Letter From a Rake

by Sasha Cottman

  Fortunately, the footman in question had had the good sense to put the heavy glass box down while he waited. As she opened the door, he bent down and picked it up.

  ‘Flowers, oh my, but who could have sent them? I surely don’t deserve such a wonderful gift, but they are a lovely surprise,’ Millie said. She stood back from the doorway and allowed the footman to carry the large box of flowers into her room. He placed it on the top of her chest of drawers, turning it so she could see the card.

  Grace gave him a wink and ushered him swiftly out of the door.

  Millie stood back and surveyed the magnificent blooms.

  ‘I know what the white flowers are, they are obviously roses, and those behind them are orchids,’ she said, pointing to the tall white flowers at the back of the arrangement.

  ‘But I’m not so sure about the blue ones. Are those forget-me-nots?’ she asked, stepping forward and touching the tiny, delicate buds.

  ‘Yes, Miss, and those other blue ones are love-in-the-mist; how romantic. So nice to see that a gentleman knows his flowers,’ Grace observed.

  Millie silently enjoyed the flowers, all the while knowing she was teasing poor Grace, who was doing her best not to snatch the card from the arrangement and read it herself.

  Finally, Millie reached in and took out the card. ‘Miss Millicent Ashton; how terribly formal,’ she said, turning the card over. She looked at the back and pursed her lips when she saw that it was blank. She handed the card to Grace who turned it over several times, searching for the elusive message.

  ‘I thought when someone sent you flowers, they were supposed to come with a message, or at least a note to say who they were from. How am I meant to send a thank you card if I don’t know who sent them?’ Millie asked.

  Grace stared down at her hands and muttered, ‘You must have met someone at the ball last night who liked you. Perhaps you made an impression on a certain gentleman who might like to make your acquaintance again?’

  She gave Millie a hopeful smile before turning to fiddle with the hairbrushes on the dressing table.

  Millie looked at her name written in bold ink on the card once more. She smiled.

  Of course: Charles had sent them, he must have called into the florist early in the morning when out riding with their father and, being in too much of a hurry, had forgotten to sign the card personally or pen a quick note. ‘What a thoughtful brother,’ she said, as she pulled a single white rose from the arrangement.

  At the dressing table, Grace let out a cough worthy of a stage performer and promptly dropped a hand mirror. Millie saw a flush of red appear on the young woman’s cheeks. Grace stood staring at the mirror as it lay where it had fallen on the carpet.

  They were in luck. Hand mirrors made in India were designed to survive falls onto a stone floor, so the glass remained intact in its frame. Millie bent down, picked up the mirror, and placed it back on the dressing table. Then she stood and stared at her maid until Grace was forced to raise her eyes and meet her gaze.

  ‘Grace Brown, whatever you know about these flowers, please tell me now; if my brother did not send them I need to know who did.’

  Grace bit her bottom lip and let out a sigh.

  ‘Sorry, Miss, I know I shouldn’t be talking about things that don’t concern me, but a carriage arrived early this morning after Mr Ashton had left and while your brother was out riding in the park. The man from the carriage delivered them to the front door. I know it was early because Mr Stephens, the head footman, was still downstairs having his breakfast.’

  Millie’s eyes lit up. What sort of person would deliver to the front door of a grand house, and at that time of the morning? Deliveries were always to the rear; every shopkeeper and tradesman from Calcutta to London knew that golden rule.

  She looked at the flowers once more.

  ‘But what if the person who delivered the flowers was not from the florist? What if it was someone who was used to being received at the front door of good homes?’ Millie muttered.

  Whom had she met last night who would give her such a beautiful gift, and so early in the morning? She shook her head; there was no one she could remember from last night who would do such a thing. The only person she had made any impression on at the party was the odious Marquess of Brooke, and he was not likely to have sent her such a generous offering.

  Millie held the single rose in her hand up to the light, which streamed in from the window.

