A Woman Made for Sin (15 page)

Millie sighed. “What I am about to do is far from an excursion. I am not going on
a jaunt to Vauxhall Gardens. No one is to know what I am doing. There is an element
of danger in my plan and I will not put anyone else—especially you—in jeopardy. Can
you imagine how my heart would break if you too became injured or disappeared? No.
Absolutely not.”

Jennelle blanched. “Millie, just
what
are you planning? What are you thinking of doing that is potentially so dangerous?
For I throw back your sentiments. Do you not think that I would be just as pained
if something happened to
you
and I had not been there to help or prevent it? No! We must do whatever you are planning
together
!”

Jennelle threw her chin up and stepped around Millie as she headed toward one of the
benches that used to be covered in moss. Jennelle was furious at the idea of being
left behind. More so than Millie had anticipated. In the past, such fury would have
been tremendously persuasive and would have convinced Millie to change her mind. But
not today. Not with this plan. And yet her friend would never accept such a decision.
Unfortunately, Millie needed Jennelle’s support, even if passive and indirect.

Taking a deep breath, Millie joined Jennelle and sat down beside her on the stone
bench. Looking around, she said, “In a few years, I suspect this will become one of
the loveliest gardens in Tarrant Crawford.”

“Distraction will not work, Millie. I am not taking no for an answer, and you
will
be including me in your plan.”

“Your father would not like it.”

“I highly doubt your father knows what you are about to do, and now that there is
peace in the house, my father is so engrossed with his research he would not even
realize I am gone.”

Millie elbowed her friend gently in the side. “Your father loves you. He would notice.”

“I
am
coming with you.”

Millie pretended that she was beginning to acquiesce. “I
could
use your help.”

Jennelle pulled back to study Millie. “I know you could, but are you really going
to accept it?”

“It might be best if we first discuss my idea.” Millie closed her eyes for a couple
of seconds. She hated to misdirect her friend but promised herself she would come
clean at the last possible moment. “But before I tell you everything, what does your
cook have for us to eat? Dinner is hours away and I am starving.”

Jennelle stood up to leave but turned around before Millie could rise to her feet.
“I will agree to a slight delay and allow you to eat. But then, dear friend, I will
know all that
we
are going to do to find our Aimee.”

Millie was thinking about Chase again and remembering the last time he had held her
in his arms, when she spied out the front salon window a dark hackney coach roll to
a stop. She wished she could see him again and tell him that she loved him. She prayed
Aimee was well and that by taking this bold step in finding her that maybe Chase would
see she did understand what she had done and was willing to take responsibility in
helping to correct it.

Millie looked at the mantel clock. It read five minutes before three. “God bless you,
Madame Sasha,” Millie whispered, not only for the seamstress’s generosity but her
punctuality. The woman had played many roles in their short acquaintance—seamstress,
confidante, counselor, and matchmaker. Now Millie would add friend, for only a friend
would answer such an unexpected and unorthodox call for help.

Taking a deep breath, Millie laid the letter to Jennelle on the table where she could
not miss it, grabbed her bag, and snuck out the front door, hoping that she would
be down the road before anyone realized she had left.

By the time she reached the carriage door, the coachman had hopped down from his seat.
He was tall and widely built, with thinning gray and black hair slicked to one side.
He also had small, dark eyes, which were openly assessing her. Millie got the distinct
impression that he knew her, or at least knew of her and was trying to match what
he had heard with what he was seeing. “
You
are Evette’s cousin?” he asked pointedly.

Millie opened her mouth, staring at the coachman, then slowly closed it, nodding to
the obvious lie. The man stretched his neck to glance at the manor behind her. With
a huff of disbelief, he turned around and opened the door. Millie was about to hand
him her bag when she heard Jennelle behind her, shouting her name.

“Mildred Aldon Wentworth, this is outrageous!” she bellowed as she marched down the
drive, waving Millie’s note in the air. “I won’t let you!”

Millie swallowed. She looked back at the driver, but he was busy climbing back to
his post, pretending he had not heard Jennelle calling out her name. When he gathered
the reins, Millie pleaded, “Please don’t leave.”

