A Lady's Escape

by A. S. Fenichel

  Several beats passed where Jane studied Millie with unblinking interest. It was as if the proprietress was looking for a sign.

  Millie was sure she would be packing her bags and heading back to her uncle’s house by the end of the day. Perhaps she could expedite the opening and renovations to her parents’ country home. The estate had been shut up for ten years, and she had no idea how much work would be needed. No matter what, she would not be derailed from her plans.

  Jane stood. “I can see that everything is in order. You will do well, Miss Edgebrook. This is only your first client, but you have rushed in and taken control. His Grace is lucky to have you.”

  Millie wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts as she stood. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Lord Rupert and I are going to our country home for a few days. There are a few things to be sorted there. I trust all will be well here, but should you require anything, you can send me a letter by special messenger.”

  “I cannot imagine that will be necessary. Wednesday, I will go to the Dalton ball as the duke has requested, and Friday I will be off to the Middleton country estate. All will be well. Miss Wittman has been a friend to me. If I have any questions about the duties of an Everton Lady, I will ask her or consult the Companion.”

  “Very good. Then I shall see you when you return from Derbyshire. I understand Brookhaven Manor is magnificent. I look forward to hearing about it.” Jane walked to the threshold, turned back as if to say more, but then nodded and left.

  The mention of Brookhaven Manor filled Millie with dread and excitement. She would have to get her emotions under control or she was going to make a fool of herself. It was a good thing she would not see Preston for four days. Surely an intelligent woman could master erroneous feelings in that much time.

  * * * *

  Preston was going to have to get his feelings under control. Four days, and still all he could think about was how she had dismissed his kiss. The carriage rolled through the crowded London streets. It would take time to reach Everton House, and he was glad to have the extra time to gather himself.

  He never should have kissed her so soon but knowing that didn’t stop his feelings from being hurt. Part of him expected her to fall into his arms and never want to leave. Short of that, he hoped for a bit more interest and perhaps excitement. Millie practically ran from the house, and then not a word for days. When he’d lost his struggle to stay away, he’d found her cold and all business. Calling him Your Grace when they were alone was the final straw. He was going to have to get over this infernal desire before she ruined him.

  Certainly, this could be conquered. He had been affectionate toward Elinor, and yet when it was obvious she preferred Michael Rollins, Preston did what was necessary and stepped away. He wanted her happiness above all.

  Yet with Millicent, the idea of her happiness not being possible with him in her life was unacceptable. Shaking himself, he leaned back against the cushion. “I am the Duke of Middleton, a lord of the realm. I know how to bide my time.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop. Preston stepped down just as Millicent and Mrs. Whimple exited the house. His resolve slipped. “I would have come to the door, Millicent. There is no reason for you to rush out here in such a state.”

  “Do not trouble yourself. You are not courting me, after all.” She waited until Mrs. Whimple was handed in to the carriage. “I’m sorry you were unhappy with me when last we met. I hope it will not interfere with our mission.”

  He almost laughed at her idea of an apology. She wasn’t sorry for insulting him or dismissing him, only for his anger. “I have recovered.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.” Taking his offered hand, she stepped into the carriage.

  Imagining he could feel the heat of her hand through both his gloves and hers was not a good start to conquering his emotional state.

  The driver, William, asked, “Ready to leave, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, Will. The Dalton townhouse, please.” Preston sat across from the ladies and kept his peace for the entire ride.

  Millicent watched him, her expression shifting from unhappy to confused. Clearly his silence made her uncomfortable.

  Good. Perhaps keeping his Everton Lady off balance was just the thing.

  After thirty minutes, she said, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Are you?”

  Frowning, she leaned forward. “You said you were recovered.”

  Following suit, he leaned in until he was a breath away. “I am quite recovered, Everton Lady. I just have nothing to say. What is it you would like to discuss?”

  “I think you are still vexed with me.”

  If she knew how adorable he found her distress or how much he longed to kiss that worry off her face, she would sit back. He smiled. “I have never been vexed in my life. I do not believe dukes become vexed. We are more inclined toward anger, disinterest or rage, never vexation.”

  Her head tilted. Dear Lord, her lips were so close and so tempting. “You’re teasing.”

  “Yes.”

  Millicent met his gaze and smiled. Her eyes gleamed with mischief that said she would love to vex him, but the carriage slowed in the crowded street outside the Dalton townhouse.

  William poked his head in the window. “I don’t think we’ll get much closer than this, Your Grace.”

  They were half a block away, but William was correct. The carriages were stacked to a standstill. “Miss Edgebrook, the road is dry, do you think the two of you can manage a short walk?”

  With a nod, she said, “We will be fine.”

  True to her word, she and her chaperone trudged up the street in their overcoats and, despite the nippy air, did not complain. A crowd moved up the stairs at a snail’s pace. Preston worried Millicent would catch a chill, but she smiled, content to wait.

  “It will be quite a crush,” she said.

