A Woman Made for Pleasure

by Michele Sinclair

  “I promise not to consciously watch or observe Lord Brumby and will take steps to avoid him when at the same events. Satisfied?” she asked quietly, trying halfheartedly to retain some morsels of her pride.

  Chase studied her. He had expected Millie’s final acquiescence to be full of defiance, but not of sorrow. Even the small sarcastic quip carried a tone of grief, as if by yielding to his demand she had lost something very precious in the process. He so wanted to know her thoughts and the reasons why she had relented. Even her unusual eyes held no clue. Soon he was going to let himself drown in those purple pools. But he could not allow himself to do so today.

  Millie let out a deep sigh as they rode back to the more populated parts of the park. She was maneuvering Hercules to head toward Grosvenor Gate, when suddenly a familiar figure appeared on horseback.

  “Lady Aldon, how nice to see you again so soon.”

  Millie stiffened. The words were friendly, but the voice was not. “Lord Marston, I believe you know the Marquess of Chaselton.”

  Marston’s eyes narrowed as he took in the huge black animal underneath Millie. The woman had played him for a fool. Something no one ever did without consequence. “Indeed. I see your fear of horses has abated since my invitation to ride.”

  Millie’s gaze grew shrewd. “Lord Marston, I do not recall ever saying that I was afraid of horses. However, I do remember being shocked into silence upon your assumption of my timidity. I saw no reason to correct your offensive misjudgment.”

  “I see,” Marston replied, his voice low and ominous.

  Chase, who had been quiet up until now, responded in a flat monotone. “See that you do, Marston.” The quiet power of Chase’s words was unmistakable.

  Marston gave a perfunctory nod, turned his horse, and cantered away. Lady Aldon had led him on a merry little chase. He had intended to use her to get inside the Wentworth home, seduce her, and eventually discard her. But seeing her emerge from the less populated areas of the park with Chaselton, Lady Aldon could no longer be viewed as just a dear friend of the family. Chaselton’s involvement and protection might make things more difficult, but in truth, it changed the plans only slightly.

  Marston grimaced as he dug his heels into the sides of his mount. He would still get what he wanted from Chaselton and from Mildred Aldon—one way or another.

  Chapter 9

  Millie flipped over and disentangled herself from the twisted bedcovers. The moonlight pouring in told her morning had not yet arrived. Letting her arm flop against her forehead, she stared at the ceiling and wondered if she would ever have a good night’s sleep again. Once more, she tried to convince herself that it was a good thing Chase did not want to marry her. Chase embodied an emotional trap from which she had vowed to be forever free. Yet at every event she attended, Millie could not stop herself from searching for him and wondering if he would ever again be present. She looked, but Chase was never there.

  Her frustration was mounting, and Millie needed a way to relieve it. Rising out of bed, she lit a lamp, dressed, and found herself about to embark on the unthinkable. Four hours later, she heard the squeak of somebody entering her short-lived sanctuary.

  “Millie?” Aimee asked as she opened the study door to find her friend at the desk, busily scribbling away. Aimee had just finished her morning meal and was passing the study on her way to awaken her normally last-to-rise friend when she heard the furious scratching of a pen. Aimee stood, shocked for a moment. Millie was not in bed, but writing. And from the stack of correspondence in front of her and the ink stains on her fingers, Millie had been awake for some time. “Heavens! Millie, look at your hands! Whatever are you doing?”

  “Just answering all our requests for calls from the last few nights’ events. Several more arrived early this morning.” She stopped and pointed at a stack. “Those are yours. I am answering in the negative, by the way. So, if there are any that you want to accept, pull my response out. You will have to write the positive ones yourself.”

  Aimee retrieved two stacks as Jennelle wandered in and collapsed onto a gold velvet high-back chair. Aimee handed her a stack of responses.

  Jennelle took them. “What are these?”

  “Millie wrote them.”

