“No, he looked at me as if I were an old friend—the only one in the world who understood him. He was quite helpful the rest of the day and now we’ve a list of ideas as long as I’m tall to consider. And there will be a number of new products to be taste tested the next time you meet with them.”
He hugged her again. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that everything went off so well. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She was happily proud—of both of them. “You did very well yourself.”
A knock came at the door. It was their butler, with the coffee service.
“Shall we open a bottle of champagne for you?” asked Lord Fitzhugh.
“No,” she said, “coffee is more than good enough.”
Water would have been more than good enough.
She poured the coffee. He raised his in a toast. “To a future of our own making.”
They clinked their cups. “A future of our own making,” she echoed.
And wished fervently that it would be so.
CHAPTER 10
1896
The invitation—summons, rather—came at the last minute, on the morning of the ball.
Millie was about to look in on Helena’s final fitting when a footman presented a silver salver. She recognized the envelope by its embossed stem of a rose at the lower right-hand corner: Mrs. Englewood.
She ducked into an empty room to read.
Dear Lady Fitzhugh,
Let me be the first one to admit that it is terrible form to request a meeting, given that we have never been introduced. But as we are well aware of each other’s existence, let us dispense with needless formalities, shall we?
Please let me know if I may wait on you this afternoon at two.
Yours,
Mrs. John Englewood
This was not entirely unexpected. She and Mrs. Englewood were not two bitches tussling over a bone. At some point it behooved them to sit down and hold a civilized conversation concerning the Arrangement. But for Millie that point hadn’t come yet and shouldn’t come for at least another five months.
Mrs. Englewood obviously believed otherwise.
Millie had the perfect excuse in the ball of course—she was much too busy—but she would not decline the meeting. She’d learned her lesson about putting off till eight years later what she should do today. If the meeting must happen at some point, then let it happen today.
Even if today was the day Fitz became her husband in truth.
Especially if.
Were Mrs. Englewood and Fitz a pair of bookends, they could not be better matched physically. Like him, her build was tall, slender, and tight. Like him, she had dark hair and blue eyes. And like him, she moved with a nonchalant grace.
Millie was neither overly short nor overly pudgy. Before Mrs. Englewood’s stately figure, however, it was difficult not to feel squat—even a little dumpy. But it was not as if she was ever going to feel anything but inferior before Isabelle Englewood.
“You are different from how I remember you,” said Mrs. Englewood, sipping her tea. “Taller and prettier.”
Just like that, no other preliminaries.
Millie took a deep breath. “It’s nice to know that I look better now than I did at my wedding.”
“The dress swallowed you.”
Millie had to agree. “Yes, in hindsight the dress was quite atrocious. Instead of the best money could buy, we went for the most money could buy.”
Her acknowledgment of the parvenu tastes of her wedding gown garnered her a surprised glance from Mrs. Englewood.
“All the same,” she said, her voice turning wistful, “I’d have gladly worn that gown—or one ten times as hideous—if I could have walked down the aisle to him.”
Millie ate her biscuit and said nothing.
“I loved him. I’d planned my entire future around becoming Mrs. Fitzhugh. And when he married you, all my hopes and dreams collapsed. For two months, all I did was sit on my bed, dawn till dusk, dusk till dawn. I barely ate. Slept maybe once every three days. I’ve never looked the same since.”
She did look different, like a broken vase that had been put back together: still beautiful, all the pieces accounted for, but the damage showed. Millie’s heart flinched, as if someone had brought a burning match too near.
“My mother and my sister eventually coaxed me out of my exile. They convinced me that it was better for me to go to London and find a husband, instead of fade away at home. So that was what I did the next Season.”
“He was there that day at your wedding. He said you looked beautiful—and happy,” Millie said, in a futile attempt to remind Mrs. Englewood that not all had gone awry in her life.
“I suppose I was happy enough. But it was not the same—an imitation. Nothing could approach that perfect, unmarred happiness I’d once known.”
Every breath Millie drew scalded her lungs, but Mrs. Englewood went on inexorably.
“All I want is to regain what I once lost, to live the life I was meant to live. It’s not too much to ask, is it?”
Millie forced out her answer. “No.”
“Fitz is a lovely man—and I’m not just talking about his looks. You know he is stalwart and honorable. You know he will sacrifice himself to the call of duty. And—” Mrs. Englewood’s voice faltered. “And you are now part of his duty.”