“I’ll be glad to see the back of you,” were Lady Bagshott’s parting words.
“And I you,” said Zoë sweetly.
Zoë and her maid, Marie, were seated in Lady Scattergood’s carriage on their way for the final fitting of the dress she was to wear at the reception Leo and Izzy were holding for her on New Year’s Eve.
The streets were crowded and the traffic had stopped. Something up ahead—an accident perhaps—had brought them to a standstill.
Zoë gazed out the window at the people in the street, envying them their freedom to go where they wished, when they wished. She’d been feeling rather cooped up lately; the plan was for her not to venture out until she’d been introduced to society—well, all those in society who were still in London at this time of year.
So no walks in the park, no shopping expeditions, no wandering around a marketplace just to look…And the cold and rainy weather didn’t help.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t lived in virtual seclusion before—last time she’d lived in London it had been her choice to stay out of sight for fear of causing difficulties to her half sisters. That hadn’t been too hard. She’d come fromthe orphanage, where she’d never had a moment to herself and every minute of the day was strictly supervised.
Now she had memories of wandering the countryside with a handsome vagabond, and she couldn’t help but think that her time with Reynard would probably be the last truly free time she would have. Young unmarried society women were strictly chaperoned at all times, and the whole world watched out for them to slip. Even if she married—which she was not at all sure she wanted—a husband would command her obedience and expect her to be present whenever he wished it.
She was jerked out of her reverie by the sight of a female in a dark pink pelisse, her face hidden by a veil, hurrying along the footpath, weaving through the crowds, with a maid scurrying to keep up with her.
There was something both familiar and furtive about the lady in pink. It was Milly Harrington, she realized, out in public—without her mother. What on earth was she up to?
As she watched, Milly dived into Hatchard’s Bookshop. Her maid, interestingly, waited outside, her gaze roving back and forth over the street. A lookout. How very interesting.
Zoë could see Milly through the window. A moment later a man approached her. She reached out her hands to him, and he took them and kissed her knuckles. Reverently.
So, Milly Harrington had a beau, one that Mama didn’t know about.
Good for her, Zoë thought as her carriage moved on.
The following morning, Zoë was in the summerhouse, drawing the intricate patterns left on the glass by the frost in the night. She had to be quick, as they were melting quickly, but they’d given her an idea for a painting.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up. “Knitting socks, Milly. What are you doing up so early?”
Milly tossed her head. “I’m allowed to.” She entered the summerhouse, sat down and looked around. “Where are the socks, then?”
Zoë sighed. The ice patterns were almost gone anyway. “Read any good books lately?”
Milly wrinkled her brow. “Books? What books?”
“Didn’t you go shopping for books the other day?”
Milly looked away. “No.” She didn’t look happy, and Zoë decided to stop teasing her. Feeling a bit constrained herself, she had some sympathy for the girl who never went anywhere without her mother. Their shared garden was the only place where she wasn’t clamped by her mother’s side. Which made that brief sighting of her at Hatchard’s all the more intriguing.
She finished off the drawing of the ice. Milly sat and fidgeted.
Finally she said, “I suppose you think you’re clever, having a party just for you before the season has even started.”
Zoë shaded in some of the lines. “No, not particularly. It was Izzy and Leo’s idea.”
After another long pause, Milly said, “I expect to be betrothed in the new year.”
“Really? Who to?” She wasn’t the slightest bit interested, but if Milly wanted to talk, she could hardly stop her.
“I’m not sure. Mama is still negotiating.”
Zoë looked up at that. “You don’t know the name of the man you’re going to marry?”
Milly made a careless gesture, but Zoë noticed her hands were trembling. “Mama knows what she’s doing. She’s second cousin to a duke, you know.”