  A single eyebrow rose in disbelief as Jennelle opened one and read it. “Millie, this is wonderful. You do have quite a knack for turning a man down without hurting his pride.” Jennelle took in her voluminous stack and then glanced at Aimee’s. “My goodness, Millie. This is a lot of work. It must have taken you hours to compose all of these.”

  Millie sighed without looking up. “We are going to have to find a different way of turning these gentlemen down. At first, the requests were manageable, but, Jennelle, you are getting quite popular. I believe you are now the current leader in visitation pleas. Who’s the original now?”

  Jennelle let out a low whistle as she thumbed through her pile, silently reading the names. “Who would have thought . . .”

  Aimee put her stack back on the table. “I would have.”

  “So would I,” Millie added, finishing the last response in her own stack of “thank you—but no” replies. “There. Finally, that is done.”

  Aimee looked at her friend more closely. “Frankly, Millie, this is most unlike you. How long have you been at this writing frenzy?”

  “Since before the early meal.”

  “Why, that was hours ago! How are you able to appear so alert?”

  “She is experiencing a chemical reaction induced by high anxiety,” Jennelle answered as she pulled out one response, read the name, and smiled before replacing it. “I was reading on the subject in one of my travel journals. It seems the body has the ability to produce a chemical that stimulates the mind and keeps one awake. During the war, several studies were conducted on soldiers who, though lacking sufficient sleep, were able to remain alert in times of stress.” She paused mischievously for effect. “So tell us, Millie. Are you stressed?”

  Millie clenched her teeth and gripped the edge of the desk. “No, I am not stressed. I am just a little upset.”

  Jennelle released a small chuckle of disbelief and tucked her feet underneath her. “Millie, you have just composed over fifty regrets in a single sitting. Although I must admit you did a splendid job, it is most unlike you to volunteer for a chore you hate.”

  “Jennelle has a point. What has you so troubled?” Aimee inquired as she sat down on a dark settee.

  Millie pursed her lips and then rolled her eyes, deciding to surrender now rather than submit to hours of hounding. “If you must know, I have been up most of the night thinking about Lord Marston. We have to develop some kind of plan that, without letting him know of our intentions, gives us the needed insight as to what he wants with us and how to stop him. Unfortunately, I produced not a single idea worth mentioning. Frustration led me here,” Millie stated. Then, pointing at the stack of replies, she added, “And those are the direct result of my need to accomplish something.”

  Aimee scrunched her nose. “It is a shame Charles is no longer staying at Hembree Grove. He would have at least kept you company.”

  Jennelle hummed happily as she continued flipping through the correspondence, reading the names of all the gentlemen who had requested her company. “Hmm, where could Charles vanish to in the middle of the Season?”

  “Oh, he has been staying at Reece’s town house in St. James’s,” Aimee replied casually. “Now, do not look at me like that. I only found out yesterday when I saw one of the footmen sneaking out a large trunk out of his room. The poor lad panicked when he saw me. So of course that made me only more curious.”

  Millie fought hard to appear disinterested.

  Jennelle rose and placed her stack on the desk next to Aimee’s. “And just what did you do to the unlucky footman to assuage your curiosity?”

  Aimee shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps I might have threatened to make him practice defense moves with Millie.” An impish smile grew on her face. “He
r reputation has quite a unique power of persuasion.”

  “Oooh, that is evil—and brilliant,” Jennelle said, nodding in approval.

  Millie rose from the desk chair and pulled the drapes back from the window to look out at the gardens below. The scene was very peaceful, but Millie felt surprisingly hollow inside. She had not seen Chase since he saw her home from Hyde Park—several days ago. Suddenly, despite her friends’ company, she felt alone. Vulnerable.

  Millie rubbed her arms and mentally rallied herself. It was silly to feel this way. It had been just four weeks since they had been reacquainted after an eight-year absence. Was it not better that he was no longer about? Would it not be torture to see him daily and know he would never be hers?

  Aimee watched, slightly perplexed by the sadness in her friend’s face and decided this time she would not take no as an answer. “Well, Jennelle and I want to propose something that is sure to lift your spirits. There is a special event we are attending this afternoon, and you will be coming with us.”

