Page 36 of Engaging Sir Isaac

The man who had destroyed her family was coming. She spoke his name and Sarah immediately sat down upon the bed, shocked.

“Not him,” the maid whispered. “He’s terrible.”

They both knew it was an understatement. Terrible did not begin to describe Lord Carning. Sarah had seen the sort of man he was, and her presence alone had saved Millie from far worse than social ruin the night Millie had told him about her sister running away.

“You can’t be in the same house with him, miss,” the maid whispered, her whole face pale beneath her cap, nearly the same shade of white. “Under the same roof.”

“What choice do we have?” Millie asked. She climbed onto the bed, her tears spent, and covered her eyes with one hand. The ache she had felt before had grown into a harsh pounding in her head.

“Write to your mother. Tell her what’s happened. Then we catch the post coach when everyone else is sleeping.” Sarah shook her head even as she spoke, doubting the plan as it formed.

“Mother will not suffer more damage to her reputation.” Millie turned on her side and drew a pillow close, wrapping her arms about it in a vain search for comfort. “I have to do what Lady Olivia asked. I have to find a way to break Sir Isaac’s heart.” She closed her eyes against those words, finding tears stinging anew. “I thought he had started to like me, too.” The admission was weak and meaningless now.

Because no matter how much the man did or did not care for her company, she had to hurt him. Or allow her family to sink too low for anyone to pull them out again.

Chapter 12

July 21, 1815

Millie penned her acceptance of Lady Inglewood’s invitation when she woke the next morning. Dread pulled at her limbs, making each of her movements slow and ponderous. Every stroke of the pen was a lash upon her conscience. Sarah took the folded note with her lips pressed tightly together, her face pale.

“I am sorry, Sarah,” Millie said quietly, her pen falling from her limp fingers to the desk. A drop of ink fell onto the wood. “This is a mess of my own making. There is no other way to look at it.”

Sarah lowered her eyes to the paper in her hand. “But what if—what if you don’t have to do this? What if we find another way?”

Millie dabbed at the ink upon the finely polished wood, staining her thumb. “What other way?”

“You’re supposed to hurt Sir Isaac. Humiliate him, somehow. Isn’t that right, miss?”

“Yes.” Millie rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, then took out her handkerchief to rub off the ink. She had dozens of handkerchiefs stained with ink, from her work creating the delicate black designs on pale wood. She kept them all for use in her art. One more would hurt nothing.

“What do you think he did to Lady Olivia, that she harbors such a desire to cause him pain?”

“I would think it’s obvious, miss.” Sarah’s nose wrinkled and her lips pulled back in an expression of distaste. “She tried to win him for herself, and he spurned her. I can’t say that I blame him at all, miss.”

That did seem a likely cause for Lady Olivia’s bitterness. “No. I would not blame him either. Though she certainly appears harmless enough, at first acquaintance.”

“Until her claws come out.” Sarah shuddered and tucked the note in her apron pocket. “I’ll see that this goes to her ladyship at once, miss. But might I offer up a suggestion?”

“Hm?” Millie’s mind had drifted into imagining the rather satisfying scene of Sir Isaac rejecting a woman as beautiful and well-connected as Lady Olivia. “What suggestion, Sarah?”

“I think you ought to tell Sir Isaac what’s happening. He could maybe find a way out of all the mess.” Sarah offered a hesitant smile, followed closely by her curtsy. “I’ll be back in a trice, miss.”

The maid left Millie alone in her room, nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Millie rose from the little table by the window and went to look outside. Her room was placed as to give her a view of the stables, placed a distance from the house, and nothing else particularly lovely. She opened her window to let in some air, then leaned against the sill.

Telling Sir Isaac would only create a bigger problem. He had already been suspicious of her when she first arrived. What would he think once he learned her entire reason for being in Suffolk was to humiliate and hurt him? It would hardly garner his trust. He would see everything she had done as her attempt to win her aim.

With her head leaning against the windowpane, Millie considered her options anew. She had sent a letter to her mother that very morning, sparing no detail in what Lady Olivia had threatened. Any advice her mother might have would be welcome. Given that Mother only wanted to return to a position of prominence, however, made it unlikely she would do more than encourage Millie in her task of hurting Isaac.

As the hours passed, Millie’s thoughts lingered upon the man she had tried to only think of as her quarry. His crooked grin. His sweetness toward his nephew, and his sister. He carried himself with such confidence and had the baring of a soldier. He was handsome, too. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. He had a lightness in his eyes, and she suddenly wished she had seen more of it in his actions. But life had dealt difficulty to him, and that weighed upon his shoulders.

An abhorrent task lay before her. Humiliate him. Hurt him. Satisfy Lady Olivia’s desire to see him suffer.

When the hour for the bonfire came, Sarah helped Millie to dress for it. There were no silks for beaches and bonfires, but a comfortable blue muslin gown. No jewels in her hair, but a matching ribbon to assist in holding the plaits and twists of her copper-colored tresses in place against the beach’s wind. Then a shawl, soft and gray, to keep her warm.

Millie looked herself over in the mirror, then turned to offer a smile to her maid. “Thank you.”

The maid curtsied. “Good luck tonight, miss.”