Chapter Twelve

"There are at least fifty men!" said Cora, smoothing her hair into place.

"So many?" asked Amelia, worrying her bottom lip.

Millie slapped the dressing table and stood. Her sisters ignored her temper and continued to converse.

"What do they look like?" asked Amelia.

"They're old!" moaned Cora.

"You think everyone is old," Amelia retorted.

Cora crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her tongue.

"Now tell the truth, did you see anyone Millie would like?"

"I don't know. If she wants someone as old as Father, then maybe."

Millie faced the open window and bit the inside of her cheek. Men as old as her father? What was she going to do? This was supposed to be a birthday party not an engagement party? Where was Stephenie? Stephenie had been her best friend for the past eight months. She'd told her every secret, every desire of her heart. How could she do this to her? How could she abandon her in her hour of greatest need?

"Cora, look what you've done. You've scared Millie."

"Scared her? You said to tell the truth. Why do I always get in trouble for doing exactly what I'm told? Father told me to answer the door earlier and when I escorted two more visitors to the sitting room he was upset."

"How do you know he was upset?" asked Amelia.

"Oh, maybe it was because he was wagging his finger. Or maybe because he clenched his teeth and fussed about late arrivals and courtesy toward others. But what do I know. I'm only fourteen. I'm just a child."

Cora stomped from the room and Amelia followed, apologizing to Millie. Millie moved from the window and fell into a chair. The wooden arms surrounded her like a comforting embrace and she placed her elbows on the arms, hunching over.

"Millicent Jane, do not slouch."

She jumped at her mother's stern voice.

Alice Beaumont entered the room like a hurricane at the height of its destruction. It was a wonder curtains didn't flutter, dresses fall from hooks, or loose objects rattle. Coming to a standstill in the middle of the room, she placed her hands on her hips and directed her gaze toward Millie.

"Well?" she asked, tapping her foot.

Millie scrunched her face and lifted her shoulders.

"Don't act that way, young lady—like you don't know what I want. Why are you still sitting here in your old gown? You should be dressed. I know you've had visions of this day for over a year, but you can't just sit here and expect everything to be done for you. Get dressed and come down and greet your guests."

Alice turned to leave.

"Mother?"

She paused, heaving a sigh.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her mother's shoulders fell and when she turned back around, her lips trembled. She shook her head and a cascade of tears slid down her cheeks.

Millie lunged from the chair and into her mother's arms.

"I'm not angry, my dear. Just overwhelmed. You're grown now and I thought I would have so much more time with you." She sniffed. "Not to mention more time to plan this party. Then your father invited all these eligible men. I could wring his neck. You can't entertain every man here."

Millie wiped away her own tears. "What are we going to do?"

"I have it covered. I sent out requests to all the local plantations for their daughters to attend. With any luck, you won't have danced your feet off before the night is over."

Her mother leaned back and smiled, smoothing Millie's hair away from her face. "My dear child, don't worry. Your father will not allow some stranger to steal you away. While this may be the time you meet your suitor, your father will require at least six months to a year of courting before he will even consider allowing you to marry."

Relieved, Millie hugged her mother again.

"Child you must get ready. The party will start soon. Disregard what I said earlier. You wait until the last minute and then come down the stairs to make a grand entrance."

"Yes, Mother."

Alice Beaumont lifted her handkerchief to wipe Millie's cheeks and then her own, straightened her shoulders, and left the room with her regal air intact.

Millie pulled out her gown and held it aloft. The mirror reflected the deep blue and she smiled at the perfection of the dress.

Placing the gown on her bed, she slipped out of her day dress and freshened with the water brought earlier by a servant. With the pull of a bell, Mary arrived and assisted her into her corset, pulling the strings tight. Finally, Millie stepped into the crinoline and Mary lifted the gown over her head. Millie twirled in front of the mirror. It was everything she'd dreamed. All that was missing was her best friend.

****

"Perhaps arriving late was a mistake," commented Charles as he studied their surroundings.

"It's not that bad," said Stephen as he placed his bag on the floor.

"It's the stable, Stephen."

Stephen rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So it is."

"What did Mr. Beaumont say when you explained this was unacceptable?"

"I didn't speak with him."

"What? I thought–"

"Charles, I don't want to draw undue attention to myself, remember? I have the advantage at present. I just need to bide my time a little longer."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I," he whispered under his breath.

They settled into the tack room where two wooden frames filled with hay stuffed sacks were placed against the wall. Charles sat on one of the makeshift beds and leaned his head against the rough siding.

"My uncle would laugh his head off if he saw us. Talk about the mighty falling."

Stephen opened his bag and pulled out a white shirt, waistcoat, and cravat. Next came an embroidered greatcoat. Lastly, he pulled his trousers free. He picked up each piece and shook out the wrinkles.

"Should we dress?' asked Charles.

"I'm going to," replied Stephen.

Charles sighed and pushed himself off the pitiful bed. After unpacking his own clothes, he drew his old shirt over his head. A loud gasp had both men facing the entry.

A young woman with dark brown hair and a somewhat portly frame watched them. Her eyes widened and her hands trembled.

Charles asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"

She shook her head sending a mass of hair draping across her shoulders.

Charles took a step forward and the girl stepped back.

"Sir, your shirt," she said, pointing a trembling finger at his chest.

Charles glanced down. When he lifted his eyes, he smiled. "What about it?" He let his arms dangle at his sides, exposing his body further.

"Y-you need one," she stuttered.

Charles laughed as the woman's youthful face flushed scarlet.

Stephen said, "Charles, dress and stop embarrassing the girl."

Charles shrugged, turned his back to the girl, and put his arms through his shirt sleeves.

Directing his attention to the young woman, Stephen asked, "Can we help you?"

She placed a bowl of water on a low table along with a bar of soap and towels. "Everyone was busy so I volunteered to bring you something to wash with."

"Thank you," said Stephen.

"You're welcome," she responded, turned, and fled the room.

Charles observed, "That one was a little on the round side, but cute."

Stephen raised a brow.

"Well, she was."

"And also young."

"Maybe, but I wonder how much younger she is than Millicent. Do you think Millicent will be greatly upset that you are twenty-five?"

"Not really. From her letters I know she wants someone mature with an established future."

"You certainly have that with the house in South Carolina, but what if she thinks you're too old? Or what if she discovers you are really her secret friend."

"Charles, stop worrying and get dressed. Just because I want to make an entrance doesn't mean I want to miss the party altogether."