Letter From a Rake: Destiny Romance (9 page)

She and he would be friends, nothing more, and if their friendship made her life within the
ton
a little easier, she would join the long list of his admirers, however reluctantly. She turned to her brother, who offered her his arm. As she took it, she sighed. ‘I think I should like to go home now, Charles; I am feeling a touch weary. Do you mind if we leave?’

Charles and the Radley brothers exchanged a brief farewell and he escorted Millie out of the gate and onto Park Lane. They were at the corner of Union and Mill streets, away from the crowds of the park, before he finally spoke. ‘So how did it really go? Did you manage to sort things out, or did you just reach some form of détente for the sake of Lady Lucy?’

His words barely stirred Millie from her thoughts. ‘Hmmm?’

She stepped off the pavement, and began to cross the street. Charles took a firm hold of her arm and steered her clear of a flower cart as its driver lost control of the reins and the horse and cart suddenly backed up.

‘Pay attention, Millie; you can’t daydream and walk across a busy street at the same time. You’ll get us both run over if you do, and I for one will not appreciate it,’ Charles chided her as he guided her safely to the other side of the street.

‘Sorry, I did not see the cart,’ she replied. Her mind was still full of a certain young man’s eyes, his smile and a declaration that she had taken him completely by surprise.

He is a friend. We are friends. He is Lucy’s brother and he is —

She felt a hand on her back firmly pushing her forward. She took a step and followed it with another, then another, until her toes hit a stone edge. Millie stopped and looked up. They were home.

Charles was halfway up the front steps and the look on his face was one of bewilderment and frustration. He pointed to the front door and motioned for her to follow him. When she turned her head and looked back down Mill Street, her brow furrowed: she had no recollection of having walked the last block to their home.

She called out to him, ‘Well?’

‘Can you please come inside? I don’t particularly like you bellowing at me from out in the street like some early-morning orange-seller,’ Charles replied.

He threw his hands up in disgust, turned on his heel and marched into the house.

She shrugged her shoulders. Lifting her skirts, she ascended the steps in the most graceful manner she could muster; Millie was fast learning that in London, you never knew who was watching.

‘That looks good, am I ready?’ Alex asked impatiently as his valet stood, giving Alex’s evening clothes one final inspection.

‘Nearly done, my lord; I just need to straighten your cravat,’ Phillips replied, as he stepped forward and tucked in a wayward inch of neckcloth.

Alex counted slowly to five because he could never be bothered making it all the way to ten. After returning from his successful mission to apologise to Millie, he was now eager to go out and celebrate with David. It had been a very long week; his usual social habits meant he didn’t normally rise until close to midday, but over the past few days he had been up early every morning in order to visit the florist and organise flowers for Millie.

He knew full well she had not believed his story about a bad back, but she had accepted his apology, and that made the days of getting out of bed at an unholy hour all worthwhile.

‘Come on, we will be late and all the good tables will be gone,’ his brother shouted from the hall outside Alex’s bedroom. Alex laughed. David would have shaved, bathed and dressed in his usual expedient manner and accepted his own valet’s first attempt to have him ready.

‘Shut up and finish your drink, I won’t be long,’ Alex yelled in reply. His grooming always took a long time when it came to a night out on the town. Phillips would spend hours getting Alex’s clothes perfect, his hair smooth and his cravat tied with mathematical precision. The Marquess of Brooke would be the most immaculately turned-out aristocrat in London tonight; Phillips would see to it.

Phillips gave a bow. ‘May you have a pleasant evening, Lord Brooke. I shall await your return.’

‘Thank you, Phillips; don’t wait up for me, as I expect this will be a late one,’ Alex replied as he admired himself in the mirror.

‘Handsome devil,’ he chuckled.

The door closed as Phillips took his leave.

A few minutes later, Alex wandered out from his bedroom. He looked at David, who gave him a nod. Alex’s hand went to his perfect head of blond hair and gave it a good rub, leaving it elegantly messed. He then set to work on his cravat, pulling the last knot out and tucking the loose end into the top of his shirt. A quick check in the downstairs hall mirror confirmed that he was happy with his handiwork and ready to go out.

‘All right, where are we off to first?’ he asked.

David picked up a walking cane from the hall stand and handed it to him.

