A Dash of Scandal(81)
She scanned the fringe of the room again, hoping no one noticed her eyes lingered on Chandler far too long. She found herself thinking, “If only, if only, if only,” in time to the music that filled the crowded room. There was no use in going over the if onlys again. She’d been through them all a number of times and nothing was going to change her position or his.
Chandler was a confirmed bachelor. She’d heard that from several members of the ton. When and if he married, it wouldn’t be to a young lady who had spied and written gossip. He would make a love match with someone like the beautiful Miss Pennington or an astute business match with a young lady like the approachable Miss Bardwell.
Millicent had resigned herself to finishing the gossip Season for her aunt, who was well on her way to recovering. Each day she looked better and sounded stronger. With Emery’s help, she was getting out of bed and spending most of the day sitting in a chair.
In another week or two Aunt Beatrice would be testing her leg to see if she could walk with a cane. Because of her aunt’s improvements, Millicent felt sure she would be back in Nottinghamshire by September—and doing what?
She turned away from the area where Chandler stood and started a slow stroll around the crowded room, greeting the people she passed, but hardly seeing them. Millicent hadn’t considered what she would do when she returned home. She hadn’t wanted to. She couldn’t bear the thought of settling down to marriage with any of the eligible gentlemen in her town. After Chandler, how could she accept another man’s attentions?
How could she enjoy or even tolerate another man’s kisses and caresses when Chandler was the only man who had ever stirred wanton desires inside her? Desires that threatened to—
Someone bumped her arm, breaking her train of thought. And thank goodness, she chided herself.
Her task had been forgotten. She needed to look around and locate Viscountess Heathecoute, Lady Lynette, Mrs. Honeycutt, and Mrs. Moore. She truly didn’t believe any of the ladies were connected to the Mad Ton Thief anymore than she was, but someone had to be taking the items.
After a quick glance around the room she saw two of the ladies were present. She didn’t see the Lady Heathecoute or Lady Lynette. Millicent decided to check the ladies’ retiring room and the area where the buffet table had been placed and headed in that direction.
“Millicent,” Lady Lynette said, coming up behind her. “I saw you looking my way, but when I waved to you, you looked right through me. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. And I was looking for you,” Millicent said with a hurried smile. “I’m glad you saw me. I wanted to thank you for that lovely note you sent thanking me for the apricot tarts I dropped by your house. I’m sorry you weren’t up to seeing me when I called on you.”
“I was disappointed to have missed you.” She rolled her eyes. “There are just three or four days out of every month that I have to go to bed. I’m simply a beast, but as I said in my letter to you, I have been wanting to taste one of those tarts for years. And they did make me feel so much better.” She stopped and licked her lips and inhaled deeply.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed them.”
“They were heavenly. Truly divine. Didn’t you think so?”
“Oh yes,” Millicent said, and realized immediately that wasn’t the truth. She had not even sampled a one of the tarts. They all had gone to Lynette, except for the two she had sent up to Aunt Beatrice.
Lady Lynette pursed her lips and fanned herself with a lace fan. “You didn’t even taste one, did you?”
Millicent opened her mouth to protest but the truth came out instead. “No.”
“What a shame, but I understand why you didn’t.”
“You do?” Millicent wasn’t sure she understood why she had had no desire to eat one of the tarts.
“You wanted to be different, didn’t you?”
Millicent wasn’t sure this was a conversation she wanted to have with Lady Lynette or anyone. “What do you mean?”
“You were hoping Lord Dunraven would treat you differently from every other young lady he has called on. You wanted him to be so bewitched by you that he forgot to bring the tarts.”
He had that first time he came. But he had forgotten only because he was upset because he’d figured out that she was writing the gossip for Lord Truefitt’s column—not because he was bewitched by her.
“Sometimes you see too much, Lynette.”