  “It is the first of the more popular events of the season. I had forgotten how crowded it was. I’m tempted to flag Will down and forget the entire thing.” He scanned the street for his carriage, but it was lost in a sea of vehicles.

  “We are here. We might as well get you seen. Perhaps one or more of your ladies will be here and you can spend some time with them.” At the top step, Millicent shrugged out of her practical overcoat and revealed a stunning cerulean gown different than anything he’d seen her in before. She was a vision with the fabric clinging to her curves and exposing the blushing swell of her breasts.

  Preston took the overcoat, unable to speak or look away.

  “You are staring, Your Grace.” Her eyes were wide saucers staring up at him.

  “I am—you are—forgive me. You look lovely, Miss Edgebrook.” His body betrayed him, and he was glad he had a moment to contain himself before they entered the house.

  Handing the outerwear to a footman as soon as they were inside, he kept one eye on Millicent. She would attract a lot of attention in that gown, and he didn’t want some upstart thinking he could take liberties. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “When did you change your wardrobe?”

  “I went shopping and was able to find a few gowns that needed little alterations. I’m quite tired of wearing pink and white.” She pulled her shoulders back, straining the bright blue fabric to its limit.

  It was going to be a long night.

  They shuffled down the line to greet their host and hostess. Even with his height, he could only make out a sliver of them through the crowd. Ever so slowly, the line moved forward. Lord Dalton was of middle years with little hair and always puffing on a cigar. He gambled more than he made and was in debt beyond his ability to make good on those accounts. Lady Dalton was a fierce barrel of a woman who insisted on throwing these elaborate balls. Her gray gown made her look like she was dressed in a sack, but she smiled and greeted each of her guests pleasantly and with kindness.


  Beside Lady Dalton, Scarlett Finch frowned. Her unusual brown and ruby hair was twisted up on her head, her excessive curves nearly fell out of the pale-yellow dress, and her eyes narrowed with hate. Her expression changed in a heartbeat, and she grinned up at him. “Your Grace, I’m surprised to see you here. You so dislike these events.”

  She was the last person he expected to see. More questions than answers filled his head. “Not as surprised as I am to find you in the receiving line of the Dalton townhouse, Miss Finch.”

  Clutching at the coat of the man to her left, she pulled him over. “Bertram and I were engaged a few days ago.”

  Bertram Dalton, only son of Earl Dalton, offered his hand. “Good to see you, Your Grace. I’m so pleased you made time to come to my mother’s ball.”

  Whatever happened to the viscount she had rejected Preston for, he didn’t know. He realized she had not wanted another. She just didn’t want him. Knowing it was for the best and accepting the truth of that were two different things. It took him a long beat to gather his anger and bury it. “Nice to see you, Dalton. You have a long line waiting to get in. I don’t want to delay their entry. It’s quite cool out.”

  Inside the ballroom, the music had already started, though no one would dance until the hostess finished her greetings. It would be a while.

  Millicent touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

  Pity.

  He could hear the vile emotion pouring from her. The Duke of Middleton was not a man to be pitied. He swallowed down all emotion and steadied his voice. “I am fine. It is not significant. Miss Finch was always free to do as she pleased.”

  “She is dreadful, and you are better off without her.”

  What she said might be true, but he was in no mood to discuss the matter. A draft of brandy was what he needed, but it would be difficult to find that tonight. “I’m going outside for a few minutes. Will you be all right here with Mrs. Whimple?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze locked with his, and questions flitted across her expressive eyes. Questions he didn’t want to think about, let alone answer.

  “That dress of yours will attract attention. Stay out of trouble until I return, Everton Lady.”

  She smiled, and a blush rushed from her cheeks down along the low neckline of that tempting gown. “I will do my best.”

  The teasing, and effect he had on her, cheered him more than he expected. In fact, by the time he reached the doors to the veranda, thoughts of Millicent had erased his anger and embarrassment.

  “Middleton, what on earth are you doing here?” Jacques strode over with a glass of something that looked suspiciously like brandy.

  “I’m attending a ball, the same as you. Is that brandy?” Relieved to find his friend in house, he clapped him on the back.

  Jacques stared at him. “You saw Scarlett. Here, you need this more than I.”

  Despite feeling better, he took the brandy and downed it. Not the best, but good enough. “Thank you.”

  “I had planned to stop and see you tomorrow and inform you of her engagement. I see now that will not be necessary.” Jacques leaned against the stone half wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is Miss Edgebrook with you?”

  “She is, and stay away from her.” He trusted Jacques with his life but not with his Everton Lady.

  “I wouldn’t think of interfering, but I like her and will claim a dance or two.” His smile made Preston want to bloody his lip. “Jealousy is not an emotion I have ever associated with you before, Pres.”

  “Nor I. Can we speak of something else, like where you found brandy in this crush?”

  * * * *

  After pilfering Lord Dalton’s mediocre brandy for nearly an hour, Preston left Jacques on the veranda and entered the ballroom. Starting at one end of the room, he scanned the faces for the only one he cared about and found Millicent dancing with Byron Millard.

