Page 28 of Lover
CHAPTER 16
THE NEXT DAY began with a brooding sky, threatening an unseasonable storm. But despite the morose weather, I was optimistic about the day and eager to see Millie.
I arrived at breakfast before her and spoke with Ms. Dillard, who asked after the evening. Though there was no favorable news I could honorably relay, my amiable smile gladdened her, and she set the table, comfortably complaining about the mess the caterers had left in the kitchen.
When Millie appeared, it was as though the sun had finally risen over Willowfield. I was pleased she was wearing one of the outfits I’d left for her. I made a mental note to order her new clothes.
“Good morning, come, eat.” I motioned to the chair next to me. “You look lovely.”
She quarreled halfheartedly about having her own clothes, but sat with a smile. I treated the morning as I would have any other with her before the tragedy, and we made companionable small talk while we ate, then moved to the library to work.
She was staying silent about our sensual encounter, so I followed her lead and we spoke only of the notes, the stories, and I took joy in it. I handed her items I was unable to make out, and we had a bit of a game trying to decipher things I’d written while I was in the thrall of a theory. Side by side we worked and laughed, and it was all I could have wished for.
She appeared so carefree today, so comfortable, and I ventured to press into her past to test what she might reveal.
Her first answer about the library was a lie, and I sighed inwardly. Not ready. Not yet.
When the discussion turned to me, I told her again the bittersweet story of my upbringing.
“When I was twelve,” I said, “my mother contracted tuberculosis and died shortly after. On her deathbed, she told me the fae were collecting on the debt she owed them for so many years of prosperity. And for me.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?”
This wound, though so old, was still sore to the touch.
“She thought I was a fae child, gifted to her after years of being barren,” I replied.
When she touched my arm, comforting, I clasped my hand over hers and held tight, my sorrow very near the surface.
“You were so patient to listen to all of that,” I said to divert the conversation. “I’m sure Ms. Dillard told you the entire history of this place, with all its hidden bitterness. She didn’t care much for my parents.”
“Ms. Dillard doesn’t seem to care much for anyone.”
This was an odd thing to hear Millie say, as Ms. Dillard had been her closest confidante for all her years at Willowfield, especially following the death of Ms. Reeves. The two had spent innumerable hours together, and Millie often consulted her friend on many matters. Ms. Dillard loved Millie dearly, and for it to be forgotten was another blow.
“You’re being unfair, Millie,” I scolded. “She’s got a hard shell, but she’s a warm person underneath it all.”
“Hm,” she replied, not believing it.
“Dr. Hannigan is hopelessly in love with her.”
This fact had once been a point of glee for Millie, who did her best to set up occasions for the reluctant couple to be alone.When I asked after her reasoning for giving them such grief, she confided that Ms. Dillard wrongly believed herself too old for romance, and this rejection had wounded the poor doctor’s pride, leading him to be churlish.
“He’s doomed,” she lamented with a playful shake of the head.
“All men in love are.”
We were standing close, and I lowered my gaze to her lovely face, her features softening with an understanding, an acknowledgment of the affection in my tone, which then flustered her. She withdrew, bemoaning the task we’d set about handling as an impossible one. In truth, I’d had my hand on the book we needed for the past several moments.
I took it to her, with the curl of a grin. Her bashful glance at the tome and the shy quip following were both endlessly appealing.
In the mood to tease, I commented, “This is the most civil conversation we’ve had to date.”
Her eyes flashed with a surge of indigence. She’d taken the words critically.
