Page 27

Whatever had been on his mind previously, however, had created a storm on his face. Millie was exceedingly curious to know what Miss Stroud had done to cause it. She smiled, then stood to vacate her seat.

“May I see it, Mr. Kendrick?”

“Not yet.” He turned the paper over. “Not until I’m finished cutting the dark paper.”

“Very well. Shall I trace you now?”

“Please.” He sat in the chair, the page in his lap, facing down so Millie could not see how exacting an artist he was. She and Nell had done this as young girls once, and it was a fairly simple process. Even then, she had managed to make Nell look like a pig instead of a human. Her skill was nonexistent.

“I should warn you, I have not had great luck in the past with silhouettes. My last subject came away looking like an animal.”

“A nice animal?”

“Not one I would choose to resemble,” Millie said, holding her paper against the wall and framing Mr. Kendrick’s shadow perfectly. The outline of his forehead, nose, and lips were very clear. Surely she would not ruin something so simple now that she was older.

The shadow shifted, and she glanced at the gentleman. He was smiling at her, transforming his face into something quite pleasant. “I will still be your friend, even if you make me resemble a horse or a cow, Miss Hollis.”

Her neck flushed warm and her eyes lowered to the floor. “Thank you. I am glad to hear that.”

“I will not move again. You may proceed.”

Millie flashed him a smile and returned her attention to her task. What she had previously believed to be a game, a man leaving her notes without a signature so she might guess his identity, could very well have been nothing more than a romantic way to open her eyes to potential husbands. If Mr. Kendrick was her secret suitor, everything slotted into place easily. He was not someone she would have immediately selected for herself, but with a few days of interactions and coming to her aid that evening, she had softened to the idea.

She looked at his silhouette on the wall as she carefully traced it, and asked herself if Mr. Kendrick was someone she could fall in love with—someone she could kiss beneath the mistletoe to discover whether they carried a spark.

Perhaps she would find out soon.

Chapter Nine

Wesley had great difficulty focusing on the task at hand while Miss Stroud flirted with him to excess. As she giggled, cutting out the silhouette she had traced, he did his best to keep an ear tuned to Millie’s conversation with Mr. Kendrick. He had only broken his composure once, coughing loudly in the hope of deterring Mr. Kendrick from touching her face again.

Wesley had regretted it immediately. How would a cough stand in the way of Millie and an inappropriately old suitor? She did not need actions such as that. The man was far too old for her and had no spirit whatsoever. Wesley was hard pressed to see what it was about him that had altered Millie’s behavior. When she found herself partnered with the man, she had gone from aloof and seemingly disappointed to doe-eyed in the snap of a finger.

Could this be her secret suitor? Had he given her a sign? Blast, but he had better not be. Wesley would have great difficulty standing in for her guardian with someone so much his senior. Where were Helena and Charles? If they were here, they would put a stop to Millie’s ridiculous flirting at once.

“I am finished, Mr. Prescott,” Miss Stroud said. “Would you like to see?”

“Of course.” He shook away the thoughts of Millie, though he could still see her in his peripheral vision, and set his attention on his partner once again.

Miss Stroud’s blonde hair gleamed in the candlelight, as a large part of the room was still dark to aid those who had yet to complete their tracing. Her eyes were bright, her face pretty. She clearly was interested in Wesley, made evident by her forfeit last evening and reinforced by her behavior today. Yet he could not find it in himself to be interested in return. She was, as Millie had said earlier regarding the vicar, objectively a pretty woman.

What had gotten into his head?

Miss Stroud held up her completed silhouette, a dark shadow mounted on light paper, and Wesley could immediately see his own likeness. She had done a good job, far better than he had done of her.

Though, in his defense, he had been distracted.

“It is very well done, Miss Stroud.” He accepted the paper, admiring it. “Thank you.”

“Now may I see mine?”

“If you promise to recall that I am no artist.”

“The intent is more important than the skill, in my opinion.”

Wesley did not wish to dissect what she might mean by that. He held up the silhouette he made of Miss Stroud, to her utter delight.

She clapped her hands together. “It is beautiful.”