Page 79 of The Wallflower Manifesto
She almost went home.That is, she almost went back to Lady Bentley’s townhouse.
But instead, she found herself going another way entirely.
Back at Dot’s house, Abe had asked her, with what appeared to be total sincerity, which window was hers at the townhouse. Now, as far as Millie was concerned, there was really only one reason he’d want to know that: an intention to scale the rain pipe and enter through it.
So she had not told him. Not yet, anyway.
Besides, that townhouse was always teeming with people. It wasn’t just Lady Bentley, it was a full staff, and often these days,Dom Raul as well. Abe’s townhouse, however … well, right now, there was only one person there, wasn’t there?
Because Freddy was in Dover.
She did feel a little guilty about how that night at Dot’s house had gone. Lady Bentley had attended with a desire to help, to become part of something, and to tell her son she was proud of him. But Freddy had never given her the opportunity. He’d never even come back inside.
And Lady Bentley had waved it off, bravely saying she could just tell him when he got back. Insisting, even, that maybe it was better that way, after he’d finished his heroics.
But Millie had seen how it hurt her. After spending time with her own mother this evening, she was determined to facilitate that reunion. She couldn’t go as far as to tell herself that Freddy deserved it, but Lady Bentley certainly did. At the very least.
She knocked, blushing slightly at the memory of how it had unfolded the last time she’d knocked.
“Coming! I’m coming! Don’t leave!” came the brusque brogue of Abraham Murphy stumbling down a staircase.
The door swung open and she caught him looking as though he’d just been having a nap, his hair sticking up, half his face red and lined with pillow imprints. And instead of looking confused or startled, he just smiled at her, wide and pleased, like she was perfectly expected. He stepped aside, holding the door for her as she walked in.
“Millie,” he said softly, leaning back on the door as it closed. “Thank God. I thought you’d be a client.”
“Don’t you want clients?” she teased, though she was curious.
“Ach, well,” he said with a shrug. “Not nearly as much as I want you.”
“Abe,” she said with a blush, only making him grin wider.
“You know, the strangest thing happened when I saw you standing there,” he told her. “All I could think to say waswelcome home.”
CHAPTER 30
“Sleeping in the middle of the day, Mr. Murphy?” she had teased, shrugging off the loose-knit shawl she wore and draping it familiarly over the back of his sofa. “Was it a good nap?”
“The best naps,” he had replied, pushing off the door to walk to where she stood, “are always taken when you’re avoiding doing something else. So this one was exceptionally good. Yes.”
She smiled at him, a fondness on her face that made his bones ache. “What were you avoiding?”
“Can I show you?” he asked, the last of his fatigue cracking off his skin like ice at her interest. “You’ll want to take a nap too when you see it.”
“What would the gossips say?” she teased, taking the lead toward the staircase. “Innocent spinster tempted to nap.”
“You’ve never been a spinster, my love,” he countered, enjoying the way her step faltered, if only for a quick moment, at that word. He mentally noted to himself to say it again. And again. Until it only made her steps more certain in the end.
“Oh, for God's sake,” she sighed upon pushing his bedroom door open. She took a ginger step into the chaos and frowned at the cacophony of case notes spread out over the bed and the floor, clinging to the sides of his mattress, escaping under his chest of drawers, folding and stacking and staring longingly out the window as inanimate objects were sometimes wont to do. “Abe, why do you treat your writing this way?”
He laughed, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s not writing, really. Just notes. This is the jewel thief case, two Seasons in the making.”
She frowned at him over her shoulder before bending down to pick up a few loose sheets of paper, scanning them with her lovely brown eyes. “Of course it’s writing, you fool man. And it is yours. You ought to treat it with more resp— Oh!” She stopped herself, blinking as a little smile began to blossom over her face. “Look at that! You’ve mentioned me.”
“Well, yes,” he said with a laugh. “They’re case notes, aren’t they? And credit where it’s due. You’re the one who made every major breakthrough in the damn case. You’re the one who eventually solved it.”
“I solved it because the thief burst into a room I was standing in and confessed,” she reminded him, flushing like she couldn’t stand the praise as she hurriedly flipped through more pages without really looking at them. “It was hardly the work of deductive genius.”
“Perhaps not,” he replied softly. “But everything else was.”