  Millie could not help it. A groan escaped her lips. She let the drapes fall from her fingertips and turned to refuse the offer when Aimee rose, waving her finger back and forth.

  “Ah-ah-ah, before you speak, realize this. You are coming. Besides, you will love this particular event. And if you roll your eyes at me one more time, you will find them stuck in the back of your head when I give you a thump.”

  “Boo, boo, scary, scary,” Millie said sarcastically.

  “Seriously, Millie. You will love this one. I promise.”

  Millie walked back over to the desk, placing it between her and the unrelenting looks of two pairs of eyes. She sat down and crossed her arms. “Really? As much as I just loved Almack’s?”

  Aimee grimaced. “Honestly. How was I to know? It was supposed to be a great honor to be asked to attend the Assembly Rooms. It is terribly exclusive.”

  Jennelle shivered at the memory of being scrutinized and judged as if she were a horse at Tattersalls. “Well, I have to agree with Millie on the horror of Almack’s. I still cannot believe people actually pay to attend a lousy dinner and a taxing all-night dance afterward.”

  Aimee turned and gave Jennelle a look that clearly conveyed her exasperation. “Well, it made Mother happy, and I expect we will have to attend at least one or two more times this Season.”

  Millie looked down at the stack of regrets. “Yes, unfortunately, being proclaimed ‘worthy’ by that bunch of doughty ladies has labeled us as aspiring debutantes. My poor, cramping fingers are the result.”

  “Hmm, at least you were not the focus of their attention,” Aimee moaned daintily, as only she could.

  Millie produced an exaggerated shrug. “Do not blame Jennelle and me that you are tall, blond, and beautiful. If ‘the queens of London Society’ could write a book on . . . what did they call it, Jennelle?”

  “The social acceptability of young ladies,” Jennelle said, exaggerating the formal tone of the oldest Almack patroness.

  “Yes, well, Aimee’s picture would be on the cover.”

  Aimee narrowed her eyes in mock protest. “Well, just be glad we were only invited as guests and are not members.”

  Millie snorted. “Believe me, and I do not jest, that has been added to my prayers at night.”

  Jennelle grimaced, realizing the depth of her friend’s frustration. “You are in a mood, Millie. Come with us. The main speaker is a woman explorer who loves adventure. I am sure you will find it exciting.”

  Responding to Jennelle’s support, Aimee asserted, “If you do not, then we will stay home with you. And keep in mind our history, Mildred Aldon. The ‘queens of London Society’ might not understand my stubborn nature, but you do. Understand now: either you go—or we stay.”

  Millie bit her bottom lip. It was clear Jennelle wanted to go, but it was even more evident Aimee was going to win this argument. And despite appearances, Aimee could be aggravatingly mulish when she had a mind to be. Sighing, Millie relented. “As long as I do not have to dance. If I have to perform one more elaborate, intricate cotillion for half an hour with a man who cannot tell his left foot from his right, I will surely scream.”

  “Warm up your lungs, then. You will not be dancing at today’s Explorer Society meeting, but you will be this weekend at Lady Sefton’s.”

  Aimee put up her hand when she saw Millie prepare her protest. “I know, I know. It will be Almack’s all over again. But just think. There is an excellent chance Lord Marston will be there.”

  Millie tapped her lips with her index finger, her eyes sparkling with interest. “There is that.” Surely by Saturday she could think of a way to discover the slick man’s true intentions.

  “Come on,” Jennelle said, standing. “We cannot go as we are, and I need to stop at Mrs. Brinson’s to collect my dress for tomorrow night’s ball. If we do not leave soon, we will not arrive early enough to get a good seat.”

  Deciding to collect Jennelle’s gown afterward, they headed directly to the meeting in hopes of arriving early. Within a block of the event, they realized that though they had arrived early, the hall was already quite crowded. They quickly headed in and were thankful to find three seats together near the back of the lecture hall.