  ‘How peculiar, but not to worry; they are absolutely lovely and no doubt in time I shall find out who sent them,’ she said, putting her nose to the petals and taking a deep breath.

  Later, when she was dressed and seated in front of the mirror, watching as Grace worked to fashion her hair into a simple stay-at-home style, a thought struck her.

  She looked into the mirror and addressed Grace’s reflection.

  ‘When the flowers were delivered, you said they came from a man who arrived in a carriage.’

  ‘Yes, Miss, they did,’ Grace replied, picking up another hairpin and placing it into Millie’s hair.

  ‘What sort of carriage was it? Did you get a look at it?’

  Grace shook her head.

  ‘No, but Joshua, the footman who took the flowers, would have seen it; he came out into the street and spoke to the driver. He didn’t half get into trouble from Mr Stephens for it. Told him he should have sent them around the back and that it wasn’t proper to park in the street; said next they would be delivering the milk and leaving it on the front step.’

  So, my mysterious flower-sender, you are definitely not used to using the servants’ entrance. Don’t think that just because you didn’t sign the card, I will not find out who you are. You have set me a puzzle, and I like nothing better than solving puzzles.

  When Millie was finally ready for a day spent indoors, she sent Grace downstairs to seek out the footman who had accepted the delivery. She was intrigued by the mysterious delivery man and knew that the answer she sought lay with the markings on the carriage.

  When Grace returned she gave Millie a piece of paper with a hand drawing of the crest Joshua had seen emblazoned on the side of the carriage.

  ‘Well done, Grace. Now we just need to find out to whom this family crest belongs,’ she said. The first place she would start would be with her mother.

  With the piece of paper tucked into her pocket, she knocked tentatively on Violet’s sitting room door. She had been dreading this encounter all morning, and was surprised to see her mother rise from her chair and greet her with open arms.

  She held Millie in a warm hug and cooed gently.

  ‘My beautiful girl, my darling daughter, I am so sorry for last night. It wasn’t your fault and I should not have been so hasty in judging you. Your father says it was all the Marquess of Brooke’s doing and you were not to blame. Horrid boy; I shall box his ears the next time I see him.’

  Millie giggled at the thought of her mother assaulting a leader of the ton. She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother’s waist and enjoyed the welcome relief as Violet rubbed Millie’s back. She hoped one day to be as fearsome a mother tiger as Violet; no one would dare hurt her children.

  Her mother released Millie and stood back giving her a smile. ‘How are you feeling this morning? I was pleased to see that you slept late. I know you thought I was fussing last night when I made you take that sleeping draught, but you certainly needed it.’

  Millie shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Truth be told, I am not feeling too poorly, just a little wrung out. I have had the chance to think about things this morning, and I’ve decided that last night will not happen again. From now on I will not let people upset me that way. The next time some fool grabs me by the hand and tries to drag me through a crowd, I shall bite his hand until he lets go.’

  Violet raised her eyebrows and shook her head. The threat that Millie would sink her teeth into the flesh of London’s young men was perhaps taking things a little too far, but her mother un
derstood her meaning.

  Millie tactfully changed the subject. ‘Did you happen to see the flowers I received?’

  Her mother gave her a knowing smile: nothing happened in the Ashton household without her mother being the first to know. The servants in their home in Calcutta had been completely at a loss to explain Violet’s ability to outwit them until they discovered she had used the long boat journey from England to learn to speak fluent Hindi.

  ‘They were lovely, darling, and presumably very expensive, because not only is the edging on the box pure gold, but orchids are out of season all year in England. Someone’s hothouse had an early visit from a St James Street florist. What did the card say?’

  Millie gave her a wry smile. Her mother knew everything about the flowers, including what was – or was not – written on the card. In fact, Millie was certain that most of the household knew its contents long before its intended recipient had first set eyes upon it.

  With Violet being the best chance she had to find out about the carriage and who had sent the flowers, she decided to humour her mother and play along.

