––––––––

“AS LONG AS SLAVERY is safe in the colonies, the economies there need not collapse,” Mr. Carleton explained at the dinner table. “It was more economical to import slaves than to encourage them to breed. A slave’s first five years are useless and a burdensome cost to the slave owner, but now that the slave trade has been abolished, we have little choice. That is why you have seen the price of sugar rise, Mrs. Abbott.”

Mildred bit her tongue to keep from speaking, telling herself that doing so would only prolong the conversation. She kept her attention upon the partridge on her plate.

“And are you quite certain you must travel to the West Indies in December?” her mother asked. “Why, you will likely have to spend Christmas aboard a ship!”

“Alas, our plantation manager is gravely ill, and quite possibly dead as we speak. I would, of course, much rather spend Christmas here in England.”

Mildred felt his gaze upon her.

“Well, when you are returned, we shall certainly have to have you over once more for a proper welcoming dinner.”

“I hope you will spend Christmas more enjoyably than I?”

“We will have Christmas dinner with Lady Katherine, the aunt of the Marquess of Alastair. We spent Michaelmas with her at her country estate.”

“I remember. What a fine family are the d’Aubignes. They have an illustrious history.”

“Yes, and they will soon join with the equally exalted family, the Strathingtons, for we expect a betrothal between the Marquess of Alastair and Lady Sophia.”

“Indeed? Felicitations on such a grand union for your families.”

This was not the first that Mildred had heard of Alastair and Lady Sophia recently, and she was determined not to be forlorn.

Since Michaelmas, her mother had redoubled her efforts to obtain an offer of marriage for Mildred, and Mildred had considered choosing one simply so that she would no longer have to entertain Mr. Carleton and Mr. Porter. The one gentleman whose company she did welcome was that of George Winston. If not for him, she would've found herself thinking too often of Alastair in the months since Michaelmas. She had kept herself busy and spent much more time with friends than she used to do. Though for several weeks after, she could not pass the day without thinking of him, and at night, her body burned for his touch. She hoped eventually she could face the memory of him without the pain of sadness. She had even declined two invitations from Lady Katherine, for his aunt would remind her too much of him.

*****

“ARE YOU QUITE CERTAIN you don't want to go to the club for cards?” Kittredge asked as he and Alastair guided their horses past the trees in the fields outside of London. “The manager had me sample some Russian spirits. I know they are not quite the gentlemanly drink, but I rather liked their potency.”

Alastair observed the gray clouds in the sky. There was likely to be rain, and if they rode much longer, they might be caught in a shower, but part of him would not mind. Ever since returning from Edenmoor, he had wanted to be out of doors as often as possible. The brisk autumn air helped to calm his ardor whenever his thoughts turned to Millie.

He had erred in agreeing to her proposition yet again. Only this time, it would be harder to shake the spell she had cast upon him. He appreciated that she had made no effort to contact him in the fortnights following Michaelmas. Too many women entertained hopes that he would renew their acquaintance despite his advice to the contrary. Millie was far too practical for such fancies. She knew that if he wanted her company, he would seek her out, and not expect to receive a letter or visit from her.

And yet, when his butler brought him each day's mail, Alastair found himself looking for a letter from Millie. At night especially, and even during the day when there were far more distractions to be had, his mind would wander back to Edenmoor. To the bright crimson of her ass after the paddling. To the triumph shining in her eyes when she had caused him to spend in her mouth. To the glow of rapture upon her countenance after her body had succumbed to his ministrations. There was no better triumph or accomplishment than making a woman spend. Millie especially. He often considered what more he could do with her. The possibilities were endless.

“Then perhaps you will join me at the club tomorrow evening,” offered Kittredge.

“Alas, I am to escort the Duchess and Lady Sophia to a pantomime tomorrow,” Alastair replied.

“Ah, I had meant to ask about Lady Sophia. You have been seen in her company more often, and I have been asked by our friend, Sir Carrie, how he should bet at Brooks's. When is an announcement expected?”

Alastair had thought that spending more time with Lady Sophia would help to ease away the memories of Millie, but he only found himself comparing the two women. Without doubt, Lady Sophia, with her golden curls, long thick lashes, and alabaster complexion, was a beauty none could rival. And she was perfectly aware of this; thus, she carried herself with a regal confidence that Millie would never have. Their stations in life could not be more different. The daughter of a Duke, Lady Sophia had all the connections anyone could want in society. Millie clearly had not, yet she still had much compassion in her heart. He was still astounded that, when given the chance to enjoy her much deserved euphoria, she had chosen instead to ask for his consideration on behalf of weavers. What woman would propose such nonsense? It had been clear her body needed and desired to spend. Her request was tangential, even if admirably selfless. It was not the sort of proposition he would ever had made, which explained his surprise and awe.

Realizing that he had been silent, and that his silence had earned the careful study of his friend, Alastair said, “And did you advise Sir Carrie how he should place his bet?”

“I told Carrie that I am not privy to your innermost thoughts. We share wine and cards, but not women. I did say, however, that you have had more than ample time to ask for Lady Sophia's hand, and despite your reputation, His Grace is amenable to you for a son-in-law. That an announcement has not been forthcoming marks some hesitation on your part, I think. But Carrie responded that you are loath to do what others expect of you, and I had to agree there was much truth in that. Would you consider my assessment a fair one?”

“It is as Carrie says: my actions are not guided by what others wish to see from me. When I am ready to propose to Lady Sophia, you may be assured that you will be the first to know.”

As he spoke, he wondered if he would ever be ready to ask for her hand in marriage.

“Will I know far enough in advance to place a bet myself?” Kittredge asked.

As Kittredge spoke in jest, Alastair made no answer, though he would not put it above Kittredge to use his position of friendship to monetary advantage.

They rode in silence for a spell before Kittredge said, “Shall I have the pleasure of meeting your cousin again?”

Alastair stiffened. “My cousin?”

“Miss Abbott. She is quite the interesting creature. She seems so deferential to the likes of your aunt, your sisters, and her parents. I would almost say she is a shy young woman, but she speaks to you with a daring few women would.”

Millie did address him with much more ease than she did others, which was odd because she ought to have found him far more intimidating than the individuals Kittredge had named. Alastair found her audacity both vexing and impressive.

“Perhaps she does not hold you in much esteem,” Kittredge mused, “and that is why she finds such courage to address you as she does.”

Alastair would have to agree that that was likely how it started for Millie, but he hoped that she had come to find more reason to value his thoughts and opinions despite their disagreements.

“My aunt no doubt encourages her boldness,” Alastair replied dryly.

“I can fathom why your aunt might be partial to her. She is not much to look at upon first glance and not the cleverest in conversation, but there is definitely a quality to her that compels, the more one is acquainted with her.”

“And what is your purpose in talking of Miss Abbott?”

“No purpose at all. She merely popped into my mind by happenstance.”

Alastair let that be the end of their dialogue and started his horse into a full gallop.