Briefly, Millie embraced Lady Neville. Then, she led Gerard up the stairs.
A good rider could make Brighton in about five hours on a healthy horse. Unfortunately, Millie no longer owned a horse. But Asquith did. And Asquith had the best stables even before she counted the beauty she’d met the prior night.
Gerard stepped inside the bedchamber, and she closed the door behind them.
“I’ll need you to dress me in Neville’s clothes.”
Gerard eyed her, head to toe. “Hisclothes, my lady—”
She opened her mouth to insist.
“—Or Harbury livery?”
“Genius.” Millie exhaled gratefully. “No one ever pays footmen any mind, do they? I’d be much safer dressed as staff.”
Gerard inclined his head. “If my lady will wait here just a moment.”
“Of course.”
As Gerard disappeared via the servants’ entrance, Millie stepped in front of the mirror. She pulled off her cap and began flattening and pinning her hair. Unlike Cassie’s efforts on the prior day, Millie’s fastened locks of hair left only a fringe across her forehead and an unframed, severe face. Neither were entirely masculine, but the look was not so feminine as to give away her gender at first glance.
She remembered how Neville had described his reaction to learning she’d stolen Asquith’s clothes to ride astride.I’d a devil of a time getting the image out of my head.
Well, Auggie, I’m coming. With luck, you soon won’t have to imagine any longer.
Gerard reentered the room carrying a pile of dark clothes. “I conferred with Marsden, the duke’s valet. We thought these a better fit and more suited to your purpose. The duchess’s maid is on her way here to help you prepare,” he said. “Meanwhile, I will secure a bit of padding in the shoulders of a greatcoat.”
Millie nodded her appreciation. “You are an excellent man.”
“I would go myself…”
“No,” Millie replied. “Better you stay here in case we receive contrary information.”
Gerard nodded and then excused himself as Cassie’s maid arrived.
Working with the maid, Millie bound her breasts and then donned the livery. Faster than Millie would have thought possible, she transformed into a passable man. Since she’d long ago learned to mimic Mr. Winter’s stance, by the time they were finished, she looked into the mirror and felt as if she were gazing at a friend she had not seen in some time.
The person who stared back knew what she had to do and where to reach for courage. A hunter. Orhuntress. The same huntress she’d once been, only this time, she wasn’t defending a flock, but her family.
When Gerard returned, he helped her into the newly-padded greatcoat. He studied his handiwork with a critical eye. Satisfied, he handed over the copy of Mrs. Cartwright’s letter.
“This is the direction,” Gerard said ominously. “Dixon, the Runner, has been looking into the details, but you won’t find him at the house. His intention was to work his way through the local community—inn workers, those owning or working on freehold farms and small estates, toll takers. Neville believed Willard might have…”
“Women?” Millie suggested.
“Women,” Gerard used the less alarming word, “held, possibly against their will, at the lodge.”
She should have been shocked. She wasn’t. She’d seen what Willard was capable of, now she must dig deep, be brave, and bring an end to his games.
“I promise to seek out Mr. Dixon first,” she said. “Hopefully, he’s at least been able to discover how the house is run, and, with any luck, the basic layout.” Millie frowned down, thinking. “I wish I had my rifle, but it is in storage.”
“His Lordship has a fine pair of dueling pistols.”
She shook her head. “Most pistols made for dueling do not have rifling. If his don’t, they won’t be as precise as I may need.”
Gerard appeared alarmed. “If you’ll pardon—”
“I won’t shoot unless necessary, I assure you,” Millie interrupted.