“Door’s open, miss. Can’t likely drive till you close it either from the inside or
the out. Don’t care which you choose.”

“
Miss!
” Jennelle hissed as she reached the coach.

Before her friend could say anything more, Millie pulled her aside. “Jennelle, please,
please understand. I must do this.”

Jennelle shook her head. “You are
not
leaving in a hack! And certainly not
alone
! I’m beginning to wonder how all my friends could be so ripe for Bedlam and I so
unaware.”

At the accusation, Millie issued her friend a hostile glare. “I’m
not
alone, Jennelle, nor am I acting irrationally. I am doing what I must to protect
not just you but me as well.”

Jennelle was unconvinced. “He called you
miss
!” she said through clenched teeth, pointing at the coachman. “Which tells me that
even if I have to get every servant out here
and
my father to sit on you to keep you here, I will do just that. Then I will send for
your father and for Charles to sort out this lunacy. Just see if I don’t.”

“No, you will not,” Millie said simply. “I would never forgive you if you did so and
you want me to find Aimee just as much as I do. And if this is how it must be done,
then you will let me go.”

“But go where? With whom?” Jennelle pleaded, her voice cracking as tears began to
fall.

Millie shook her head and gave her friend a quick peck on her wet cheek. “I doubt
my father will come here in my absence, but if for some reason he does search for
me, please tell him that I am safe.”

“I will not lie for you!”

Millie pulled Jennelle into a tight embrace. “But I will be. I promise that I am not
doing anything rash or unwise. I’m not alone. I’m with people who can help, and I
vow not to take any undue risks. I’m just going to someone who can actually help find
Aimee. I promise, once I have any information I will turn it over to Chase. I will
not go after her myself.”

“Then let me go with you.”

Millie shook her head. “Jennelle, please stay here. This is how you can best help
me. Keep my secret as long as you are able, to give me time. Please. I need to do
this for Aimee, Chase, and you, but for me as well.”

Jennelle pulled away, nodding as she acquiesced to what she realized was the inevitable.
Tears began to fall in earnest, slipping down her cheeks and onto her fingers, which
were still tightly holding on to Millie’s. She could argue with Millie for the next
millennium, but it would not change her friend’s mind. And just like Aimee, she would
just find another, and more dangerous way to attain her goals.

“Fine, my fearless friend. We will do this your way, but promise me that if in one
week you have not found the proof you are looking for, you will come back and get
me. And
together
we will find a way.”

“A fair compromise,” Millie said, pretending to agree as she choked back tears of
her own. She would most likely need more than a week for her plan to work, but hopefully
nothing more to discover exactly which ship held Aimee.

Breaking away, Millie turned, quickly tossed her bag into the carriage, and climbed
inside before she changed her mind. A small hand reached out from the shadows to close
the door, and within seconds the hack began to move.

Millie leaned back and wiped her eyes free of her tears, forcing her mind to what
was to come, not what she was leaving behind. “Madame Sasha, thank you so much for
coming.”

“Madame Sasha is in London.”

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Millie leaned forward. “Evette? Is that you?”

A small, thin face framed in pale blond hair swept back into a bun moved slightly
so that she was in the light. The girl looked young, but she was only a year younger
than Millie. Millie did not know her well. She was Madame Sasha’s assistant and had
helped to make all of Millie’s gowns last season, but kept to herself, unwilling to
join in any conversations. It appeared she had been just as unwilling to make this
trip and had done so only because Madame Sasha asked.

Brown eyes that normally would have looked kind and friendly, held no warmth. Their
murky depths were instead cold and distant. “It is me, dear cousin. I’ve come to fetch
you so that you may pay one last visit with your sick aunt, my mother, before she
passes.”

Millie sat back and absorbed the story and the crisp manner in which it had been delivered.
She had told Chase many times that women had special ways of communicating, and Evette
had been quite eloquent in her ability to convey that she was not happy to help and
that Millie was to portray her cousin. “And what is my aunt dying of?” Millie inquired,
making it clear in return that she would not be fazed by Evette’s stony manner or
sharp tongue.