‘Brook’s for dinner and a drink or two, then on to White’s as I have a small wager to settle. Where we end the evening and with whom is anyone’s guess,’ he replied, his face sporting a wicked grin. Alex laughed; when David had that look on his face, he knew they were in for a long night. Tomorrow they would be nursing well-deserved hangovers and vowing never to do it again. That, of course, was until the next time they ventured out on the town.

‘Just don’t leave me somewhere like The Bloody Bosun’s Mate; you have no idea how much money they won from me the night you took me there,’ Alex said.

‘As I recall, it was you who strolled into the bar and announced loudly that you would take on all comers in a game of cards. You lost less than a week’s worth of your allowance and then complained for months,’ David replied, slapping Alex on the back.

‘You should be grateful that we managed to avoid going to Fulham Palace for dinner.’

Alex rolled his eyes. Many an evening had been spent listening to their uncle lecture Alex about the pressing need for him to take a wife.

‘Remind me again of the benefit of having the Bishop of London for a relative?’ he replied, as they stepped out into the street.

David laughed. ‘Free weddings at the church of your choice. Now do come on, my precious petal, the night is young and we are far too sober.’

When Millie woke the following morning, it was with a sense of contented calm. For the first time since she had arrived in London, she looked forward to calling at someone’s home. The note from the Duchess of Strathmore inviting her and Violet to visit had arrived at the house not long after she and Charles had returned from the park the previous evening.

She smiled when she thought of Lucy, picturing how she would have begged her mother to pen the invitation and have it delivered as fast as possible. Then again, it was more likely that the duchess had prepared the note well in advance of the peace talks in the park and was just waiting for the opportunity to send it on its way.

Fortunately for all concerned, Millie and Lord Brooke had managed to patch things up. She had convinced herself that they could now meet and be indifferent to one another; he was simply the older brother of her friend, nothing more.

She rolled over and snuggled further down under the blankets. It would still be icy cold outside; Stephens had been right when he had forecast a snowfall overnight. The clock on her bedroom mantle chimed six.

‘So much for sleep,’ she muttered.

She tentatively poked a toe out from under the blankets and shivered. ‘I swear this place is closer to Iceland than the maps say.’ She took a deep breath, counted a quick
one, two, three
and flung back the bedclothes.

Ever grateful that the previous owner of their house had decided to spend a small fortune on modern plumbing, she headed for her bathroom. Running water was one of the real advantages that she could concede living in London had over Calcutta. As she went about her morning ablutions, she called for Grace to set out one of her new winter dresses.

‘The pale-blue one, with the cream lace on the bodice if you please, Grace; it goes with my grey coat and hat. Mama and I are visiting the Duchess of Strathmore and her daughter today.’

Even with the sound of the running tap, she could still hear the feigned gasp of delighted surprise from her maid. Grace would have known all about the visit since the previous afternoon. The whispers would have no doubt started downstairs the moment the letter addressed to Mrs Ashton had been hand delivered by a footman in the Duke of Strathmore’s livery. Why else would Grace be in Millie’s room, wearing a smile two feet wide a full half hour before she was due to arrive?

Stepping out from her bathroom, fresh and ready for the day, Millie returned Grace’s smile; today was going to be a good day. She did not care how cold it was outside, let the arctic winds throw all they could summon at her, nothing was going to spoil her mood.

‘At least you won’t have to meet that wicked Lord Brooke when you visit at Lady Lucy’s house today,’ Grace noted, as she buttoned up the back of Millie’s dress.

‘Why not?’ Millie replied, attempting to sound uninterested in the man who had been the centre of her dreams the whole night. Grace moved to the dressing table and picked up a hairbrush. She stood quietly waiting by the chair as Millie took a seat in front of the mirror.

‘Well?’ Millie asked. The young girl’s cheeks turned a bright red and she shook her head, clearly annoyed with herself.

‘Oh, sorry, Miss, I had promised Mr Stephens I wouldn’t spread any more tittle-tattle, but sometimes I can’t help myself. I open my mouth and it just comes out,’ Grace replied.

Millie turned on the stool and faced Grace.

‘Grace, there is nothing to be sorry about. If you didn’t keep your ear to the ground, how would I find out half of what goes on around here? Besides, I am relying upon you to be my second pair of eyes and ears when the season begins. I am going to need all the information you can gather from the other ladies’ maids when we attend the big society balls. Just as long as you only tell it to me, no one else, understood?’

