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Despite how very personal this conversation was, none of the family seemed worried about Wesley’s presence. His lifelong friendship with the Hollises meant he was more like family than a friend, he supposed. Their treatment of him certainly reaffirmed that. Not once had Helena regarded him as an eligible gentleman, nor a possibility for her sister.

Though he supposed that was because he had not acted like one. He was not on the hunt for a bride at present, and that was probably clear.

“I have no expectations for a husband,” Millie said.

Wesley’s attention whipped toward her. None? That could not be true.

“If he has a reputable social standing and cares for me,” Millie continued, “that is enough.”

“Well said, sister.” Helena set down her nearly completed kissing bough and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose.

“What is it, Helena?” Charles asked. “Are you hungry?”

“Do not mention food,” she whispered.

“Tired?” Millie asked.

Helena was still for a moment. “I do not feel quite the thing.”

Millie frowned. “You ought to lay down.”

“But we need to finish this room before dinner.”

“Millie and I can do it,” Wesley said. “Pay no mind to the prospect of winning, but it will at least be finished.”

Millie shot him a look. “I think we have a chance at victory. But Wesley is correct on one point, Helena. This is nothing the two of us cannot manage.”

Helena stood. Her pale skin grew chalky, as though a fresh wave of illness had just washed over her. “I trust you both.”

The woman was at least four years Wesley’s junior, but in that moment, he still felt the weight of her stare and the responsibility she placed on his shoulders as she left him in charge of her sister.

If another man came into the room with the intent to flirt with Millie, Wesley would see him summarily dismissed.

Charles put his arm out to his wife and she leaned heavily on him as they left the room, leaving the door open.

Millie returned her focus to her kissing bough, but Wesley was distracted. He had weaved as much holly as he could into the long pine bough.

“What did you think of Lord Finsbury?” Millie asked.

Wesley glanced up. “He was…nice.”

“Of course he was nice. He also paid me special attention.”

Ah, that was it. She thought he might be her secret admirer. “It was impossible to see from one small interaction if he was the man who wrote that note, Millie.”

“But you do think it is possible that he could be the man?”

A wriggle of discomfort slipped through his stomach. Whether it was the thought of Millie with Lord Finsbury that sat ill with him, or merely the prospect of discussing her suitors, Wesley clearly did not like this topic of conversation. “I do not know the man or the contents of his note, Mildred. It is impossible for me to make a guess.”

Her brown eyes pierced him. “You promised to help me look for him.”

“I promised to keep an eye on your door when I am in that area of the house.”

Millie made a frustrated sound and rolled her eyes.

“Do you want the mysterious man to be Lord Finsbury?” Wesley asked.

“I want to know who the mysterious man is. That is all.”