Page 7 of Lover
Millie.
Every nerve fired at once, every muscle insisting I reach out, pull her into my arms, hold her close until the time and pain between us dissolved like a nightmare. The will it took to remain still, to not advance when she retreated in shock, exhausted me immensely.
“Miss Foxboro,” I said.
“Professor Hughes,” she replied,embarrassment making the words weak.
The first time I’d ever laid eyes on her, she’d been learning to play croquet with several older women who visited the estate for tea every Sunday afternoon. She was timid about hitting the ball, and they encouraged her loudly to have some snap, to not be afraid to give it a solid wallop. I’d spied on the little group for several moments, fascinated and amused by the hennish way the ladies were bustling this young woman around. I might have left, never thought of her again if she hadn’t looked up, hadn’t locked eyes with me across the lawn so that I saw the full glory of her face, and smiled, lifting her shoulders in a shrug as if to say,Nothing for it.
I’d known plenty of beautiful women, had flirted with young actresses who modeled for the Hughes advertisements, heiresses drifting like angels in clouds of fragrance through the parties I was so often expected to attend. But Millicent, with that smile, the direct, open way she’d looked at me as though she’d known me all her life, tripped me up, then took permanent residence in my thoughts.
I’d looked for her after, aware she was staying at the house, hoping to catch sight without being obvious. I asked Ms. Dillard about Ms. Reeves’s young auburn-headed companion, and she’d given me a look, suspicious.
“She’s a delicate but resilient thing, already walked the courts of hell itself. Smart as a whip and precious as a gem, if you ask me. A terrible cook, though.”
Then she’d gone tight-lipped in the way only Ms. Dillard could when it’s clear you’ll get nothing else out of her. But as I took my leave, she called casually after me, “She likes fairy stories.”
Days followed, and I was confoundedly too nervous to make her acquaintance directly, finding no good reason to speak with her without it being obviously orchestrated. Then came the summer fete—a giant affair we planned for months, surpassedin popularity only by the New Year’s Eve celebration every year. I was shaking hands with arriving families, welcoming them to the party.
A guest, a woman in her seventies who resembled Ms. Dillard in a striking way, took my hand and, with a twinkle in her eye, said, “Professor Hughes, I’m Annie Reeves, Ms. Dillard’s cousin. I’d like you to meet my dear friend Millicent Foxboro.”
And there she was, in a fetching pink organdie dress draped loosely over her pleasant figure, plain and unadorned with beadwork or bows. Her chapeau cloche hat, folded up at the brim and fastened with a real peony blossom, framed her face in such a lovely way I nearly fumbled my greeting, staring a touch too long before finally saying, “A pleasure, Miss Foxboro.”
I took her hand gently in mine.
“Professor Hughes, I’ve been hoping to get a chance to tell you how much I’ve been enjoying Willowfield. It’s such a peaceful place.”
Sweet, confident. Stunning.
“I’m glad my home has delighted you. I hope it continues to.”
I was blessed again with her radiant smile, and I believe to this day that was the moment my heart ceased belonging to me.
I was still holding her hand, Ms. Reeves having taken on the look meddlesome grandmothers often have when things go their way. Well, as Millie had discovered before me, there was nothing for it.
“I hear you like fairy tales, Miss Foxboro,” I’d said.
Now, here we stood in this hall, and I was as strange to her as any man she’d never met.
To combat the urge to pull her to me, I turned myself to stone.
“Is it in your nature to break the rules as soon as they’re given to you?”
Unfair, my conscience chided.
“I beg your pardon?” Even in the near dark I glimpsed the pale hue of her cheeks darken as she brought a hand to the collar of her thin night slip, which I was trying very hard not to take notice of.
“Did Ms. Dillard not tell you to stay in your room at night?”
“She didn’t specifically say I couldn’t leave.”
Her argumentative tone stirred me, and not in a manner polite to explain. Millie had never been a naturally feisty woman, using her voice more often to console than argue. Still, I’d enjoyed occasionally working her up with harmless disagreements until we’d both been consumed by the peculiar, lustful passion it inspired. She’d caught on to my scheme quickly, and began starting her own disagreements for the fun of it, though with caution, always wary of her own ferocity.
Out of habit, I replied to provoke her.
“Is that so?” I muttered. “And you decided to explore despite the knowledge of unsafe conditions in portions of this ghastly house. How brave.”
Instead of rising to the occasion as I thought she might, she retreated slightly.
