Page 74 of The Wallflower Manifesto
A few moments later, Cresson looked over at them and waved Abe over, though for what reason, Millie could only guess.
“You know,” said Ember, “I think he’s a little sweet on me.”
Millie startled, cutting her eyes to the other woman. “Abe?” she asked sharply.
Ember laughed. “At ease, soldier. I meant Mr. Cresson.”
“Oh.” Millie looked back at him again.
He didn’t seem so knock-kneed as she remembered, she realized. Now, in his element, he was fully a man, though all the same …
“You’d have him for breakfast,” she said to Ember, and Ember nodded, not looking very pleased by the fact but also unwilling to argue it.
Freddy seemed content to simply wait outside rather than come back into the fray, and Millie, despite herself, admired him for it. It was mild outside, and horses were far less chaotic than people.
These people, anyhow.
By the time everyone was satisfied to send them off, the cake was gone, Lady Bentley looked accomplished, and Millie felt completely superfluous.
She hadn’t even gotten any cake.
In the end, her biggest contribution seemed to be a sincere well-wishing before the girls vanished into the night. Part of her thought perhaps she should have told them about the manifesto, though of course she knew that was guilt, not logic, speaking.
And another part, a smaller, louder, less civilized part, felt proud that they were getting away because of something Millie herself had done.
They watched from behind the curtains as the carriage vanished down the street, collectively breathing a sigh of relief as it went.
Yes, it wasn’t quitedoneuntil Freddy reported back from Dover, but all the same, it felt like they had done it.
As everyone pulled back, looking at one another with the breathless, speechless impact of something so overwhelming, it was actually Mr. Cresson who spoke first.
He smiled at Millie, and a dashing smile it was too, and said, “Miss Yardley! I heard the good news at dinner tonight.”
“Oh?” Millie replied, uncertain what good news that would be.
“Deepest congratulations,” this practical stranger replied, turning his hat around in his hands. “Mr. Murphy may be a bit rough around the edges, but I’m certain he will make you a fine husband.”
Millie didn’t remember much after that.
She remembered the collective turning and staring.
She remembered the swarming.
She remembered the tumult of questions.
But the specifics? Those were lost to time itself.
CHAPTER 28
Abe had fluctuated between the urge to strangle Cresson and to kiss him a few times over the course of the night.
Announcing the engagement had done things that inspired both.
Poor Millie had taken the brunt of it, of course. Weddings were always more about the bride than the couple, weren't they? Abe had always thought so.
But now it was public to everyone in the Fletcher-Cain house that night. Public meant she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t said those beautiful, deeply romantic words yesterday morning— “Oh. Yes, probably.” And, as a delightful bonus, he’d gotten to offer her a strong arm and comforting presence as their little band of misfits had rioted at the news.
To his immense relief, she hadn’t denied it. She hadn’t even suggested that she wanted to.