  “Is it usually this crowded?” Millie whispered, looking around, surprised by the number and different types of people attending the lecture. The speaker was drawing a strange gathering. Last time she had attended one of Jennelle’s meetings, the audience was comprised only of people with strong scholarly and literary interests. Today’s crowd was incredibly varied, ranging from Bond Street beaus, whose focus was solely on fashion, to cits from the business side of London, to more well-to-do merchants.

  Jennelle shook her head. “No, it is not at all common. The crowd is especially large. But as Aimee and I told you, today’s speaker is special. I expect a third of the onlookers are here to gawk, another third are here to discover if a new investment is at hand, and the other third are here because of their true and pure interest. I think once you find out who it is, you will find yourself in the third category, Millie. Do not be surprised when you hear me utter the words ‘I told you so’ upon our departure.”

  Despite her expectation otherwise, Millie found herself enjoying the event much more than she had supposed she would. She loved to watch people and fantasize about their thoughts and motivations. Chase was right, she thought. It would be an impossible task to completely refrain from her favorite pastime of studying people. Then she noticed two men crouched together, speaking softly but animatedly. They were upset about something.

  Millie elbowed Aimee. “Aimee, look over there.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. Can you see those two gentlemen? One is in green with a striped waistcoat. Do you know who they are? Do they normally attend these things?”

  Aimee shrugged. “I do not think so. Jennelle?”

  Turning to see to whom Millie was referring, Jennelle took a good look. “They have not attended since we arrived in Town, but I think I recognize one of them.”

  “Maybe they are friends. What do you think they are discussing?” Aimee mused.

  “I do not believe they are friends at all. I think they are arguing,” Millie said in hushed tones, concentrating on the heated exchange.

  Jennelle looked at her friends, who were openly staring at the argument across the room. “Can I be the voice of reason here? Why do you care whether those three men know one another or if they are friends or enemies?”

  Millie whipped around. “There are three?”

  Jennelle rolled her eyes and pointed. “Yes, Millie, look. Now you can see the third.”

  Millie craned her head, trying to see the third person, when she suddenly realized what she had done. The third man was Lord Brumby. She quickly turned away and tried to get her friends to do the same. “I believe you are right, Jennelle. It is rather silly. Forget I mentioned them,” Millie murmured, glancing one last time at the men huddled toget
her.

  Millie was sure they were the same men she had seen Chase speaking with at the Bassel and Alstar parties. Surely none of them had any interest in the speakers or the discussions that were about to start. They must be here at this event for one reason only—to meet privately in a crowd. Something people did if they believed they were being followed.

  Millie took several deep breaths and forced herself to avoid watching the clandestine meeting. Chase had no idea what her promise to him was costing her. Fortunately, she was saved as the main speaker moved behind the podium.

  Minutes later, Millie found herself getting drawn in by the discussion. The speaker was a Miss Jeanne Labrosse. She was the first woman to ever fly solo in a hot air balloon, the first to have an all-female crew, and the first to use a parachute. To Millie, Miss Labrosse was the model of a truly adventurous woman.

  Balloon exploration was the theme of the whole afternoon. Each speaker would build excitement by repeating the mantra, “Anyone can do it.” They cited Madame Elisabeth Thible, a French opera singer who became the first woman to fly when she went up in a Montgolfier balloon. When they discussed the business advantages of ballooning, the cits suddenly became animated, asking questions about costs, speed, reliability, and the possibilities of using balloons for shipping.

  While the meeting was not as exciting as an actual adventure, Millie did concede the topic was much more interesting than those at the ton’s tea parties. Millie closed her eyes and began to daydream about what it would be like to be Madame Thible and fly high as a mountain, looking down at Gustav III, King of Sweden.

  “Millie! Snap out of it,” Aimee hissed.

  Millie blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Look at your three men,” Aimee whispered harshly.

  Millie pivoted to see what Aimee was talking about. By now so many people had stood up from their seats, she could not see a thing. She was torn between her promise to Chase and her desire to know what was going on. “I cannot see anything.”