  ‘Surprisingly, the card was blank; just my name was printed on the front. I would have thought if someone had made the effort to send me flowers, they would have at least put their name on the card. To tell you the truth, it is all a bit of a mystery, but I have found a clue which may help.’

  Violet slowly raised her eyebrows, and a smile formed on her lips.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied.

  ‘One of our footmen got a look at the carriage that delivered the flowers and he kindly drew me a picture of the coat of arms that was emblazoned on the carriage door.’

  Millie pulled the piece of paper from her pocket and waved it slowly in the air. ‘Now I just need someone to help me to identify whose coat of arms it is.’ She let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the paper. ‘I expect I shall have to wait until Papa comes home. If I am lucky he may be able to assist me.’

  Violet let out a girlish squeal of delight and in an instant snatched the paper from Millie’s hand. Then she froze. Her hand went slowly to her lips.

  ‘Oh, I can’t believe I just did that. I spend every waking moment trying to teach you ladylike manners and then I go and behave like I have none myself. I must be the worst mother in the entire world,’ Violet said sheepishly.

  Mother and daughter stood looking at one another before dissolving into fits of laughter. As the tears rolled down Millie’s face, she wagged a finger in Violet’s direction. If any of the servants had walked into the room at that moment, they would have been aghast at the sight of the two Ashton women doubled over, holding their aching sides. It took several minutes for the spontaneous silliness to calm down, after which Millie and her mother embraced once more. Millie gave her mother a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I am sorry Mama. I have been so selfish since we arrived, thinking of my own concerns. It was only when I saw you and Papa at Uncle Oscar’s last night that I realised how hard all those years away from home must have been for you. How much you must have missed your family and friends. I promise I shall try and make a better effort to fit in from now on. Maybe last night’s unpleasantness was a dose of karma for my selfishness.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘It’s not all your fault, my dear. I know it’s been hard, and I don’t think I have helped things by being so absorbed in trying to catch up with everyone in such a short time. How about we agree to put this first week behind us and start to find our feet more slowly? You just need a little time.’

  Millie smiled, grateful once more that her mother was a rational woman. How rational she would be when Millie took the boat back to India and did not return would be an entirely different matter, but that was for the future.

  ‘You know I don’t subscribe to all that karma business, but there may be something in what you say. First, let me have a proper look at this paper,’ Violet replied.

  She examined the piece of paper Millie had obtained from the footman more closely. On it was drawn the rough outline of a shield, and within the shield was what looked like a horse with a crown above it. Under the horse was a series of three four-pointed stars.

  Violet hummed knowingly. ‘Well, your karma might be up to something because if I am not mistaken, this is the coat of arms of the Duke of Strathmore. And if this was the crest on the side of the carriage that delivered those beautiful flowers, then I think someone might have decided to send you an apology.’

  ‘But no note, just the flowers,’ Millie replied, still perplexed. Without knowing who in the Duke’s family had sent the flowers, she didn’t know whether it was an apology from one particular person for his boorish behaviour, or an apology from another family member who was simply embarrassed on his behalf.

  Why did everything in London have to be so complicated? A simple ‘Sorry I was a complete arse last night, can you please run me through with a sharp sword and I will die the painful death I deserve?’ would have been sufficient. Now, with the unsigned card, she was back trying to discover other people’s motives. She swore.

  ‘Millie, you are going to have to do something about your fishwife’s mouth,’ Violet said with a shake of her head.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Of course, now that we know where the flowers came from, we can politely pretend we never received them,’ her mother said, screwing up the piece of paper and throwing it into the fireplace. Violet tucked a wayward curl of her long dark hair behind her ear and examined her fingernails.

  Millie felt a subtle change in the air. Violet was right. As the card had not included the name of the sender, Millie was under no obligation to pen a note of reply. Unless the person who had sent the flowers appeared on the Ashtons’ doorstep, there was nothing else for her to do. The lovely flowers would adorn her bedroom for as long as they lasted, after which she would use the glass box for displaying her favourite books and trinkets.