“Does it matter?”

Millie took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Not in the least, cousin.”

Evette pointed to Millie’s travel case, made of stiff leather hinged in the middle.
“My cousin doesn’t own a portmanteau. Not a soul who is not from wealth owns one,
and yet, Lady Aldon, you expect to become ‘one of us’? I hope you are not serious.
My life is not some experiment for you to try to improve. I did not ask for your help.
Nor do I want it.”

Millie’s eyebrows rose to high arches. Madame Sasha had obviously told Evette only
what she needed to know to make this journey, leaving it up to Millie to decide just
what else to reveal. “I had no intention of helping you, as I did not think you desired
or required it. It is I who am in need.”

Evette’s cold stare softened at the admission and her brown eyes warmed slightly.
In doing so, her whole countenance changed. “How could anyone like me help you? You
are educated, well-spoken, beautiful, and married to a very wealthy and important
man.”

Millie took her time in replying. “I am all that you said,” she finally admitted,
refusing to deny the undeniable. “But I am not wise about the world most people live
and survive in. Madame Sasha is, which is why I asked for her help.”

Evette pressed her lips together at the subtle reminder as to why she was there. “It
won’t work, you must know this.”

“I know nothing of the sort. But I do know that I am determined and no one, even those
who are predisposed to think that they know me and all that I am—or am not—will keep
me from my purpose.”

Hearing the well-aimed censure, Evette bit the inside of her lip, but a second later
shrugged her shoulders. “We are stopping at an inn tonight. We are to pose as cousins
because we are too dissimilar to pass for sisters. What shall be your name?”

Millie’s head began to spin. “I had not thought we were to stop.” The sooner they
arrived in London, the sooner she could begin her task. “Could we not just hire another
hack to continue our route?”

“This is Madame’s own carriage. She rarely uses it, but Bernard, the driver, keeps
it in good condition. We can switch out the horses, but we must allow him time to
rest before we finish our journey.”

Millie had not thought of that. She had planned to ride all night, but that was because
she owned the carriages and dictated the length of the ride, not the driver.

“Your name?” Evette reminded her.

“You know who I am, but does anyone else?”

“Just Madame Sasha and myself, though Stuart will most likely recognize you,” Evette
answered, then quickly added, “However, I doubt Bernard believes you are my cousin.
No one in the house will either, after one look at you. But we each owe Madame Sasha
a lot. She has our loyalty, and therefore if she says you are my cousin, then that
is who you are. But I and the others will need to have a name.”

Millie’s brows furrowed. The name was unimportant. “Just how many people live with
Madame Sasha?”

A hint of a smile came across Evette’s lips. “Why, nine of us. You will make it ten.
Six of them are men. Shall I ask Bernard to turn around now?”

Millie flashed Evette a confident smile. “You really do think I frighten easily. No
need to turn around. And as far as a name, you can call me Ellie. And since I am your
cousin, what is your aunt’s last name?”

Evette bristled at the question, realizing Millie naïvely believed one could just
adopt a name and inherit an understanding of another life. “It’s Lefevre. She married
a Frenchman and now lives south of Paris,” she answered, hinting that their cover
story would be easily discovered if someone did even the simplest of inquiries.

“Why the sudden hostility, Evette?”

Evette did not look away, nor did she deny the implication. “Until two days ago, you
were just another noble. But then Madame Sasha tells me that you are to come live
with us and that I am to help you appear to be part of the working class. I remember
your whim at Vauxhall Gardens. One cannot just don a mask and dress to appear like
a servant. I would be surprised if you have ever tried to think about life from a
point of view like my own.”

Millie was shocked. She had asked for the truth and received it. Getting angry would
be pointless. She could explain that many times she and her friends had disguised
themselves as someone else to see if they would be recognized. Most times they were,
but each venture had been an eye-opening experience. “Your accusation is mistaken
in many ways, but unfortunately it might also be too true. Evette, I do not wish to
appear
like I belong to the working class; I intend to become part of it. I must, if I am
going to work on the docks.”