Millie frowned at her friend. “How have I never realized how stubborn you were before now?”
Tibby laughed. “Don’t mention that to Michael as he would be happy to tell you of my tendency toward it. However, I am only stubborn when it is important.”
“This is not that.” To Millie’s relief, they had nearly reached Tibby’s carriage.
“It is. We are speaking of your future, Millie. That is worth fighting for. What if he does find you appealing? What if that glint in his eyes is more than you think? Isn’t it worth exploring?”
Millie pressed her lips tight and shook her head. “No. I will only make a fool of myself and end up hurt.”
“Or...” Tibby lifted a brow as if expecting her to finish the thought.
“There is no ‘or’.”
“Now who is being stubborn?” Tibby huffed out a breath. “I am asking you to think about a bold move. Maybe more than one. Possibly three. Linford is a bit stubborn himself and might need to be hit over the head to see what’s standing before him.”
As if the idea of one bold move wasn’t bad enough, three sounded five times worse. Millie’s stomach hurt at the thought. Imagine how she might feel if she attempted to go through with even one.
“Regret is a lonely companion, Millie.” Tibby paused as the footman held the door for her. “Are you prepared to live with it?”
Tibby leaned close to press her cheek to Millie’s, her expression full of sympathy as she drew back. “Think on it.”
Millie remained standing on the pavement for a long moment before turning toward her own carriage where her maid waited, wondering what on earth she was going to do.
“Winston.” Aunt Frieda looked up from the pretty bluebonbondish with fluted edges, eyes wide as she stared at him in disbelief.
His smile faltered, dismayed to think he’d failed yet again. Why was it that even when he actually tried, he couldn’t succeed with a small task like purchasing a proper gift?
His aunt picked up the glass bowl and held it in the sunlight streaming in through her drawing room window, turning it this way and that. “I adore it!”
“I’m sorry, I thought—” He broke off as he replayed what she’d just said. “Oh. Splendid.” Relief washed through him. “I thought you might.”
“And chocolates?” She smiled like a child on Christmas morning. “So thoughtful of you, dear.”
Dear? Never had she used a term of endearment with him. He studied her to make sure this wasn’t some sort of jest. Her round face had a smile of all things, the curl of her lips so rare as to look odd.
“Perhaps you are not as much like your father as I thought,” Aunt Frieda murmured as she continued to admire the dish.
“It is lovely.” Eliza drew nearer for a better look, glancing at Winston with the same astonishment as Aunt Frieda. “Well done, Winston.”
“Thank you.” The swell of pride that rose within him was as unfamiliar as their approval. He shifted in his seat, uncertain what to think. “I’m pleased you like it.”
Millicent. She was the one he had to thank. The hum of anticipation at the thought of showing his appreciation had him narrowing his eyes. What was wrong with him of late? He couldn’t seem to stop thinking of her.
Several days had passed since the encounter with her and Lady Shaw on Regent Street, but he had yet to stop reliving those few minutes.
If he were honest, he had selected thebonbondish because it matched the exact shade of Millicent’s eyes, a deep cobalt, both rich and elegant. Picking that particular dish seemed like the least he could do since she was the one who’d suggested the gift idea.
Millicent was pretty with dark hair that held chestnut tones only visible in the right light. Those eyes shone with intelligence but shuttered when shyness came over her. And he couldn’t resist saying something to bring a blush to her heart-shaped face with its alabaster skin. The more he looked at her, the more he found to admire.
The way she’d stood up for herself and her friends during the ridiculous wager with the wallflowers last summer had impressed him. Still, he hadn’t appreciated her refusal to dance with him at the end of it. He had truly wanted to, something that didn’t happen often. Perhaps now that memories of the wager had faded, he would try again.
Of course, she wasn’t the type for a casual dalliance. She had marriage written all over her. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little taste if she were so inclined. A kiss or two, nothing more. There had been several occasions when he’d seen a flicker of interest shining in her bright blue eyes.
He was confident enough in his own appeal to recognize the look. Whether she was willing to act on it remained to be seen. If the opportunity arose, he would suggest a kiss as payment for helping him and convince her it was her idea. That would surely make her more likely to agree.
The thought had him smiling.
“Winston?”