Page 51 of The Wallflower Manifesto
Millie felt her feet move underneath her, spurring her forward before she’d even made the decision to enter the fray. This man wished Lady Bentley real harm.
He was screaming at the footmen now, insisting they get their lowborn hands off him.
One of their neighbors, a middle-aged knight with a paunch and thinning blonde hair, was elbowing his way into the melee, preaching restraint while his wife and daughter looked on in horror from their own townhouse.
“Bugger off, Blakely!” the angry man was screaming. “This isn’t your concern.”
“Mr. Waters,” the other man was saying, his voice oddly soothing. “Nothing will be solved by attacking the countess. Come now, Gretchen won’t be helped if her papa is in prison, will she?”
“Oh, they would notdare,” the other man grunted, though some of his venom appeared to leave him. “Theycouldn’t.”
“I assure you they could,” the other man told him, taking his arm and leading him from the townhouse. “And your poor wife has enough to manage just now, doesn’t she? Come along, we will get you a drink and a cool towel.”
“This isn’t over,” the other man said, loudly enough for his voice to travel to Lady Bentley’s window as he was led away. “I’ll be seeking recompense.”
“Yes, well, hopefully that will not be necessary,” said Sir Reginald, whose name only just recurred to Millie as they passed her by.
She mouthed her thanks to him as their paths crossed and received a short nod in response.
Glass crunched under her shoes as she hurried toward the house. The footman who had been shoved by Jim Waters had a bruise blooming on his jaw.
“Millicent!” called Lady Bentley, still framed in the upstairs window. “Come up here at once! That madman might come for you next.”
She pushed into the house, scattering a group of servants that had gathered by the door.
“Get some ice for David,” she snapped without stopping, gesturing at the injured footman. “And someone clean up that glass!”
“Ma’am,” answered a chorus of voices at her back.
She took the stairs two at a time, her skirt tangling around her legs in her haste. She all but fell into Lady Bentley’s bedroom, stumbling on the corner of the Persian carpet by the door.
“Are you well?” she heard herself asking. “Did he …?”
“He never made it inside,” Lady Bentley was already answering, pulling her curtains shut and leaning against the pane with aragged gasp of breath. “He was shouting all the way down the block.”
“What’s happened to Miss Waters?” Millie asked, untangling herself from her skirts and sinking into the first chair in her path. “What on earth?”
“She’s run off, from what I gathered,” Lady Bentley answered. She cut a shaky path across the room and sank into the seat opposite Millie’s.
Millie was surprised, she supposed, but somehow she couldn’t muster even the faintest feeling of shock in the wake of the morning she’d had. “How could that be your fault?”
Lady Bentley rubbed her eyes, dropping her face into her open hands. “She was apparently inspired by that open letter that’s been sweeping the city, and left a note to the effect that she was going to seek destiny on her own terms. No one knows where she’s gone.”
Ah, there was something. Millie felt it flickering in her gut like the striking of flint. She swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. Thank goodness she was sitting, she thought, for if she were not, she’d surely collapse.
“He thinks you wrote it,” she croaked with what was surely the last of her free will.
“I think that is apparent, my dear,” Lady Bentley answered thinly. “And now that he’s screamed it for half of Mayfair to hear, I believe everyone else will too.”
They had satin silence for a time, regaining their respective composure.
Irene had come in with tea and dry toast, the latter of which had finally broken the quiet.
“Irene, darling,” Lady Bentley had said with a hand to her brow, “I think we all deserve something sugared and dense tonight. Toss the dry toast and send Cook out for toffee pudding.”
“Yes, my lady!” Irene had said with just the right amount of enthusiasm before bustling out.
“Sweets can save the world,” Lady Bentley said dryly, managing a shaky smile at Millie. “Don’t you think?”
