In Good Company (14 page)

“A bit, but we’ll discuss that at a later time. I’d much rather talk about your refusal to wear pants, and . . . when you think you might get over that refusal, which would probably lead to people not laughing at your choice of clothing in the future—not that Mr. Codman was in any way justified in doing that.”

Thaddeus began swinging Everett’s hand back and forth. “I can’t change back to wearing pants because I don’t have any pants anymore.” He looked a little smug. “I buried them back on Fifth Avenue.”

Everett slowed to a stop. “Why would you do that?”

“That’s what you do when you don’t want someone to find your things.”

Unable to keep from smiling over that odd bit of logic, Everett squeezed Thaddeus’s hand. “I suppose you do have a point, but . . . if you want to wear pants again, you should know that there are stores here in Newport that sell clothing for little boys. I’d be more than happy to purchase you whatever you want.”

When Thaddeus didn’t immediately agree to that idea, Everett didn’t bother to pursue it, knowing now was hardly the time to get into a debate with a five-year-old. Steering everyone around the Casino and over to the wooden stands that had been erected for the convenience of the guests, trepidation began to steal through him as those stands quickly began filling with what seemed to be every guest enjoying the Casino that day.

Numerous members of the staff rushed around setting up additional chairs to accommodate the overflow, and then servers appeared, handing out glasses of lemonade. After getting
lemonade for the children and Abigail, Everett took a seat on the wooden bench and turned his attention to the lawn tennis court.

The crowd suddenly grew quiet when Millie, with Nora by her side, appeared on that court, swinging a racquet and looking downright cheerful, even if she did look completely out of place in her dark skirt, although she had taken off her apron. She’d also done something to shorten her hem, showing ankles clad in dark stockings, the sight of those ankles having his pulse, strangely enough, speed up. What made that circumstance seem even stranger still was that when Caroline walked onto the court, wearing the latest in fashionable tennis attire, she was also showing a bit of ankle, but the sight of her ankles didn’t seem to . . .

“This is going to be a nightmare,” Abigail said as she took a sip of her lemonade and shook her head rather sadly as she looked around.

Shoving all thoughts of ankles aside, Everett summoned up a smile. “Millie will be fine. She seems very adaptable, and she also seems to be a good sport.”

“I’m not actually that worried about Millie at the moment.”

Before he had a chance to process that statement, the ladies took their places, Caroline either not seeing his wave or deliberately ignoring it. Millie, on the other hand, was waving enthusiastically to the children, all of whom, surprisingly enough, were cheering for her—something that was no doubt irritating Caroline no small amount.

“I’ll serve first, shall I?” Caroline called across the net as she plucked a ball out of her pocket, stepped up to the line, and tossed it into the air, leaving Millie, who was supposed to be the recipient of the serve, barely any time to get ready.

All the breath seemed to leave him as the ball traveled rather slowly over the net. But then Millie drew back her racquet
and . . . slammed the ball back Caroline’s way, the force of her swing completely unexpected given her small size. Before Caroline even moved, the ball shot past her.

“Was that out?” Caroline demanded, swinging around.

“It was in,” called a lady from the stands.

Caroline spun to face Millie as Nora flashed a cheeky grin.

“Love-fifteen,” Nora called.

“I know how to keep score,” Caroline snapped back.

Unfortunately, the game did not get better for Caroline after that.

Millie had obviously not been exaggerating when she’d claimed she’d played tennis before, but it was clear that she hadn’t been playing with
young
boys. She was all over the court, hitting anything Caroline or Gertrude managed to get over the net, while Nora simply strolled back and forth, swinging her racquet, and at one point, whistling a jaunty tune.

When it was Millie’s turn to serve, matters turned downright concerning. Gertrude was the first to try and return Millie’s serve, but when the ball came rushing at her, she screamed, dropped her racquet, and ran the other way, earning a screech from Caroline until she seemed to recall that her turn was next.

“Give her a fast one, Miss Longfellow,” Thaddeus called.

Millie lowered her racquet to send Thaddeus another wave.

“Miss Longfellow, we are in the middle of a match here,” Caroline yelled across the net.

“Forgive me, Miss Dixon. You’re quite right.”

As if the world had suddenly slowed down, Everett watched as Millie threw the ball up, and then the racquet connected squarely with it, the thud of the connection reaching his ears. It began to move, and then the world sped up as the ball hurled at Caroline, and . . . smacked her right in the middle of the
forehead, the impact knocking Caroline off her feet. Her skirt fluttered up, showing a bit of leg.

Millie immediately began running across the court. Darting around the net, she raced to Caroline’s side, and yanked Caroline’s skirt back over her legs.

Before Everett had a chance to see what Millie would do next, Abigail was tugging on his arm, and he realized he needed to act . . . the sooner the better.

By the time he got to Caroline, made certain she wasn’t seriously hurt, and on her feet, he knew he had to get Millie as far away as possible from her. Caroline was shaking with rage and muttering threats under her breath. Telling Caroline he’d be right back, he nodded to Millie, who was still trying to apologize to Caroline, even though Caroline was not acknowledging the apologies and was resolutely looking the opposite way from Millie.

“I really am so very, very sorry,” Millie said one last time before Abigail suddenly appeared right by her side and the crowd that had gathered around them fell silent.

“Good heavens, Millie, it’s not as if you hit Miss Dixon on purpose—something Caroline knows all too well.” Abigail leveled a cool look on Caroline. “Why, your forehead is just a little pink. Granted the pink is perfectly circular, but . . . I’m sure it’ll fade soon, so no harm done.”

Abigail stepped closer to Millie and took hold of her arm before she nodded to the crowd. “If everyone will excuse us, Millie and I need to get the children settled.” She glanced Everett’s way. “I’m sure you’ll want to escort Caroline straight to her cottage, dear.”

