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“Surely that was a confession?”
“Most likely.” Millie sighed. “I suppose I ought to speak to him. I can safely assume it is not Mr. Kendrick if he does not possess the blue wax, can I not?”
Clara chewed on her lip, looking behind herself before pulling a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. “I noticed a sample of Mr. Kendrick’s writing in the fireplace. I kept it when I cleaned out the hearth.”
Millie accepted the sheet. Though it was mostly burned, there was snippet clear enough to read in the center. Prince Alaric vows revenge…
“What is this? Do you know of a Prince Alaric?” Millie asked.
Clara shook her head, but she clearly looked like she had something further to say.
“You may trust me,” Millie promised. “I do not intend to repeat anything you share in confidence.”
“When I was looking in the writing desk, I found a stack of pages with the name Prince Alaric everywhere.”
“Stacks of pages? Was it a story?”
“It appeared to be a play.”
Millie looked at the burned piece of paper again. “But why would he need multiple…unless…?”
“He is copying it over for the other actors?”
“And we are the actors,” Millie said. “Did you see the notice of events Lady Dalmeer left in our chambers?”
“Yes. I was the one who copied those over for everyone.”
Millie swallowed her surprise. It was uncommon for a housemaid to read, let alone have such fine penmanship. She pushed that thought aside. “Then you might recall there is a play planned for tomorrow. This must be the play.”
“It would explain all the copies he has written out.”
Millie sighed. “And it exonerates him as my admirer.”
“Truly?”
Millie held up the sampling. “This looks nothing like the handwriting in my notes.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“In a way, yes. I wanted to know with a finality whom I ought to approach, but I suppose now I do. It is unequivocally not Mr. Kendrick, which only leaves one man: Mr. Stroud.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When Lady Dalmeer announced a special candlelight dinner to celebrate New Year’s Eve, Wesley had not anticipated how much he would enjoy the informal affair. No other lights brightened the room except for the candelabras on the table, and guests were permitted to sit where they wished. He had asked Millie if he could escort her to a seat, then taken the one beside her. He had been careful to place himself between Millie and Helena, so he would not leave an open space for Miss Stroud.
Despite his clear attention to Millie, Miss Stroud refused to accept he had no interest in her. She had not given him a moment’s peace all day.
Even now, she had taken the seat across from him at the table and continually tried to catch his eye.
“Has this Christmastide been everything you hoped it would be when you accepted the invitation?” Millie asked, though her focus was on cutting a bite of roast duck. She looked at him, fork poised above her plate, and her eyes caught his.
Wesley had obtained more through this party than he ever could have dreamed possible. “Not in the least.”
Millie chewed, setting down her fork and knife. “You expected more?”
“Quite the opposite. I had no expectations whatsoever. I could not have imagined I would obtain a greater understanding of myself in so short a time.”
“Perhaps it is the Christmas spirit to which you owe credit.”
