Chapter Twenty-Five

Father visited Millie long enough to inform her of his decision—the courting would cease until her rash disappeared. Relief flooded her. After he left her room, she leaned her head against the wall and sighed. With any luck, most of the suitors would leave before the spots were gone.

Sitting at her desk, she reached for her quill and paper. She dipped her quill in the ink well and considered what to write. The ink dripped and made a splotch. Millie shoved the paper aside. The words she sought to write Stephenie about her experiences eluded her. Why couldn’t her friend have just come to the party?

The scent of roses drew her attention. Pushing her chair back, she stood and walked onto the balcony. Her room faced the hothouse in the east garden.

A tap on her shoulder brought a scream to her throat, but a rough hand clamped over her mouth. She fought, kicking her feet backward against her assailant.

"Sunshine, it’s me. Please stop kicking."

Stephen released her mouth and she twirled to face him. "What are you doing here?" Grabbing his hand, she drew him inside her room and insisted, "Answer me." She placed her hands on her hips.

"Hmm, demanding. I like that."

"Stephen, please. Why were you on my balcony? Don’t you know I could be contagious?"

He waved away her concern. "You probably just rubbed a weed while walking outside with Peter or Thomas yesterday. I’m not worried."

"You’re not?"

"Not at all. Look, I brought you something to make you feel better."

"You did?"

Stephen held out a bright red rose. Millicent reached for the flower and inhaled its sweet scent.

"Thank you. This helps."

Stephen bowed low, his arm sweeping in front of him. Millie tried not to giggle and then knitted her brows together.

"You’re bleeding."

"It’s nothing. A thorn pricked me."

"Let me fix it."

Millie pulled a clean, white hankie from a drawer and dabbed at the small puncture. "You really shouldn’t let things like this go. One time a servant wounded himself with a pitchfork and the next week the wound turned green."

"I don’t think I would look good in green."

Millie laughed and finished wiping away the droplet of blood. "That should hold until you have it bandaged."

"Hmm, thank you."

"You’re welcome."

Millie sat in front of her mirror while Stephen planted himself on the edge of her bed. Avoiding his curious stare, she sniffed the rose. "How did you know?" she asked, staring over the velvet petals.

"Know what?"

"That I like roses."

"Seemed a likely choice." He shrugged and studied the carpet.

"You shouldn’t be here, you know."

Awkward silence filled the room. Millicent cleared her throat and Stephen lifted his head to study her face.

"Is there a reason you came to my room? Again."

"I thought you might be lonely. Of course if you would rather be alone." He stood and started toward the balcony.

Millie jumped up and placed her hand on his arm. "Please, don’t go. I have been rather lonely." Stephen's intense gaze caused her heart to race and sent butterflies dancing in her stomach.

"I've missed you…" He paused and whispered, "lovely Millie."

Millie gulped. She wanted to pull her hand away, but his stare held her immobile. Heat from his flesh seared her palm and she rejoiced in the feeling.

"Does the rash pain you?"

She shook her head.

"Good. I would not wish for you to suffer."

He moved away; breaking her hold. Walking to her desk, he straightened the papers she had shoved aside.

"Preparing to write a letter?" he asked.

"I was, but I changed my mind."

"Why?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

Stephen sat in her chair at the table and Millie paced the room. The walk helped to calm her racing heart. "Mr. Hughes is my tutor and he made me write to a girl in a different state.

"And?"

"And I was writing to her."

"What is the girl’s name?"

"Stephenie Treen. We are the same age and our families have similar backgrounds. Mr. Hughes thought the correspondence would improve my literary skills."

"Has it?"

"I think so."

"Has your teacher not checked the letters for himself?"

"Heavens, no! I would never allow him to read them. The words I write to Stephenie are some of my most private thoughts and are not to be shared with another living soul. I afford her the same respect she affords me."

"So you have a pen pal?"

"Yes, of sorts. How about you? Is there someone you exchange thoughts with?"

Stephen crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. "I share my thoughts with my friend, Charles."

"Oh yes, I’ve seen him. He seems to have an eye for my sister Amelia."

"Hmm, I’m not sure if it is really an eye or just curiosity."

Heat flushed her cheeks and she fought against her rising ire. "Curiosity? Is he a cat that stalks his prey, plays with it, and then flings it away?"

"Calm down, Millicent. I meant nothing of the sort. Charles is in his prime. He finds many women attractive."

"So he is unable and unwilling to settle for just one."

"He is able but he is not willing. Many things plague him currently."

"Like what?"

"The death of his parents, for one."

Millie’s mouth gaped. "Both of them have perished?"

"I’m afraid so. He is the only heir and his remaining family is a greedy uncle that must be watched at every turn."

"Does he have land?" asked Millicent.

"He has a rather large plantation that connects to my own in South Carolina."

"I see. And who is watching it while he is here with you?"

"His uncle."

"But, you just said–"

"Yes, I know what I said. The man is greedy, but what can he do. He can’t pick up the house and take it away."

"He could sell the valuables inside," suggested Millie, crossing her arms over her chest.

This brought a frown from Stephen. He placed his elbows on the desk. "This needs some thought."

"Back to my sister and your friend. You believe distraction with his worries keeps him from pursuing her and not her weight?"

"Yes, that is what I believe. Your sister is quite beautiful."

"Oh," said Millie dipping her head.

"As are you."

Millie felt no jealousy and glanced back up. "Perhaps you should go. If father finds you here he will make you leave the plantation at once."

Stephen stood and walked toward her. Separated by a wisp of air, Millie gulped.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Then I shall stay, even at the risk of being caught."

"But, if you’re caught, not only will father be furious, it could ruin my reputation."

"Then come with me. We can walk along the riverbank and watch the animals dive beneath the water to catch food. Or we can go to the hothouse and bury our faces in blooming roses. Or we can sneak away to your favorite place in the east garden and enjoy the sounds of the birds happily singing."

Millie's eyes widened. How did he know all the things she enjoyed?

She opened her mouth to ask but closed it at the sound of footfalls in the hallway. "You must hasten away. Someone's coming."

Leaning forward, Stephen brushed his lips softly against hers. "Until we meet again, my lady."