As Abigail pulled Millie away, the crowd began whispering again, but Caroline wasn’t paying the slightest attention to the whispers. Her attention was centered squarely on Abigail’s retreating back. “What’s Mrs. Hart doing in Newport?”

Everett swallowed a sigh. “She’s here because of Millie, er, I mean . . . Miss Longfellow.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed to mere slits before her voice turned dangerous, even though she was barely whispering. “Is she now? Well, I won’t stand for it, I tell you.” She stepped closer to Everett. “Miss Longfellow needs to go, as well as Mrs. Hart
and
her meddling ways. Which means I expect you to dismiss the nanny—immediately.”

7

I
’ve obviously lost my mind,” Millie said as the hansom cab trundled down the road. “What was I thinking, playing to win?”

Abigail immediately began clucking. “From what I’ve come to know about you, my dear, you’re a lady who embraces every venture with enthusiasm. I would have been very disappointed if you’d gone out on that court and not played the way you’re apparently capable of playing.”

“I smashed a ball directly into Miss Dixon’s face.”

“You didn’t do it intentionally. How could you have possibly known Caroline would just stand there like a deer caught in the lantern light?”

Elizabeth sat forward and grinned. “Did you see how the ball bounced right off her head? That was great, and one of the best things I’ve . . .”

“It was
not
great that I bounced a ball off of Miss Dixon’s head,” Millie interrupted, her words causing the grin to slide right off Elizabeth’s face.

“Sure it was,” Elizabeth countered. “She deserved it because
she only wanted to play tennis with you in order to embarrass you, but . . . that didn’t turn out how she wanted, did it?”

“I don’t know about that. I was pretty embarrassed when all those people started wagging their fingers at me, and especially when Gertrude began yelling at me that I was unnatural and shouldn’t be allowed in public.” Millie shuddered. “But my embarrassment aside, you, Elizabeth, have some explaining to do regarding that nasty business with the croquet ball. You could have seriously injured Miss Dixon.”

Elizabeth looked less than contrite. “I was hoping if I conked her in the head, she’d lose her memory and forget all about the boarding school plan.” She suddenly looked a little hopeful. “Do you think
your
conking her on the head might have rattled her memory a little?”

“Miss Dixon seemed perfectly coherent, and that means
logical
, when she took to screaming at me, so no, I think her memory is still intact. I believe it might be easier all around though, if you’d just talk to Uncle Everett about your feelings regarding boarding school instead of thinking up dangerous plots that will certainly see you sent off to one.”

“If he really was my uncle, I would talk to him about it. But he’s just my guardian along with being my godparent. He’s a horrible guardian because he hasn’t even
tried
to guard me from the dreadful Miss Dixon, and as for being a godparent . . . ” Elizabeth stopped talking as her eyes turned suspiciously bright. “I asked him after Mommy and Daddy died why God had taken them and left me, Rose, and Thaddeus all alone, but . . . he didn’t have any answers to give me.”

“In Everett’s defense, that’s a really tough question to answer.”

“He didn’t even try.”

“I can try now if you’d like, because I lost both of my parents when I was just a baby,” Millie said softly, right as the hansom
cab pulled off the road and began traveling over a surface that crunched beneath the wheels.

Elizabeth turned her head to the window. “I didn’t ask you to explain anything to me, and I don’t want to talk about God, because He doesn’t listen to me. He completely ignored all of my prayers begging Him to send my parents back.”

Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, Millie leaned forward. Unfortunately, the cab took that particular moment to pull to a stop. Elizabeth didn’t bother to wait for the driver to get the door but wrenched it open and jumped out, Rosetta and Thaddeus scrambling after her a second later. A hand on her arm had Millie pausing in the act of following the children.

“She won’t listen to anything you say right now,” Abigail said. “But leave the God business to me. Given the delicacy of the topic, I think our best option is to bring in an expert. Since Reverend Gilmore is always willing to lend his advice, I’ll pen him a letter as soon as I get back to my cottage and ask if he has any suggestions.”

Millie blew out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Abigail. Quite honestly, I don’t really know how to explain the situation properly, especially since I’ve never truly understood why my parents were taken from me.”

Abigail patted Millie’s hand. “I’ve always believed God has a certain purpose for all of us, and once we fulfill that purpose, He calls us home.” She smiled. “Perhaps your parents’ purpose was to bring you into the world.”

“I would have preferred they’d been granted time to raise me.”

“And that is exactly why we need Reverend Gilmore here.” Abigail moved to the door, accepting the hand the driver offered her.

Millie followed a moment later and after thanking the driver for his assistance found herself incapable of speech when she got her first good look at Seaview Cottage.

Three stories of white stone rose up before her, the many-paned windows gleaming in the sunlight. Chairs piled high with comfy-looking cushions were set charmingly about, beckoning a person to enjoy the shade granted from the green-and-white-striped awnings covering the entire length of what appeared to be some type of veranda.

A stone fountain gurgled from the very center of a well-manicured lawn, while birds that Millie thought might just be peacocks strutted in and out of shrubs that had been carefully pruned. A glance to the right allowed her a glimpse of the ocean, and when a breeze began to stir, she smelled the distinct scent of the sea.

“This can’t be anyone’s idea of a cottage, can it?” she asked, catching the driver’s eye. “You did bring us to the right place, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Mulberry instructed me to deliver you to Seaview Cottage off of Bellevue Avenue,” the driver said. He gestured to the house. “This is definitely Seaview, and that”—he turned and pointed to the road—“is definitely Bellevue Avenue.”

“But that,” Millie argued with a wave of her hand toward the house, “is not a cottage. Cottages are supposed to be small and quaint, not . . . intimidating.”