Page 45 of The Wallflower Manifesto
He pulled the stack of post in front of him and dug out the three gossip sheets that had become part of his daily rotation.
Gossip, he thought, would be a reprieve.
But he was wrong.
The most popular circular appeared to be entirely devoted to a single story, and reading its headline made his heart sink in a way that the jewel thief nonsense had not come close to.
A Message to London’s Wallflowers,read the title.Daring Musings on Femininity for the Overlooked Young Lady - Penned by an Anonymous Author.
Someone, he realized, had found and published Millie’s private letter.
And now all of London was going to see it.
“Oh,” he muttered to himself, the circular aloft in his hands. “Shit.”
PHASE V: WILD GROWTH
CHAPTER 18
“Of course, I cannot help but feel responsible for this,” said Dot Cain, heaving a sigh as she set her copy of the published letter onto the coffee table between them. “Someone I allowed into my home has betrayed my trust and, as a result, I have betrayed yours.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the one who took it out of the study.” Millie sighed, rubbing her fingers over her eyes in an attempt to keep them open. “I’m the one who left it there for anyone to find.”
She hadn’t slept a wink. And was entirely sure she would never be able to do so again.
Dot’s study was somehow even more disheveled than usual this morning. The light coming in through the crack above the curtain rod was harsh, creating a veritable shadow puppet theater from all the dust that had been kicked into the air when Dot had torn the place apart looking for the letter.
She’d left a basket of mending overturned near the fireplace, and the cushions that had been restored to the little circle of seating were all mismatched and askew.
“Millie, no one knows it was you,” Ember said, glancing up from her own copy, where she’d clamped her fingers to keep her place. “As of right now, nothing at all has to change for you.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already read it,” Millie muttered, sinking back into the cushion of her chair. “Everyone else has.”
“I’ve gotten a healthy gist from the gossip at the club, dear,” Ember replied with a wry curl of her lips. “The gentlemen of thetonare quite distressed about the entire business, though none of them will admit to having actually read it for themselves. It’s a shame you didn’t publish it yourself. You’d have made a double profit from all the women in England buying it outright, and then all the men buying it in secret.”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Well, then I suppose I’ve made the thief a wealthy one.”
“Indeed,” replied Ember airily without looking up again. “Much better than jewels, I say. Cleaner. Cheaper up front.”
“They caughtthatthief, at least,” Dot put in, taking up another scone to anxiously nibble upon. “It was in the papers yesterday. I suppose it was too much to hope that the ballroom crimes would cease for even a single night.”
“They didn’t,” Millie said under her breath, though apparently not quietly enough, because the other two women were staring at her again. She sighed and shrugged, averting her gaze from their curiosity. "They arrested the wrong man."
Dot paused, her scone hovering an inch from her lips, her brows rising above incredulous green eyes. "Oh? And just how in the devil could you know that?"
Millie narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Why, because I am the criminal, of course! How else?”
“Ooh,” said Ember with a grin, “touchy!”
“Unusually touchy,” Dot agreed quietly, but did not press the matter further.
Millie pressed her knuckles into her temples and sighed. She shouldn’t have said that. And worse, she knew if the shoe were on the other foot, she’d be pressing Dot for an explanation as hard as she could. “Apologies,” she said weakly. “I am … not myself.”
The clock on the wall ticked by the next few seconds louder than Millie thought strictly necessary, as though it wanted to emphasize all the space in the room that was pressing down on her.
She eyed the plate of scones, but her stomach had been unsettled since this unpleasant discovery, and while the distraction was tempting, the consequences were not.
Ember gave a low whistle, setting her copy of the letter in front of her and blowing out her cheeks.
