Chapter 38
By the conclusion of that wretched summer ball, whatever unholy game he had played, whatever agreement had been struck between him and Millicent, the outcome had been decided. Cecilia and I found ourselves within the halls of the Vaneeri estate, and Laura had seamlessly integrated into the duchy's household staff.
As for Cecilia's contract, well, that foul creature took it with him. His grip upon me remained ironclad, for he knew all too well that Cecilia was my tether, my everything.
"Kyle?" I blinked, suddenly aware that he had moved a chair beside me, his rough yet gentle hands resting atop my own. When had he sat down?
"I was thinking, I'm gettin' old, love. How about we adopt a child from the orphanage? What do you think? We can go visit one tomorrow."
An orphanage. I had, in fact, visited one once, yes, that very summer. My ever-curious younger self had wondered what sort of boy Millicent would adopt, and so I had gone to see for myself.
Thinking on it now, that tale was rather amusing, though I fear my past self had been somewhat… indelicate toward the poor children.
That summer, on one particular day of curiosity, I found myself in a Vaneeri carriage. Opposite me, Cecilia and Laura sat in mild confusion.
"But why the orphanage, My Lady?" Cecilia finally voiced. "What business do we have there?"
I kept my tone light, feigning an air of casual interest. "I am merely curious, Cecilia. Surely there is no harm in observing the place."
Millicent had mentioned adopting a boy from an orphanage, and my mind simply refused to let the matter rest. What sort of child would she choose?
As it happened to be midday, I elected to take my lunch there. Originally, I had intended to forgo the meal altogether, but given that I would be seated and merely observing children, I reasoned that I might as well eat while I was at it. At the very least, it would prevent the inevitable pangs of hunger that would no doubt plague me in a few hours, forcing me to endure a miserable wait until dinner.
When the carriage came to a halt before a rather unremarkable building, I took in the modest patch of grass surrounding it, where a few pitiful toys lay abandoned. Father Greg, a man whose face seemed perpetually carved into a look of kindhearted benevolence, stepped forward.
"Lady Florence Lorynthall," he greeted warmly, bowing with due reverence. "It is an honor to welcome you to the Hope Orphanage. We received word of your arrival and have made preparations."
I inclined my head gracefully. "Thank you, Father. However, I would rather not go inside. I find the weather agreeable. Let us lay out a picnic on the grass instead. Have the children join us."
Father Greg's smile deepened, his eyes twinkling. "How kind of you, Lady Florence. The children will be most delighted."
As Father Greg departed to gather the children, Cecilia and Laura busied themselves with arranging my lunch. A picnic blanket was unfurled, and soon, the contents of our baskets were laid out in a manner befitting a royal feast. There were succulent roasted meats, fish soup, a whole chicken, a few large lobster tails, fresh loaves of bread exuding a rich aroma, an assortment of pastries and a bunch of unknown dishes.
Truly, I have never understood why I am always given such an absurd amount of food. My stomach has its limits, and yet Millicent has always been rather excessive when it comes to my meals. At first, I attempted to protest, pointing out the sheer impossibility of consuming such a feast, but she conveniently developed a case of selective deafness. And so, I resigned myself to this fate, eating what I could and simply turning a blind eye to the rest. As for the leftovers? I had long since ceased questioning their fate.
And there I sat, poised at the very heart of this extravagant spread, the very picture of refinement, trying to predict which unfortunate soul Millicent might deem worthy of inheriting her title.
The children soon arrived, nearly two dozen of them, trailing behind Father Greg like a flock of ducklings. Their ages varied, from tiny five-year-olds clutching one another's hands to older children teetering on the edge of adolescence. Their eyes flickered between me and the veritable feast laid out before them.
If Millicent were to adopt, she would likely choose a younger boy, one pliable enough to be molded into whatever peculiar image she envisioned for her heir.
I forked a piece of roasted beef, took a slow and thoughtful bite, and chewed with regal composure. Cecilia, as was our custom, began her meal alongside me. I noted the children watching intently, their expressions brimming with anticipation. I promptly dismissed it, whatever thoughts were swirling in their little heads were of no concern to me. I had a far more pressing task at hand, and I intended to see it through with focus.
As I ate, my eyes scanned the youngest among them. Surely Millicent would not take just any child, she had standards. I observed each boy in turn, weighing them against an imaginary set of criteria I assumed Millicent would uphold.
