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A soft smile graced his lips. “That is what I wrote when I met you in London earlier this year.”

“Oh? How—how lovely.” She swallowed, unsure of what to do with this compliment.

“And the end?” he asked.

“It was quite…striking.”

“My emotions cannot be contained when I sit at the pianoforte, Miss Hollis. I wrote that portion after a particularly difficult blow earlier this year.” He held her gaze, leaving no room for confusion: he referred to the moment she rejected his marriage proposal.

“How brave of you to lay out your emotions so…bluntly…Mr. Stroud.”

He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of her, looking down. “It was my wish you might be willing to reconsider your stance on our union, but I can see I have missed my opportunity to win your hand. I am still grateful for the experience at this house party, though. I would not have been able to live with myself if I had not given it at least one more effort, at the very least.”

“That is understandable.”

Mr. Stroud gave a nod, then held out his hand.

What was she meant to do with it? Millie stood, keeping her arms at her sides.

After another moment, he dropped his hand. “I see I have no choice but to yield to a finer man. He is a worthy opponent.”

Millie’s mind spun. Who was a finer man? This exchange was not an admission Mr. Stroud had been her letter writer, was it? If not Mr. Stroud, then who?

“I am glad you enjoyed the song,” he said at length.

She grappled with the wisdom of continuing their conversation, but Mr. Stroud was not the man she was in league with to discover the identity of her admirer. His kind, sad eyes peered at her, and she knew he deserved her honesty. Millie chewed the inside of her cheek. “May I make one suggestion?”

“Certainly.”

“Your heartache and trials from earlier in the year were powerful when you played, but they are personal as well. If you removed that bit from the song, you could keep those personal moments…personal.”

“What is music if it is not a place to air our sorrows and display our feelings when we lack the fortitude and gumption to do so ourselves?”

He was certainly keeping the jarring chords in the music, then. Millie gave him a strained smile. “Very well. The party at large is in for a treat.”

“Only if you promise to play as well.”

“Oh, I am not talented enough for that. I will enjoy the music played by others greatly, though.”

He nodded, giving her another view of his perfectly combed blond hair.

“Good day, Mr. Stroud,” she said, backing away. She left him in the music room and nearly ran into a maid walking her direction, familiar blonde hair stuffed into a white cap and a drab gray housemaid dress.

“I have been looking for you,” Clara said.

Millie took her hand and pulled her down the passage with the white and black checkered floor and alcoves after every stone column. Her neck heated merely recalling what she and Wesley had done behind one of those columns last night.

She could not think of that now or she would accomplish nothing. She would rather think of how sweet Clara was and how well-suited she and Oliver were, but that was none of her concern. She was better off leaving the matter alone.

“Mr. Stroud was in that music room,” Millie whispered, leading Clara into the billiards room and closing the door behind them. Once she had ascertained they were alone in the room, she faced the maid again. “Have you found anything?”

“I am afraid not.” Clara shook her head. “Mr. Kendrick had red wax in his writing desk, and many written pages—but none of them were letters. I looked in every drawer.”

“Then it must be Mr. Stroud.”

“If I cleaned his room, I would look⁠—”

“No, it is unnecessary. He all but admitted to it a moment ago. He mentioned his efforts in trying to win my heart.”