She couldn’t make her maid swear to secrecy, but she reasoned it was perfectly acceptable to use the tidbits of information which happened to come Grace’s way. Her mother had made it very clear that the
ton
was not just about who you were or who you knew; it was very much about everyone’s secrets.

Grace began to hum and Millie could see she was woolgathering.

‘Grace.’

The young maid snapped out of her daydream and began quickly brushing Millie’s hair. Her mistress sat silent for several more seconds before letting out a sigh and reaching up to take hold of the hand wielding the brush.

‘Grace, you were about to tell me about Lord Brooke and why I won’t be seeing him at Strathmore House,’ she said, trying to maintain her good humour.

Grace looked at her blankly, and then Millie saw her eyes light up with realisation.

Grace clicked her tongue. ‘Sorry, Miss. Well, you see, Lord Brooke doesn’t live at Strathmore House any more.’ She leaned in closer and whispered in Millie’s ear, ‘I heard from another girl who works in another house that his father threw him and his brother out. She said that they were always getting drunk and coming home at silly hours and making an awful noise.’

Millie’s toes curled up in her slippers. This was exactly the kind of wicked gossip she wanted to hear.

‘Really? How dreadful,’ she replied, making sure she looked deeply concerned.

Grace nodded her head.

‘Well, last summer the duke found Lord Brooke asleep on the floor in the front hall at eight in the morning. Even the footmen couldn’t rouse him. His father said enough was enough and made him and his brother pack their bags. Can you imagine that, a duke having to scrape his son up off the floor?’

Millie was not about to tell Grace the mess Charles had made of himself on numerous occasions in the past few years. Only she was privy to that piece of information. And that was only because her bedroom window was the easiest for her drunken brother to climb through without being in danger of falling and breaking his stupid neck. He still owed her for the many times she had held his head over a bucket while he lost the contents of an evening’s wild drinking.

‘So Lord Brooke and Mr Radley took up rooms in Bird Street,’ Grace said finishing her story.

A pair of blue eyes stared back at Millie as she looked at herself in the mirror and held her own private conversation with her reflection.

When I visit at Lucy’s house, Lord Brooke will not be in residence. Good. I am sure it will make things easier for me and also for him. Good. Yes, it will be much easier for everyone.

Damn.

How was she supposed to charm him into being her champion in the shark-infested waters of the
ton
if he was not going to be around to see how good a friend she was to his sister?

She chastised herself for thinking of using Lady Lucy in such a cold and calculating way. It was wrong of her to see Lucy as the means to her devilishly handsome and very popular brother, especially when Lucy Radley happened to be the only friend she had in the whole of London.

Millie had no cousins on her father’s side, and only once on the long voyage from India had her mother made any mention of her relatives in Northamptonshire. There appeared to be a dark cloud over that side of the family, so she had not pressed her mother further on the subject. Apart from her uncle, there had been no one else to greet them the morning their ship berthed at the East India Docks.

Besides, it would be fun to have a friend who knew that the Romans had built Hadrian’s Wall. There were times she despaired of the females her own age. All they could think of day and night was how they were going to sink their claws into some unfortunate bachelor and his bank account.

After she had finished dressing and dismissed Grace, Millie retrieved a large teak box from under her bed and placed it on the table by the window. There were no flowers from Lord Brooke this morning, which left her feeling oddly disappointed. It would have been nice to know he still thought enough of her to send them at least one more time after she had reluctantly accepted his apology.

She wondered how many other girls in town had received flowers sent by the Marquess of Brooke three days in a row. The first one personally delivered to the front door. If the count was more than one, she did not wish to know. He had sent them because he wanted her to like him and that was all the detail her private fantasy required. Logic and reality could kindly call in at the house next door.

‘Another bunch of white roses would have been nice. I quite liked them, especially the buds,’ she said to herself, opening the box and examining its contents. Inside lay her most prized possessions. She had refused to set foot on board the ship bound for England until she knew for certain that the box with its gold silk lining was safely in her cabin. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the leather-bound books that sat tightly packed in the box. Adamant that not one of them was going to be abandoned, she had packed and repacked them until she had managed to squeeze them all in.

