Page 14 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
Of all the asinine, godawful outcomes. He really was the most stubborn man.
Millie struggled to sleep that night and woke from heated dreams, her sheets tangled around her legs. She could imagine Major General Drake striding up to the Archbishop of Canterbury, demanding a special licence while she sat in her bedroom, sipping tea and crunching on burnt toast. It was madness.
She was determined to visit Philippa as soon as she could get dressed. Together, they’d sort out this horrific mess. But when she rushed down the steps, ready to take her father’s carriage to Lady Winterbourne’s Belgrave Square mansion, Patricia met her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘You aren’t going anywhere, you wicked girl.’
Millie continued walking, ready to push past the woman.
‘You cannot stop me from seeing Lady Philippa. She is my friend.’
‘Davies!’ Patricia screeched.
Their butler arrived. Davies had worked for the Whittenburg’s since before Millie was born. He was a stickler for propriety but could never refuse Millie. He used to sneak her lemon drops from his pockets when she was a child.
‘Yes, my lady?’
‘Secure Miss Millicent in her room. Lock the door. We don’t need her escaping, do we?’
Two red slashes painted his wrinkled cheeks as he looked from Millie to Patricia. He would never use force on Millie. Already, she could see the flash of shame in his eyes at Patricia’s command.
Patricia knew his loyalty to Millie. She knew her orders put him in an untenable situation where he couldn’t obey, but nor could he refuse. She was punishing Davies just as much as she was trying to control Millie.
‘Miss Millicent, please.’ He extended his arm toward the stairs, his stoic face trembling, his brown eyes pleading with her to comply.
Millie huffed out a frustrated breath. She relented, more to save poor Davies’ feelings than to appease her stepmother.
‘Of course, Davies. I know the way.’
Returning to her room, she heard the lock click behind her.
‘If Patricia thinks she can contain me with a measly lock, she’s an even bigger idiot than I imagined,’ Millie muttered to herself.
She sat on her bed and plotted her next move.
Day turned to evening with not even her maid being allowed to bring her a tray for lunch or dinner. As the sun descended and darkness fell, Millie waited for the house to grow silent. Her coat – still draped over the bedframe from her thwarted excursion – was a dark grey. Perfect for keeping her hidden in the shadows.She put it on and approached the door, pressing her ear against the wood to listen.
Silence greeted her. Everyone was abed.
Philippa had taught her to pick all different kinds of locks with a ring of skeleton keys in varying lengths and sizes. She kept them tied to her petticoat. It took several tries, but after three minutes of whispered curses, the lock turned.
Huzzah! I’m a lock-picking genius!
Millie carefully opened the door and poked her head out, looking down the hall to her father’s and Patricia’s suite of rooms. Their doors were closed and no light shone from the cracks. Glancing the other direction toward the stairs, the hall was empty. She slipped out, carefully shutting the door behind her.
As she crept down the stairs – making sure to avoid the creaking third step – her heart pounded in her ears, and a thrill of excitement coursed through her veins.
Here I come. Femme fatale. Brilliant secret spy for the Queen of bloody England!
A door creaked.
Millie nearly screamed.
Ah. Well. Perhaps not exactly femme fatale.
Davies emerged from the darkness. Millie opened her mouth, desperately seeking a viable lie. Aaannd… nothing.
‘I’m just…’