A small boy's mouth was slightly ajar with a string of unmistakable saliva glistening at the corner of his lips as he stared unabashedly. Surely Millicent would not take this one. I dismissed him outright and reached for a slice of cake as my attention shifted toward an older boy.
The children began to form a single file line.
I found myself perplexed. Why in the world were they lining up like this? Were they about to perform some quaint, choreographed spectacle for my entertainment? I narrowed my eyes, tilting my head slightly as I tried to peer past the first child in the queue. What was this absurd formation? Servants in noble households knew to stand properly, shoulder to shoulder, evenly spaced, but this? This single-file nonsense? Utterly ridiculous.
Cecilia mirrored my confusion, her brow furrowing as she observed the peculiar arrangement. I shifted again, attempting to catch a glimpse of the child at the very back, but the effort nearly sent me toppling over.
"Do they presume I possess the eyesight of an eagle?" I muttered under my breath, thoroughly baffled.
And then, a horrifying thought dawned upon me…
Had children always been this peculiar? To be fair, I had not interacted with any in well over a decade. Perhaps they had become stranger in the passing years. I tapped my spoon against my palm, deep in contemplation. Was there some… newly established protocol for children I was unaware of? Had the world devised some intricate new set of rules governing the manner in which they now behaved?
Still, I allowed my gaze to roam over the gathered boys, evaluating them with a critical eye. If Millicent were to adopt, there had to be at least one child with some redeeming quality amidst this sea of mediocrity. Perhaps one of them could be salvaged.
After a period of careful observation, during which I tilted my entire body left and right in an increasingly ridiculous attempt to see past the first child, I reached my conclusion. This lot was utterly unremarkable. Not a single one stood out as heir material. That settled it. Time to take my leave.
I turned to Cecilia. "I am quite full. Do take your time with your meal before we depart."
"But you scarcely ate," she said with a slight frown.
She held a grape before me and I opened my mouth. As I chewed, I speared a piece of steak and brought it to her lips. She received it just as naturally. Then, in kind, she offered me another bite. And so we continued, passing morsels between us. Between swallows and chews, we excitedly entertained one another with possible destinations for the morrow.
At last, I pressed a hand to her wrist. "Enough. I am well and truly finished."
"I should be as well, yet you insisted on feeding me," she said, swallowing the last bite.
We both laughed softly at that. Then I turned to Laura, only to find her staring at me with such incredulous disbelief that I could not fathom what had provoked it.
"Laura, gather everything up and dispose of it. We are returning home."
The reaction was immediate.
The children froze, their hopeful expressions collapsing into silent devastation. Father Greg blinked, his mouth opening slightly as he exchanged a bewildered glance with Laura. Cecilia merely began moving to assist in collecting the untouched food.
"Lady Florence," came Millicent's voice as she reached my side, her fingers finding purchase on my elbow before promptly pulling me to my feet. "Reverend," she added coolly, sparing Father Greg the briefest nod. "A pleasant afternoon to you."
Stunned by her sudden arrival, words escaped me in a most inelegant manner. "What are you doing here?"
Millicent was a force of nature entirely uninterested in explaining herself. Instead, she looped an arm around my waist and began herding me toward her carriage. "Do let the children enjoy the feast," she called over her shoulder.
The warmth of her arm against my waist sent a flush up my spine, though I maintained my composure with what I felt was remarkable restraint. As we walked, I cast her a sharp glance and muttered, "I do not believe you should adopt from this particular lot. I have observed them most thoroughly, and not a single one among them possesses even a glimmer of intelligence."
Millicent's laughter rang out, bright and wholly unrestrained. Before I could protest, she gentle shoved me into the carriage.
"Lady Florence," she chuckled, settling beside me as the carriage rolled forward, "your methods of assessment are nothing short of astonishing. I do believe I have never witnessed their equal."
I scooted as far from her as humanly possible. "Must you always be so insufferably familiar in public?"
Millicent simply slid closer. I turned to her, prepared to unleash a most thorough reprimand, only to be abruptly silenced as her lips brushed against mine.
Soft, insistent, and entirely too confident.
My heart stammered as her fingers threaded into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.
The carriage rocked steadily along the road, the coachman blissfully unaware of the absurd spectacle taking place behind him. And I? I found myself once again fall victim to Millicent Vaneeri's inescapable whims.