Page 39 of The Secret Suitor

Oliver stepped out of the doorway before sending Millie a look, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Once Wesley’s door closed behind him, Oliver spoke. “He ran awfully quickly.”

“You scared him away, no doubt.” Millie folded her letter and set it on her table. Betty would arrive shortly to help her change out of her evening gown, and she was growing tired. But her mind was alive.

Oliver’s arms crossed over his chest. He was exceedingly handsome, and he knew it. Millie did not know another man as comfortable in his own skin as her cousin. “You know, I should be the one ensuring your safety. Is there any sort of understanding between you and Wesley?”

“No. You are being absurd.”

“He is quite attentive. It is not a wild leap to make.”

“It is fairly wild when you know him well.”

Oliver clicked his tongue. “Very well. I will say no more on the matter. Be careful, Mill. I did not forget how you used to moon over the man…as recently as yesterday.”

“Out,” Millie said, swatting at his arm and pointing to the doorway. Her cheeks burned, and she fought a smile. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“At least I was welcome.” Oliver grinned at her. “Good night.”

Millie closed the door behind him and sighed. Yes, she used to have feelings for Wesley. But now she had attention from gentlemen who liked her as well. She would prefer to put her efforts into something that at least had the potential to yield results. Wesley had proven he was nothing but an older brother.

Chapter Thirteen

Millie watched Betty leave for the morning, carrying some things to be laundered, before she retrieved each of the three letters from her anonymous admirer and smoothed them on the writing desk. It was time she put a more concerted effort into discovering the author’s identity so she might focus her attention on the correct man.

Carefully, she read each one in order, searching for anything which might give her a hint as to who wrote them.

Miss Hollis⁠—

I have looked forward to this day for a long time. You are uniquely special, and I intend to show you precisely how I feel about you.

—Someone who deeply admires you

Miss Hollis⁠—

Your hair outshines a chestnut’s gleam,

Your eyes put winter’s stars to shame;

And when you smile, candles seem

To burn less brightly than your flame.

—Your most devoted admirer

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

The letters each had the same general structure, were folded with the same care for detail, and possessed a floral seal in mysterious blue wax. They differed in apparent ways as well, though. Each note ended differently. One was a poem when the other two were not. There was something about the essence of the notes that left Millie feeling as though she had missed a detail, but she could not determine precisely what that was.

Had the man intended to leave her a clue folded within the flowery lines? Or perhaps a clue in the image of the flowers? If she could locate the blue wax somewhere in this house, she would know who had written the letters. The writer had not said anything that might reveal his identity, no clues to lead her to him through conversation, but he had left the blue wax.

His full intent was unclear, but he plainly wanted Millie to know someone at the house party admired her. It was enough to begin, at least.

She folded each letter again and tucked the stack within the drawer of the writing desk, then left her room for breakfast.

A maid passed her door as she closed it behind herself, carrying a tin coal scuttle and wearing the drab gray dress and dingy white apron all the maids wore.