I know we have only just met, but perhaps I will understand if you talk to me about it?”
Miss Lazarus hesitated, raising a reluctant gaze to meet Millie’s.
Dot threw her a thankful expression and hopped in before her ward could decline. “I think that is a brilliant idea,” she said. “Millie will undoubtedly have useful insight.”
“Do you want to walk with me somewhere less crowded?” Millie asked gently, touching the girl’s arm. “Somewhere quiet where we will not be overheard?”
Almost imperceptibly, Miss Lazarus nodded.
And for the second time this evening, Millie Yardley felt as though she mattered.
CHAPTER 7
The garden was still quiet at this early hour. Torches had been lit down a scenic path that ended in a vine-covered pergola. There was a smattering of painted benches along the path for dancers to rest their weary feet after hours of dancing, but as the dancing was still in its first turn, Millie expected them to remain empty for some time.
The sun had only just dipped below the horizon, and a few early stars were peeking out through the fading warmth of the dying daylight. It smelled fresh out here, the warmth of the breeze picking up the perfume from tight flower buds and spring blooms and sending it sprawling out over the walking path.
The breeze and the quiet seemed to console Miss Lazarus a little, which was a good start. The net overlay on her skirt was fluttering around her prettily, the white fabric glowing in the low dusk light. She was staring at her feet instead of the beauty around her.
Millie did not press her to speak right away. She knew that was not the way to console someone in the throes of a fresh hurt. Instead, she did her best to ensure they were alone in the garden,stopping only once at a trick of the light that looked like a man on one of the benches farther down. When she looked again, there was no one about, save a few sparrows searching for seed.
It was silly. For a moment she had thought it was … but no, no, that would make very little sense. And she had to stop thinking about him so much, anyhow.
The music from the house was muffled out here, just a hum against the wind and rustle of leaves. Their footsteps on the gravel path created a calming sort of cadence against the night.
“I’ve always cried too easily,” said Miss Lazarus, sucking in a deep breath. “My sisters tease me for it. I keep thinking I should have gone to Mrs. Arlington’s School for Girls when my papa offered it years ago. It would have prepared me for tonight. Maybe it would have toughened my skin as well.”
“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Millie replied, following the girl to the nearest bench and following her lead to sit, side by side. “I think there’s a lot more to be concerned about if you can’t cry at all than if you cry too easily.”
Hannah gave a little laugh, dry and uncertain, but a laugh all the same. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot imagine some of the girls in there crying, even in total privacy. And here I am doing it in front of the whole of London.”
“Only the sparrows,” Millie corrected, “and me. If you need to cry, you ought to do so until the need has passed.”
“No,” she answered, blowing out through pursed lips. “No, I’ve done enough crying. I suppose I should get angry now at what happened, but I don’t think I will.”
“That’s all right,” Millie said, patting the girl’s knee. “Anger rarely serves us, anyhow.”
Another breeze blew through, sending about half a dozen little birds from their food search into the sky, their brown feathers catching the motion of the unseen wind.
“Did you see the girl in the yellow gown? The one with the red roses in her hair?”
“I think so, yes,” Millie answered. Truthfully, that girl had been difficult to miss. She was one of those beauties that stole the focus of any room she was in. The young woman in question had been sparkling and spinning in the center of the dance floor when Millie had arrived, and had not seemed to move from that position in the time since.