A small red book caught her eye. She gently prised it out of the box and stared at the cover. For most other girls it would have been an odd choice of gift for a new friend, but she knew it would be perfect.

In one of her other travel trunks she found a beautiful red silk scarf and wrapped the book in it. Her mother had decreed that she must unpack completely by the end of their second week in England, but most of Millie’s things were still in the trunks in which they had arrived from India.

‘Perhaps next week I will empty the large one,’ she said to herself.

By the time their carriage pulled up outside Strathmore House, Millie was half out of her seat and holding onto the swinging strap in order to steady herself. Her mother took hold of Millie’s other arm and made her sit back down.

‘Wait until the carriage has come to a complete stop, my dear. We would not want you to have an accident, especially since you are likely to land on me.’

Millie shot her a dirty look.

‘Mama, that is uncalled for and unkind,’ she snapped.

She did not need reminding of how much she weighed, especially from her mother. Violet shook her head. ‘I was not referring to the little bit of extra padding you are currently carrying, young lady. I meant that the fabric of this dress crushes if you so much as look at it.’

She looked at the mulberry silk dress Violet had chosen to wear. It was far more elegant than the gowns she had worn to other homes, and it left Millie wondering whether her mother was apprehensive about their visit.

‘But since you are so sensitive on the subject of your figure you could do something about it, such as taking dancing lessons. I hear Lady Lucy is having one today; I may speak to her dance master and see if he can fit you into his weekly schedule. Your Aunt Beatrice was going to speak to one of the patronesses about procuring vouchers for us for Almack’s Club, so you must work at improving your waltz.’

Violet adjusted her gloves before continuing. ‘With the season a few months away, now is the time to master those tricky steps and be light of foot for the young gentlemen who will be clamouring to fill your dance card.’

A footman opened the door of the carriage and as soon as she had followed her mother out onto the pavement and finished arranging her skirts, Millie looked up at the house in front of them.

Huge
and
stately
were the first words that came to mind. Strathmore House took up nearly half the block, and was twice the size of the elegant houses either side of it.

‘The Duchy of Strathmore is one of the oldest titles in England; it dates back to somewhere in the fourteenth century. When your father refers to someone’s family as being an old family, this is what he means,’ Violet explained.

The huge Portland stone columns, which imposed themselves upon the streetscape, spoke silently of great wealth and power. Millie made a mental note to ask Lucy how big the house was so she could calculate how many times her old home would fit inside.

‘If there is one friendship I would wish very much for you to carefully nurture and cultivate, it is this one,’ her mother whispered, as she stepped forward to brush something invisible off Millie’s coat.

Millie’s eyes lit up with delight.

‘Why, Mama, if I didn’t know you better I would say that you sounded like an unashamed social climber.’

Her mother pursed her lips.

‘I shall remind you that I am the daughter of a viscount and your father is the brother of one. When you have those sorts of family connections you are already at the top of the social ladder, my darling.’

Violet gave her gloves and silk skirts one last inspection.

‘As such I know the intricacies of the
ton
and how best to ensure that my daughter gets invited to all the select parties and balls in the forthcoming season. I might have been away for twenty-odd years, but let me assure you, the rules have not changed one iota. Millie, you are either in with the right people or you are out and believe me the walls of the
ton
are thick and heavily fortified.’

‘I was only jesting,’ Millie sighed, as her mother turned and headed up the front steps to the door.

‘I wasn’t,’ Violet coolly replied.

‘Oh Millie, you shouldn’t have,’ Lucy exclaimed as she accepted the silk-wrapped gift. When she took the scarf away and saw the little red book, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

‘Mama, it’s a book about Genghis Khan, and it has such beautiful drawings. Look at this one: you can see how that man’s head has come clean off.’

Violet shook her head slowly. ‘I am so sorry, Caroline, I did not realise Millicent had selected that particular book to give to your daughter. Please let me take it back and I shall choose something more suitable.’ She held out her hand, but Lucy hugged the book tightly to her chest and glared at her.

The Duchess of Strathmore laughed. ‘Violet, my dear, you have no idea how alike these two are. I don’t think you will be getting that book back any time soon.’

Millie shot Lucy a victorious look. She knew exactly the kind of book Lucy liked. If she had given her a book of poems, Lucy would have accepted it graciously and then more than likely pitched it out the window at the first opportunity.