  Millard was harmless and, as far as Preston knew, a gentleman. Still, jealousy gnawed inside him.

  “Preston, I must speak with you,” Scarlett said.

  He’d been so caught up with finding Millicent, he’d missed Scarlett’s approach. Though quite a few in the ballroom had not. Most of the room was staring at him. “I think your timing is flawed, Miss Finch.”

  “Do not force me to make a scene,” she whispered. When they had courted, he’d never noticed how her smile held a touch of evil or that her eyes were filled with disdain. Looking for only what he wished to see had nearly tied him to this woman forever.

  He shuddered at the thought. Suddenly his embarrassment had been well worth it. “If you will discontinue making this scene, I will meet you on the small balcony I noticed through those far doors.”

  Glancing toward the door, she nodded and allowed him to walk away without further incident. After making his way around the ballroom, he did as he said he would and walked out to the small balcony. The streaks of red in her brown quaff caught the moonlight, and her skin was like fine porcelain. It was no wonder he’d been attracted to Scarlett; she was beautiful at first glance. “I have no intention of being seen out here with you, Miss Finch, so say what you must, and I will go.”

  She frowned at his sharp tone. “You must hate me.”

  “No. That would be too strong an emotion. You said you loved another and I believed you. I see now that may have been an exaggeration.” The breeze rustled leaves on the trees.

  Scarlett wrapped her arms around her middle. “I didn’t lie, but I met Bertram and he asked me to marry him. I’m not getting any younger. Grant still has not returned from the Continent. Perhaps he never will.”

  Perhaps Grant had learned what he was getting himself into with Scarlett and was staying away until she would no longer be a problem. It didn’t matter. He no longer had any interest in this woman. “Then I wish you and Dalton a happy life, and we have nothing further to say to one another.”

  Stepping closer to him, she touched his arm. “You are so cold, Preston. I had hoped you and I could renew our friendship.”

  “And what of your engagement?”

  She eased close enough that her breasts grazed his arm. “I have come to realize it may not be a suitable match.”

  The balcony didn’t give him far to go, but he managed a few inches of separation. “That is not my problem, Miss Finch. You have the option to bow out of that commitment. However, if you are thinking of doing so with the hope of me renewing my proposal, you are mistaken. I will not.”

  Her eyes narrowed like a bird of prey. “How dare you? You wanted me. You must still want me.” Rushing forward, she beat on his chest.

  Preston caught her wrists and held her still. “This behavior is unbecoming, Miss Finch.”

  The door opened, and Millicent slipped outside. She met his gaze and looked at Scarlett. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to disturb you. I believe you asked me for the next dance.”

  While Scarlett’s rage still burned in her eyes and the bright red of her cheeks, she pulled her arms back, stood up straight and put on a mask of disinterest.

  Preston stepped around her and offered Millicent his arm. “Indeed, Miss Edgebrook.”

  Inside, Scarlett let out an ugly laugh. “Is this what you left me for, Lord Middleton? A laughingstock whose guardian is notorious for blowing up his own home. Is that the connection you intend for the next Duchess of Middleton?”

  Hating the way Millicent’s hand tightened before she let go of his arm, he took several breaths to gain control of his temper. If he defended Millicent, he would be announcing to London that he intended to offer for her. She would not like that at all. It was too soon to force her hand. Trap her and he’d lose her and never get her back. Yet to not defend her against this witch was unacceptable.

  Jacques solved the problem. “Thank you for delivering Miss Edgebrook, Your Grace. I had feared she had escaped before dancing wit
h me.”

  Indecisive for several moments, Millicent finally took Jacques’s arm, and he whisked her away to the dance floor.

  Preston stepped close to Scarlett. He was not given to violence and certainly had never considered striking a woman. At least not until this creature had hurt his Millicent. “If you ever try to harm me or my friends again, I will use my considerable influence to make sure you and whomever you marry are cut out of good society. Do I make myself clear?”

  Fear flashed in her eyes. “You can’t threaten me that way.”

  “If you don’t believe me, Scarlett, test my resolve. You have only seen the side of me who courts a pretty woman of good breeding. I don’t think you’ll like the side of me who considers you a problem to be dealt with. Marry Dalton and have a good life but stay out of mine and stay away from my friends. I can make it impossible for Earl Dalton to transact business not only in England but in most other countries in Europe. Don’t push me.”

  Her gasp was more gratifying than it should have been, but he’d made his point.

  Walking to the far edge of the dance floor, he watched Millicent dance with Jacques. The two chatted like old friends, but he observed no particular regard that should stir his jealousy. Yet, he didn’t like to see even her gloved hand touch another or laughter in her eyes caused by whatever Jacques said.

  When the dance concluded, they walked toward him. Jacques delivering her to Preston with a bow. “I believe this dance is yours, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you for stepping in.” Preston was grateful and shrugged off his moment of possessiveness.

  The music began again with a waltz.

  Smiling, Jacques disappeared into the crowd.

  “Would you mind?” Preston asked, offering his hand.