Page 70 of The Secret Suitor

“Nell and I had intended on finding a way to obtain samples from Mr. Kendrick and Mr. Stroud, but that proved unnecessary.” Millie handed one of the letters to Wesley, then opened a second one and flattened it on the table. “Shall we begin?”

They each pulled a strip from the pile, compared it to their papers, and discarded them. They repeated the process a handful of times until Millie found one to be inconclusive.

“The g’s look similar to me.”

“Yes, but the m and n are vastly different.”

“They could have been writing too quickly to pay those letters much mind in the game.”

“Shall we have a pile for the samples we find inconclusive?”

“Yes.” Millie placed the paper on its own and moved on. She was able to discard the next two papers she pulled easily—one was Oliver’s, and the other a horrid scrawl.

Wesley hit the table lightly. “I think I’ve found it, Mill.”

He slid the strip of paper toward her, and she compared it to the letter, noting how similar the writing looked. The l’s looped the same, and they bore identical curves on the f’s. Her heart thudded heavily, and she raised her gaze to meet Wesley’s.

“This is a perfect match.”

“It is,” he agreed.

Millie read the hope and prediction, the information slotting into place. “We know who wrote this.”

Wesley grimaced. “We do.”

She shook her head, her eyes darting between the hope, the prediction, and the anonymous letters that had been left in her room. When she finally reached Wesley’s eyes again, she shook her head softly. “I do not understand.”

“Neither do I. There is only one thing left to do.”

“What?” Millie asked. “I am at an utter loss.”

He shrugged lightly. “It is time to compose one last letter.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Now that Wesley knew who had been plaguing Millie with romantic letters, he had not been able to bring himself to look anyone in the eye at dinner. It was a tortuous affair, keeping his feelings to himself as they ate. When the group finally gathered after dinner to prepare for the play, he kept his head down and waited for Millie to see her plan through.

Wesley had felt like a direct confrontation was the order of the day, but Millie believed a private conversation would be more appropriate. He had helped her write the letter, then they sent Betty to deliver it and had gone to dinner to wait.

Now, Millie was giving him a raised eyebrow look, and he knew it was time. While the rest of the house party was preparing for Mr. Kendrick’s play, Millie and Wesley slipped into the corridor and down the passage toward the tapestry room. Wesley had only been in the room once before, when he had his initial tour of the public rooms. It was no larger than the music room, with tapestries covering each wall and a set of chairs and sofas in the center of the floor.

They were the first to arrive. Millie marched to the center and rested a hand on the back of a burgundy chair, exhaling slowly.

“You only want to talk,” Wesley reminded her. “Do not fret.”

She shot him a wide-eyed look. “This is uncomfortable, regardless of how you look at it.”

That was true enough.

The door opened and Mr. Stroud came in, followed shortly by his sister.

Millie looked between them, then dropped her hand to her side and looked at Miss Stroud. “Why did you do it?”

Silence leveled them all as Mr. Stroud closed the door. Millie deserved an explanation, and quite frankly, Wesley was eager to learn as well.

“You deserved it,” Miss Stroud said acidly, failing to offer any reason.

“Did you know?” Millie asked Mr. Stroud.