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MILDRED WINCED AS SHE took a seat before the vanity the following morning.

“Are you all right, miss?” asked the dressing maid.

“Yes,” Mildred answered as she positioned her rump to avoid the tenderest spots and not aggravate the soreness between her thighs. Her cheeks warmed as the memories of the prior night flooded her. She observed her reflection in the looking glass and noticed her plaits had come undone. She had slept soundly last night, but there were faint half circles beneath her eyes. Nonetheless, she felt buoyed by all that had transpired.

When she was dressed and went downstairs, she found that everyone else had already finished breakfast except for Edward’s boys. Alastair and Kittredge were already in their riding clothes.

“Miss Abbott,” said Kittredge, approaching her, “I had hoped to have the chance to bid farewell. I quite enjoyed meeting you and your family. Perhaps our paths will cross back in London.”

She smiled and expressed a similar sentiment. Alastair did not approach her, and she was partially glad for it. She had protested what awkwardness may come of their affair at Château Follet. But this time felt different. She wished she had not slept quite so late that she might have more of his company before he and Kittredge departed.

As Alastair accepted the well wishes from his family, Millie felt his gaze upon her often.

“I mean to host Christmas dinner,” said Lady Katherine. “You will come, will you not, Andre?”

He frowned.

“Of course I will not expect you,” she said, “but you are welcome, nonetheless.”

Everyone moved outside to watch the two men out to their horses. Mildred assumed the appearance of indifference but found herself grappling with a sadness as she observed them depart. And when everyone returned indoors, she was the last to follow.

During what felt like a somber breakfast, she tried to rid herself of the strange sentiments that had settled upon her. She told herself that she might not see Alastair again, not for some time. And it ought not matter to her. He had gifted her three nights of ecstasy; she should expect no more from him. He was probably relieved to be done with her.

After breakfast, she declared that she would go out and enjoy the weather before winter made such outings difficult.

“I will join you for a stroll about the grounds, Miss Abbott.”

Mildred turned around in surprise, for it was Mrs. Wilmington who spoke. Though she would have preferred the chance to be alone with her thoughts and feelings, she gave a short curtsy and waited till Mrs. Wilmington had donned her coat, bonnet and gloves.

They walked in silence until they were far enough from the house not to be beset by anyone. From Mrs. Wilmington’s demeanor, Mildred suspected she had not joined her for friendly conversation.

“Though your standing in society differs greatly from ours,” Mrs. Wilmington began, “you are, nonetheless, joined to the d’Aubigne name, which has generations of breeding.”

“It is an illustrious name,” Mildred acknowledged.

“You must know the importance, therefore, of acting in proper accordance with your family’s elevated position. You must now adhere to higher standards.”

“I shall strive to, madam, and am most sorry that my recent behavior was not in concert with expectations.”

Mrs. Wilmington narrowed her eyes. “You took great liberties in your speech.”

“And I am most sorry for it.”

“Andre ought to have put you in your place with the harshest of words.”

“Yes, I wish he had.”

“The Andre I know would have spared nothing, regardless of your sex. That he did not is curious. But when you pair that with the excessive dowry he has granted you, I can only conclude that you have influenced him as only a jezebel could.”

Mildred stopped in her tracks.

Mrs. Wilmington looked at her squarely. “I know what you are about, Miss Abbott.”

Mildred felt her color rise. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “Madam?”

“I mean to warn you that you will only ruin yourself if you continue in the manner of a trollop. Imagine the shame your mother and father would face. It would not matter then that your uncle had married our aunt. A d’Aubigne can weather scandal, but the same cannot be said for an Abbott. Whatever your designs upon my brother—”

“I must protest, madam! I have no designs upon your brother.”

“No? It was merely coincidence that you returned to your chambers shortly before Alastair did? It is more than curious that you two were both awake at such an ungodly hour.”

Stunned, Mildred could make no reply. Her legs trembled beneath her skirts. When she finally found her voice, she said, “It would seem that three of us were awake, and perhaps it is thus not so curious.”

“Your breeding shows in your impudence, Miss Abbott. I know that I suffer from insomnia. Can you say the same?”

“It was a coincidence.”

“That you would attempt to deny it only sinks you further in my estimation.”

Mildred looked away. What was she to do? What could she say?

“But I will keep your dirty secret if you can assure me that you will cease this jezebel business. I have long deplored Andre’s profligacy, but with Lady Sophia, there is hope that his indulgent ways will finally come to an end.”

“Madam, I can assure you that you need have no worries. You are mistaken in your presumptions. There is nothing between Alastair and I.”

Mrs. Wilmington raised a single brow. “I presume that you are a light-skirt, and that Andre, being the man that he is, does not hesitate to make use of such easy virtue. If you were not in Katherine’s good graces, you should be no different than a whore that he would take to bed before casting back into the streets.”

The constriction in her chest made responding difficult.

“If I were you,” Mrs. Wilmington continued, “I would make use of your dowry whilst you have it, and marry the first man who offers. Perhaps he will never discover the doxy that you are. Andre will succumb to his obligations. He has enough pride in the d’Aubigne name that he will not shirk his duties. He may continue his dalliances even after marrying Lady Sophia, as many men are wont to do, but if you have any fanciful notions that he will favor you, you have but to look at his pattern of behavior. I could let you descend into disgrace—it is a fate you most assuredly deserve—but you have the chance to save yourself and your family from utter ruin. If you have any decency in you, you will take my advice.”

Without another word, she turned and headed back to the house.

Still in shock, Mildred stood without moving. When Mrs. Wilmington was no longer in view, Mildred reached for the nearest tree and sank to the ground beside it. Her chest hurt, the pain exceeding any she had experienced last night at Alastair’s hands.

It ought not matter what Mrs. Wilmington thought of her, but it did. Because she was Alastair’s sister and Lady Katherine’s niece. But Mildred knew there was little she could do to earn the good graces of Mrs. Wilmington. She did not doubt that the woman could carry out her threat, though she need not have worried. Mildred would not have wanted to harm the d’Aubigne family in any way. She respected Lady Katherine too much.

And she loved Alastair.