Page 81 of The Secret Daughter
“Oh yes,” Milly said.
“And he likes you?”
Blushing, she nodded. “He asked Mama for my hand—twice—but she was furious and said it was impossible, that she would not contemplate such a frightful mésalliance. She sent him away and told me I must put him out of my mind. And she brought me to London.”
“How old is this cit?” Izzy asked.
“Twenty-eight. His name is Thaddeus.”
“Has he married anyone else since you came to London?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
She blushed and pulled from her reticule a crumpled letter, damp and blotched with tearstains. “He—he writes to me. At the address of my maid’s mother.”
Zoë clapped her hands. “You sneaky thing! Well done, Milly! And do you write back?”
Milly bit her lip. “I know I shouldn’t have, but…”
“Of course you should have, and now he’s come to London, which couldn’t be more perfect,” Zoë said. “The solution is obvious. You must marry Thaddeus.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t.”
“It’s a very simple choice,” Izzy said firmly. “You can marry the horrid old spider, making your mother delirious with delight and yourself utterly miserable, or marry the man you care for and make yourself—and him—happy.”
“He’s quite good-looking, too,” Zoë said.
“Oh, do you think so?” Milly began eagerly, and then caught herself up. “But there’s no point in even thinking about it. It would never work.”
“It could if you wanted it to,” Zoë told her.
“No, Mama wouldn’t even consider it. She’d be utterly furious with me.”
“There are worse things than making your mama angry,” Zoë pointed out.
Milly just shook her head. She’d never stood up to her mother in her life.
“Sometimes you have tomakethings happen,” Clarissa said gently. “You can’t just sit around wishing and hoping.”
“And being miserable,” Zoë added.
Milly sighed, her whole body drooping in defeat.
“Twenty years of having an ancient, spidery, toothless old man slobbering over your nubile naked body every night,” Zoë said meditatively. “Think about that. And all because of the want of a little courage.”
Milly stared at her. Her face crumpled. “I hate you, Zoë Ben-whahhhh,” she wailed, and rushed away.
The three of them sat, looking at one another. It was a ghastly situation, they were united on that, but Clarissa put it best: “If she’s not prepared to help herself, what can any of us do?”
It was a depressing thought. None of them were particularly fond of Milly: she’d been a thorn in their side formore than three years. But as irritating as she often was, she didn’t deserve this.
Later that afternoon, when Matteo came to collect the used dishes from the summerhouse, he brought with him a note. “Lord Foxton, he come back and give me this. Is for the young signorina.” He looked at Izzy. “Milor’, he say not to admit the gentleman to the house, but he say nothing about notes. Is all right if I give?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” Izzy told him. “Give it to her.”
Zoë took the note cautiously. It was sealed and addressed to Miss Zoë Benoît. She thanked Matteo and hovered impatiently while he packed up the dishes and cups. She wanted to rip the note open and read it straightaway, but the eyes of her sisters were bright, expectant and curious, and she didn’t want to read it with an interested audience watching, even a loving audience. “I’ll take this inside to read. It’s, um, it’s getting a bit cold in here anyway. I’ll see you both later.”
