Page 4 of The Wallflower Manifesto
She could only hope that this coming Season would be so successful that the dowager would wish to keep Millie as a companion for the remainder of her days. For the alternative, which would be returning to her mother’s bosom and her behest, was simply too glum a prospect to truly consider.
Perhaps that was why when asked, quite innocently on that first afternoon, if she had been to visit her parents yet, Millie responded with an overly harsh“No!”
Her dearest and oldest friend, Dot Fletcher … or rather, DotCainnow that she was married, sat across from her, familiar green eyes wide with surprise at the outburst. She held her teaspoon aloft above her cup with its melting cube of sugar perched on the end for a moment, and responded, “All right, then,” before going right back to stirring.
Millie could feel the embarrassment creeping along her cheekbones. “I will, of course,” she added, with a smidge less volume. “Just haven’t yet. Probably not today. Or tomorrow. I don’t know.”
“You’re in no hurry, you mean,” Dot replied with the ghost of a knowing smile playing on her lips as she tapped the spoon onthe edge of her saucer and discarded it. “I do understand, you know. I felt like I was claiming sanctuary in Silas’s home for the first few months of our marriage, and I bear no ill will against my father or anyone else who was living in my home at the time. But truly, nothing can compete with the solace and peace of being unharassed.”
She paused, sipping her tea and staring over Millie’s shoulder out the window thoughtfully before adding, “Sometimes I think all I want in the world is to be left alone for a moment.”
“And yet here you are again,” Millie pointed out, gesturing to the Fletcher family dining room. “Living under your father’s roof, with a husband and a new baby besides.”
Dot grinned, quite unabashed. “Well, what we say and what we do are often in conflict, aren’t they? Besides, Claire is gone now to the Cotswolds with little Oliver, and Ember moved to her new rooms in St. James months ago. In any event, this house is much more spacious than Silas’s old flat, and I wanted to oversee the renovations.”
“It is looking very fine,” Millie said with feeling. “There is life in these walls again.”
The Fletcher house was nigh unrecognizable from the empty husk it had been just a couple of years ago, at the pit of the family’s misfortune. Dot’s father had suffered a catastrophic apoplexy, and Claire had done an unthinkable thing and run off with Dot’s intended groom, the very same earl from whom they were all now estranged.
It had been revenge against the man that had brought them back together, in the end, and restored things to the way they ought to be.
It was a joy to see warmth and shine here again for Millie, who had practically spent half her life in this house. She had grown up alongside Dot, and now, as adulthood had arrived, their paths were beginning to diverge at last.
“I thought I would see your father and husband here today,” Millie remarked, sipping at her own tea. “I should like to greet them both.”
“They are meeting with a client today, a Portuguese heir to some lost family fortune here in England. They both seem quite beside themselves about it. Papa says it is a substantial enough case that it could lead to Silas being invited to take the silk if it goes well.”
“Goodness,” Millie breathed, her eyes going wide. “So young?”
“I know.” Dot shook her head as though she could scarcely believe it herself. “I don’t know the details yet, of course, but if Silas still aims to eventually take a judge’s seat, then becoming a member of the King’s Council at a shockingly young age is certainly one way to go about it. I’ve cautioned him not to count his hens before they hatch, but I’m afraid that has fallen on deaf ears.”
“Well, yes, I imagine so. He must be dizzy with excitement. Anyone would be. A mysterious foreigner and a lost family fortune leading to achievement of his life’s goal years ahead of schedule? It’s something out of a dream!”
“Yes, well,” Dot said with a heavy sigh. “Dreams often take bizarre turns, don’t they?”
“Oh, let him revel in the thrill,” Millie chided, flapping her napkin in Dot’s direction. “You can be sensible once something concerning actually occurs. In the meanwhile, coo over your newbaby and let your father be his level-headed counsel, since he seems to already have volunteered for the role.”
“Hm,” said Dot, in the way she often did when she intended to ignore Millie’s advice.
Millie hid her smile with another sip of tea and awaited the inevitable change of subject.
“So, companion to a countess,” Dot said like the chiming of a clock, shaking her blonde head as she set her empty teacup down and rested her hands over her belly, which still retained the slightest swell from her recent pregnancy. “It is an exciting vocation, isn’t it? Speaking of expected presences, I had thought the dowager would be joining you for tea today.”
“She had business to attend to,” Millie said with a shrug, “and I thought it would be nice to catch up, just the two of us. But I will be sure to broker a proper introduction soon, I promise.”
“I assure you that you are the one I wanted to see,” Dot said with a sparkle in her eye. “Besides, now we can talk freely and speculate about what you’ll get up to in your new position. I’m desperate to know what sorts of exclusive corners of Society you’ll see in the coming days.”
“It might end up being rather dry, unfortunately. I can show you the agenda next time we meet,” Millie replied with half a smile. “Some of the entries are rather cryptic, though.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“Well, tonight we’re going to the opera, which is straightforward enough. But next Wednesday, it simply saysthe Spinstersin large letters.Spinstersis capitalized, as though they are some sort of conglomerate. I asked her about it and she waved me off,so your guess is as good as mine, but she told me I ought to find some quality cigars to have on hand for the occasion!”
Dot looked impressed. “Cigars for the Spinsters,” she mused. “How intriguing. I wish I were invited. Perhaps Lady Bentley is part of some secret society, despite being a widow and not a spinster?”
“Perhaps,” Millie agreed, shifting in her seat. “But it could also simply be a gathering of old women for a game of bridge, which isn’t very exciting at all. Beyond the odd undecipherable entry, there are the usual things: invitations to balls and teas and luncheons, of course. There were several of those waiting for us when we arrived at the townhouse in Mayfair this morning.”
“I may actually see you at a few of those, by the by,” Dot put in, fluttering her lashes innocently.
