Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind by Carla Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

Miss Milton’s cloak,” he was saying smoothly, as though she had turned away to admire his wallpaper.
    â€œ I’m not staying long,” she told the butler, who only smiled and nodded and bore off her cloak anyway. “Even the butler does not listen to me,” she said as Mr. Butterworth showed her upstairs and into the sitting room that overlooked the front entrance. She went directly to the window, hoping to give herself a moment to regain her composure. It would be dark soon, she thought, but with only a little sadness. Another year has turned. She heard someone open the door. “And when I turn around, I will see the footman bearing irresistibles. Ah, yes. Not a moment too soon.”
    With a smile, she allowed Mr. Butterworth to direct her to a chair and preside over the pouring of the tea, as though the house were hers. She knew his sugar requirements from the long practice of watching him at other gatherings, and added three lumps before handing over the cup and saucer. “Lovely china, Mr. Butterworth,” she commented.
    He accepted the cup from her. “It is nice, isn’t it?” he agreed, then smiled at her. “Those of us who smell of the shop are conspicuous consumers.”
    It was their little joke through the years. She sipped her tea, savoring it before she even tasted it, because she knew from the servants that Mr. Butterworth only bought the best. She thought of Andrew, who, when he was five and introduced to Mr. Butterworth for the first time, sniffed the air around the man and announced to his astounded aunt, “He smells just fine. Far better than Lord Marchant.”
    â€œ You’re thinking of Andrew,” Mr. Butterworth said, offering her a plateful of pastries which she had no intention of refusing.
    â€œ I am,” she agreed, slipping off her wet shoes, which the footman promptly placed before the fireplace. She looked at her friend, admiring the tapestry of his waistcoat, and for the millionth time the wonderful scent of the lavender-noted cologne he wore. She had never imagined another man could have carried off that fragrance, but it never failed with Mr. Butterworth. She doubted he had ever smelled of the shop. “I suppose I always am thinking of Andrew, am I not, sir? Does this make me boring?”
    He smiled and shook his head. “Only think how many times I have been diverted at Denby’s social events by your breathless tales of teeth falling out, and limbs abused by tumbles from trees!” He leaned toward her, and she was struck all over again by his grace, despite his size. “If I were to have a wish, Miss Milton, it would be that you thought a little more of yourself, oh, just every now and then.”
    â€œ That has never been a habit of mine,” she reminded him. “You are kind to give me tea, Mr. Butterworth.”
    She was sure she would not have said anything more than that, if he had not looked at her in that interested way of his. If there was a kindlier expression on the planet, she did not know of it. His spectacles were slightly askew, as usual, and his eyes behind them invited disclosure. She had seen that expression at any number of gatherings, but there was something about it this time that was taxing her to her heart’s limit.
    She set down her cup, and thought of all the times she had almost told him everything in her heart. Eat something, Jane, she thought in desperation. It is what you always do at gatherings when you invariably find him at your elbow, and then have to pry yourself away after an hour’s conversation, before Lady Carruthers notices, and you know you have a scolding in store.
    She reached for a pastry, determined to keep her own counsel, as she always did. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and took a deep breath, even as the more reluctant side of her nature tugged at her to stop. She cleared her throat.
    â€œ Mr. Butterworth, why must things be so