  An apology that had not really been offered was one that did not have to be accepted. Nor did it have to be acknowledged. She knew it was a petty stance to adopt, but the memory of being utterly humiliated the previous evening still burned brightly. And since Violet knew a great deal more about the intricacies of ton society than Millie did, she knew she had received the best advice.

  Millie headed back to her room feeling confident and relaxed, but as soon as she opened her bedroom door and saw the flowers, her thoughts turned to Lucy and, with that, her confidence evaporated.

  It was simply not possible to act as if she were indifferent. Someone would eventually ask her about them and the moment they did, she would be obliged to say how delighted she had been to receive them.

  ‘I hope you were from anyone but Lord Brooke,’ she whispered as she breathed in the exquisite scent of the white orchids. Mr David Radley seemed a decent enough man and it would be far less complicated if the flowers were his way of apologising on behalf of the entire Radley family.

  Chapter 5

  Millie spent the rest of the day quietly working on her tapestry. She had found a perfect spot in front of a window in one of the upper-level sitting rooms. The morning light allowed her to sort the various skeins into the shades of white and grey she would need as she began the painstaking task of recreating the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral in wool.

  Her mother had offered to take her shopping on the second morning after the party, but she was content to remain at home. Lucy had sent a note offering her sympathies after receiving word that Millie was still suffering the effects of the long sea voyage from India. At some point Millie and Violet would have to call on the Duchess of Strathmore, but for the time being, the ladies of the Ashton household would not be making any social calls, nor receiving visitors.

  Millie was still working in the sitting room later that morning when Grace entered carrying a delicate array of white rosebuds, wrapped in a sapphire-blue ribbon. Millie looked up from her tapestry frame and seeing the flowers, stopped mid-stitch and let out a sigh.

  ‘I don’
t suppose they came with a note, did they?’ she asked. When Grace shook her head and replied that the card had been the same as the first, Millie stabbed her needle into the fabric and sat back in her chair. ‘Same form of delivery as yesterday?’

  ‘No, Miss; these came via a delivery boy from the florist. When he came to the rear entrance of the house, Mr Stephens asked who had sent them, but the lad said he didn’t know. He did say it was a young man who had placed the order, and it had gone on the Duke of Strathmore’s personal account.’

  Grace held the flowers up to the light from the window and examined them, running her fingers over the silk ribbon.

  ‘Well, whoever he is, he certainly likes blue. Maybe he wants them to match the colour of your eyes, Miss. Shall I put them in a vase for you, or would you like me to leave them here so you can look at them?’ Grace said.

  ‘Thank you, Grace. Would you put them next to the other ones in my bedroom, please? I don’t want the whole house seeing them,’ Millie replied.

  She sensed the hairs on the back of her neck moving. What had Grace said about the gentleman who was sending her flowers liking the colour of her eyes? She thought back to the events of the party and her heart sank. She had been a fool to hope it had been David Radley sending her the lovely gifts.

  The obvious answer was far less palatable, as was the notion that the flowers were not meant to be an apology and hence the reason for the card being blank.

  She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Only one of Lady Lucy’s brothers had stood and held her gaze for any length of time; only one would know that her eyes were the deepest of dark blues.

  Her father had always said her eyes were the colour of a perfect sapphire because she was a true jewel of India. She had worn deep blue ribbons in her hair all throughout her childhood, believing that she was the reincarnation of an ancient Hindu princess. Millie loved the colour of her eyes. It angered her to think someone could try to use them to cause her pain.

  Yesterday’s flowers were no accident, no, they were merely a way for him to get to her while she was at home. By sending her blue flowers, and then the blue ribbons, it was his sly way of saying that he had taken in all of her physical features and would, over time, show her just what he had seen and what he thought of her.