Page 36 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“I’ve written a note to her. Please take it to her this afternoon, will you?”
“Your regrets?”
“They are. I have…many.”So very many.“Tell me. Do you know where Millicent Weaver’s rooms are?”
Mary gathered her courage as she stood before the third door in the ladies’ wing. Knocking once, she prayed that Millicent would allow her in. Millicent had never been vindictive about what Mary had done. In fact, she’d accepted full blame for the prank, a responsibility that Mary had demanded she claim herself. Her argument with her friend had fallen on deaf ears.
Mary raised her hand to knock again when the door swung open. Millicent’s little maid stared at her with disbelieving eyes. “Ma’am?”
“Is your lady up? I apologize for the hour but I must speak with her. Please.”
The young girl blinked, doubt lining her pretty face. “Come in.” She scurried through the sitting room into the bedroom. A conversation of low tones and surprise flowed out to Mary.
“Miss Weaver will see you in a minute.” The girl indicated one of the chairs. “There, if you like.”
Mary nodded her thanks.
Within minutes, Millicent walked out to meet her. Her hair, flowing over her shoulder in a long golden hair in a waterfall to her waist, her oval face scrubbed and pink, she held her muslin wrapper close to her throat and padded toward her in bare feet. “Mary? What’s amiss?”
“I am.”
“I’m sorry.” She sank into the matching boudoir chair, concern lining her hazel eyes. “Are you ill?”
“No. Not physically. But I am distressed by what I have become.”
“I am confused. What do you mean?”
“I wanted to tell you that I know full well the damage I’ve done you.”
“If you’re talking about that incident with the earl of Langdon, of course you do. We’ve been over it. Done with it. It was long ago, Mary.”
“But you still suffer for it.”
“Mary,” she said and reached across to take her hand, “you apologized to me years ago. I accepted it. Remember please, I was the one who came to you to ask for help. One of your ‘plans’ to help me keep the earl’s interest. You did as I asked. I blame myself.”
“Good of you, but the awful thing I did lives on.”
“If you mean that Langdon’s friends here—Lords Charlton and Bridges—have asked me about it, then yes, they know of it. I wish everyone would let it go. Accept it for what it was. A mistake. A horrid prank that turned so very wrong.”
“But you wish it never happened,” she bemoaned.
“Oh, Mary. Of course, I do. I’ve found no other man to love. None as funny or wise. I’ve written to him often. Too often, I’d say.” She got a wistful expression to her delicate features.
“And? What does he reply?” Mary hoped the end of the wars might change many people’s lives.
“Nothing.”
“But he…he lives! He was wounded.” Mary had heard that from someone.
“Badly. Yes. But he does not wish to correspond with me, Mary. I understand.” She winced and curled her fingers into the white fabric of her gown. Her knuckles went white with strain. “I don’t agree. But then, I must allow him to live as he chooses. Soon, I fervently hope, he’ll find another lady to take to wife.”
This was another ending Mary abhorred. Another she must accept.
She struggled to her feet. “I should never have meddled. I was so used to volunteering to be of help. But I never understood my actions as malevolent. I should have.”
“Mary, listen to me.” Millicent followed her to the door. “You are not wicked.”
She paused with an inkling of what her motives were to help fix her friends’ challenges. “No, but I saw myself as right. And the biggest question is why. Why?”
