Page 72 of The Wallflower Manifesto
“I think I should go with you,” Abe said carefully, “to Dover.”
“Not necessary,” said Freddy.
“I didn’t say it was necessary,” Abe snapped back, impatient for the man he knew to arrive and replace this unsettling, emotionless statue in his kitchen. “I said I think I should.”
“If you like, I suppose,” said Freddy, “but you’ll only be in the way.”
This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Direct confrontation was not going to permeate whatever the hell had overtaken Freddy Hightower.
“I was thinking about you and Millicent,” Freddy continued without turning around. “When are you planning to marry?”
“What?” Abe gaped at him, blindsided by this very reasonable question. “I don’t know! We haven’t really talked about it yet.”
Freddy pulled one of the pots free of the fire and carefully removed its lid, a rich, beefy smell unfurling into the kitchen. “It’s only that I imagine it will affect my place here,” he said. “I’m happy for you, of course, and for her, but we all know I’ma selfish git at the end of the day. So, of course all I can think is: What will happen to me? Where will I go?”
“What the hell do you mean, where will you go?” Abe shouted, coming halfway out of the chair from his own shock at this conversation, which had been meant only to shock dear Freddy. “You don’t have to go anywhere. This is your home!”
Freddy gave a humorless little smile. “Murphy, please. You, her, and me? Together? That’s not going to work.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Ignoring the entire context around how your wife-to-be and I are acquainted,” Freddy said patiently, “newlyweds do not traditionally have a housemate roaming around in their nest. Come now, Abe, you know I’m right.”
“Is that what this has been about?” Abe demanded, outraged for reasons he couldn’t even name to himself. “That’s why you’ve been moping around all day? I thought you were upset about the smuggling business.”
“I’m not moping,” Freddy said, moping.
Abe glowered, a great deal of sharp things culminating on his tongue. God knew what he might have said had the bell not gone off at the front in that moment.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Freddy had asked, just as calm, just as unbothered.
“No,” barked Abe.
“Answer the damn door,” Freddy pressed with a sigh. “It could be a client.”
“Fine!” Abe raged, shoving himself away from the table and stomping off to wrench the door off its hinges, his head filled with nothing but fire and static.
It was Cresson, who looked politely surprised by Abe’s glower.
“Get in here, Joseph!” Abe thundered, pointing into the house. “You’re staying for dinner.”
CHAPTER 27
It seemed to Millie that several things happened all at once.
She brought Lady Bentley along, first of all. Perhaps she ought to have written ahead to warn Dot and Silas, but the matter simply hadn’t occurred to her. They were all so interwoven at this point, all so practically incestuous, that it was hard to keep straight who meant what to whom.
In any event, Dot was taken aback by the surprise.
“I’ve brought a cake,” Lady Bentley offered, holding up a covered ceramic dish. “I know it’s silly, but the ladies might enjoy one last luxury before they depart.”
Millie grimaced.
Dot stared.
“Oh!” Ember Donnelly exclaimed. “Who doesn’t love a cake?”
As soon as they were inside, Dot grabbed Millie by the arm and steered her into the kitchen pantry, presumably to lecture her for her lack of foresight.
