Page 38 of The Secret Suitor

Millie could not be certain, but it sounded like he cursed under his breath. She ignored him, pulling the letter from the mantel and turning it over. When she held the seal near the wax, she nodded.

“Is it the same?” he asked, still standing in the doorway.

“Yes.” Millie held them both up, but Wesley was too far to see clearly. She returned to his side and showed him the similarities. “It appears the person who wrote these letters used the library desk to do so.”

“Not exactly.” Wesley pressed a finger to the blue wax on her letter. “The wax in the writing desk was red.”

“I did think this was an odd thing. I have never seen blue wax before.”

“Neither have I. I suppose it could not be terribly difficult to obtain something like this in London. There are a variety of shops there that sell even stranger things.”

“Do you think this person takes their own wax to the library to seal their letters in an effort to keep their identity a secret?” Millie asked.

“If they wanted to remain a mystery, they would use the library’s wax as well. Red is the standard color.”

Millie chewed on her lip. She broke the seal, unfolding the paper, and read the words.

Miss Hollis⁠—

Each time you speak to me, I am convinced you do not recall a word I say. But I assure you, I cannot forget anything that leaves your mouth. I think of the things you say constantly.

—An ardent admirer

“Goodness,” Millie said on an exhale. “He is growing more romantic.”

Wesley leaned over her shoulder to read the short lines. He grunted.

“You do not approve?” she asked.

“Not of all his secrecy, no. A real gentleman would be willing to say these things to you directly. What does he need to hide?”

Millie frowned. “I would rather be told in a letter than not at all, and if he suffers from excessive shyness, then I am glad he is employing something to aid him in sharing his feelings.”

“Feelings? Millie, the man has told you that you are beautiful and the things you say do not leave him. If he was truly in love with you, would he not comment on more important things?”

“What could be more important than admiring my mind?”

“Has he mentioned that he admires your mind?”

“Well…not in so many words. That is what this means, is it not?” She shook the letter for emphasis.

Wesley peered at her. “I do not⁠—”

“What is this?” Oliver asked, coming to the doorway with his customary air of confidence. “Must I come to my sweet cousin’s aid?”

“In what, Oliver?” Millie asked.

He gestured to Wesley. “You have a man in your room, Mill. I am not sure if you noticed that, but if anyone else were to happen upon this scene, they might not interpret it the way I am.”

“Which is?” Wesley prompted.

“That you are old friends and neighbors, of course. It has not escaped my notice that you see yourself as a chaperone of sorts, with Helena being ill more often than she is well.”

Wesley took a decided step away from Millie. “That has not been my intent. We are merely friends. And neighbors. As you mentioned.”

“Of course,” Oliver said sagely.

Wesley cleared his throat. “I ought to leave. Good night, both of you.”