Page 41 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“And at her age too,” the older woman was tutting, jealousy dripping from every word. “Imagine!”
When the final percussive beat struck, they froze in time, perfect as statues in a palace garden.
The people around Abe erupted into applause.
He watched as the two finally relaxed, gazing into each other’s faces with such naked affection that the flurry of gossip began to erupt around the room almost immediately.
Abe rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
It seemed that passion was in the air tonight.
By the timethe evening had concluded, Abe found himself more than ready to fall into bed. He wasn’t certain whether he would sleep fitfully or not, considering the contrasting tug and give of the evening, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that a single evening had brought so much change to a man’s day-to-day life.
He hadn’t managed to catch Millie alone again, though she did seek him out to say her farewells before departing with Lady Bentley for their townhouse. He wondered if she remembered that they had met for the first time in the very same room, on the occasion of the Cains’ wedding day.
She likely did, he thought with a smile to himself. She was a sharp-witted woman, clever as they came.
His mother would approve.
He approached his front door with the full intention of drifting off to sleep with the memory of their long-awaited kiss at the forefront of his mind. It had been more than he could have imagined, and had left him desperate to experience it again.
However, upon entering his home, he knew immediately that something was amiss.
A trail of candlelight led down the hall of the ground floor, toward Abe’s study and the kitchen, and on the ground were several balled-up sheets of paper, their yellowed edges looking sharp and flammable in the low evening light.
“Freddy?” he called, kneeling to retrieve one of the balls of paper before stepping into the hall. “Bentley, are you here?”
There was no answer.
Abe frowned, pulling apart the crumpled document in his hands as he walked. He was reasonably certain they hadn’t been burgled. The furniture was all upright, and the doors that were supposed to be closed were still firmly shut, but unease was thick in the air.
He found Freddy in the kitchen, his back to the stove and a bottle of some unknown amber liquor wedged between his knees. He looked terrible.
“Abe!” he said, tilting his head back to meet the other man’s gaze. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and he had the unmistakable tinge of a new bruise growing on the line of his jaw. “You return!”
Abe’s grip on the mystery document in his hand relaxed. He knew with sudden and immediate certainty that it must be some manner of gambling slip. He pressed his lips together, discarding the sheet of paper on the kitchen counter, and knelt next to the other man.
“I think perhaps it’s time for you to be abed, Bentley,” he said as gently as he could. “Come, let’s get you up.”
“No!” Freddy snapped, jerking his arm from Abe’s touch. “No. I’ve still … I’ve still a half a bottle here! They wouldn’t let me to the tables after the first round, but they can’t stop me from having a drink, can they? Drink with me, Murphy.”
Abe took a sharp breath, staring down at the other man.
Freddy made a face and tipped the bottle into his mouth. “I suppose I’ll need to find a new room on the morrow!” he announced. There was a ragged joviality to his drunken speech. His eyes were wild and glassy. “No cards or dice if I’m to live with the upstanding Abraham Murphy. I agreed! I meant it!”
“You did,” Abe replied softly.
“Well,” Freddy answered with a sneer, dropping the bottle onto the tiled floor next to him so hard that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “We both knew I’d fail from the start, didn’t we? I can’t help myself! I’ve never been able to help myself!”
Abe delicately took the bottle, moving it from Freddy’s reach. “What exactly happened tonight, Freddy?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice soft and soothing.
Freddy scoffed, dropping his head onto his knees. “Oh, the usual things,” he muttered, muffled against his trousers. “The usual things. Don’t pretend you are surprised. No one is surprised. Everyone knows what I am.”
Freddy’s hand slapped the empty tile where the bottle had been. He only groaned at its absence, his upper body going limp with resignation.
“Come on,” Abe said, kneeling again to get his grip under Freddy’s arms. “Stand up. Let’s get you up the stairs.”
“Why?” Freddy protested, though he allowed himself to be lifted to his feet, his weight slung against Abe’s in an awkward dance of instability. “Why bother? I will sleep outside! In the dirt!”
