Page 52 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“I think even the end of days could be softened with a good dollop of toffee,” Millie agreed, feeling absurdly less burdened, if only slightly.
“I didn’t write it, if you were wondering,” Lady Bentley said, her bright blue eyes glowing against the backdrop of afternoon light. “But after that, I wish I had.”
“I know you didn’t,” Millie replied, dropping her head against the cushioned back of the chair and forcing herself to focus on the three strikes of the nearby clock tower. “That man could have harmed you. We ought to report him to the constabulary.”
There was a pause, a rustle of passing birds by the window.
“Don’t underestimate my ability to harm him right back, darling,” Lady Bentley said, though her voice had cooled. “I will do what I must to protect myself.”
Millie’s eyes opened, a creeping feeling of unease touching her shoulders. She straightened, meeting her mistress’s eyes. “That wouldn’t help matters.”
“Maybe not,” Lady Bentley said. “But it would certainly make me feel better.”
The only solution,Millie heard Abe say in her mind,is exposing the true culprit.
“We should offer aid in tracking down Miss Waters,” Lady Bentley continued, giving a lazy wave of her hand. “No matter how vile her father is, the poor thing has no idea what she’s plunged herself into.”
“Why would she run off?” Millie mused, lifting the lukewarm tea to her lips. She didn’t sweeten it at all and appreciated the shock of bitterness on her tongue, like smelling salts for a daze. “She was painfullyde rigeur. Her future was nothing but promising.”
Patricia Bentley laughed, though it did not sound as though she was amused. It drew a confused stare from Millie.
“I was Gretchen Waters, once,” she explained, reaching for her own tea and the tiny cup of cream. “The pressure to choose correctly is immense. And one does not become the darling of the debutantes without a truly grueling amount of work behind the scenes. You saw her papa. What do you think life was like before every ball for that girl? Do you think she ever got to choose so much as her own gown or hairstyle?”
“Sir Reginald’s daughter is also a darling of theton,” Millie argued, “and he seems more than decent.”
“Sir Reginald’s daughter would be a stunning beauty in nothing but burlap and twine,” Lady Bentley said with a shrug. “And have you met the chit? She’d be a general if she had been born a boy. Miss Waters was a practiced hand, not a natural, and tightly controlled. You can trust me on this. As I said, I was just like her once.”
“I suppose,” Millie said with a frown. “Still, many a girl would have killed to be in her shoes.”
“They always say that. It’s only because they don’t know what it’s like. In fact, I’d bet the comfort of my dotage that she was about to be married off to some vile old man or wealthy rotter against her will. That’s what makes a girl run off, you know.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Millie wrinkled her brow, taking another gulp of bitter black brew.
“No,” she answered, frowning. “Yes? I don’t know.”
“What can we do?” Millie pressed, a chill clawing at the base of her spine. “To stop Society from blaming you for the letter? You didn’t write it. But I … am gathering that won’t matter much.”
“It won’t,” Lady Bentley replied with a quirk of her lips. “What do you suggest?”
Millie chewed on her lip, swallowing the urge to groan. If she had known how easily they could shift the blame to an innocent third party, would it have impacted the other conversations she’d had today?
Was Society really so damned gullible?
And if so, what was to stop them from accusing others? Was it too late for that? Would it work, or would it …
She sat up. She set her cup down. She drew in a deep breath.
Would it work, or would it only cause confusion?
“What if,” she said, so quietly a single passing sparrow might snatch the voice from her throat, “what if we sowed confusion?”
Lady Bentley crooked an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
Millie forced herself to swallow, navigating around the lump in her throat. “What if we … spread rumors … accusing three or four likely culprits? If we can stage convincing suspects, it might muddy the accusations against you.”
“A whisper campaign?”
Millie blinked. “I … I don’t know? Is that what such things are called?”
