Page 50 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“I’ve received my letter from Lincoln’s Inn,” Cresson provided, spots of color on his cheeks giving away how delighted he was. “Called to the bar.”
“What!” Abe broke into a grin, weaving his way around the jubilant drudges that Abe had previously thought permanently fused to their chairs to shake Cresson’s hand. “My good man, a barrister at last!”
“Celebrate now,” Silas told him with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, “for tomorrow your workload may make you regret it.”
“Never, sir,” Cresson answered, flashing a smile that might have been debonair if it made more appearances. “I shall relish it.”
“I might have something for you straight away, as it happens,” Abe put in, leaping at the window of opportunity here. “I came to talk to Cain, but perhaps you’d like to join us?”
Cresson looked to Silas for approval, and upon his nod, he stood immediately, discarding a barely sipped whiskey on his desk and cracking his fingers in readiness.
“Ah,” Silas sighed, glancing at the glass. “You’ve punctured the party, Murphy.”
“There’s no way I’d rather celebrate,” Cresson put in, eyes bright as a wee bunny’s.
“Yes, I know,” Cain replied with a chuckle. “All right, then. Come into my office, but Cresson?”
“Sir?” Cresson looked up from his immediate grab for his pad of paper and ink pot.
Silas gave a shake of his head and turned to open his office door. “Bring the whiskey.”
CHAPTER 20
Millie wanted to sit back on the bench outside of the theater for another few hours … or days, perhaps. As long as she sat there, time seemed to slow.
Nothing more could progress as long as she refused to re-enter the world. And, while things were not exactly perfect in this moment, they were good enough that she could live within it forever and be happy.
She would sit here and dream of Abe, she thought. Of his kiss and his touch and his utter devotion to what was good and right. But she couldn’t do that while he was off slaying dragons and leave the beasts she’d roused roaming free.
Again, she had that absurd desire to return home to her mother. Lacey Yardley was not exactly a nurturer, but after she finished shouting at Millie for her foolishness, she might have some valuable ideas.
No.She sighed.
It would not do to burden her mama, especially when she had not bothered to visit her once since her return to London.
She had lapsed as a daughter. And as a sister, too.
And so she picked herself up and resolved to write to Claire as soon as she got back to the townhouse. As for her mother, she’d have to visit soon, once her mind was a little clearer. She’d have to find a way to make up for her avoidance.
As she walked, she thought about all the conflicting advice she’d received. Surely there was something between unmasking herself in the town square and hiding in a closet?
But what?
What was between those two things?
Maybe she could find a way to ask Lady Bentley for advice without dragging her into the know.
She turned the corner deep in thought, almost too deep to notice the hubbub at her own doorstep.
“I know it was you!” a man was shouting, kicking at the front door while two of the footmen attempted to drag him from the threshold. “Everyone knows it was you, cavorting around the Season like some untethered slattern! And now you’ve endangered a child! Come out here and answer for what you’ve done, Patricia!”
Millie froze, her heart thudding almost to a dead stop against her ribcage.
The neighbors were emerging, some of the men making their way to the landing to get involved.
“Jim, I assure you I had nothing to do with it!” Lady Bentley was calling from a window above, her voice shaking with whatsounded like real fear. “Please, gather yourself! I will help if I can—”
“I’ll have you held accountable if it’s the last thing I do!” the man screeched over her, shoving a footman hard into the railing. “You are responsible for any ill that befalls my daughter, out alone in the world. You are liable for the loss of her future, for the destruction of her prospects, and by God, you willpay!”
