Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind (9 page)

Already she was pleased with herself over the invitations. When she went to see Lord Denby that morning, he was propped up in bed and reading the newspaper, something she had not seen him do in several months. She hoped he would ask her what arrangements she had made for Andrew, but he did not. His curiosity was directed toward her correspondence, and she told him of the letters going to his former companions now in North America.

“
Bingham, too?” he had murmured when she told him. “I doubt he will come.”

He made no more comment, until she was ready to leave the room. “You're returning to Butterworth's today? And with Andrew?”

There, sir, you
are
interested, she thought with a feeling close to triumph. “Yes, I am. He offered to teach Andrew Latin, and I know what an economy that is. Perhaps even Lady Carruthers will not object when she returns.”

“
Of course my sister will,” he had replied, and rattled the paper for emphasis. “If we choose to tell her.”

Andrew chuckled, and she glanced at him over her shoulder. He gestured at the gloss, then tucked it under his arm with his other books. “Miss Mitten, it says we are to come right inside without waiting. “ ‘
Sine esperando
,' or something like.”

When they came inside, Mr. Butterworth's butler bowed and handed Andrew a card on a silver salver. Mystified, he picked it up and then grinned. “Better hand me the gloss again, Miss Mitten,” he said as he opened the note. He was so intent on translating this next passage that he hardly noticed when she peeled his overcoat off him and handed it to Marsh with a smile. The butler unbent enough to remark, “I am not sure, Miss Milton, who is enjoying this more, Andrew or Mr. Butterworth.”

Or me, she thought, as Andrew exclaimed in triumph and hurried to the library. She followed. Mr. Butterworth sat at the desk with a Latin book open in front of him. By the time she arrived, Andrew was already seated down in the chair opposite. The mill owner nodded to her and directed his pupil to open the book in front of him.

“
Miss Milton, we will dismiss you to the sitting room, where you can continue those invitations.” He smiled at Andrew. “Lord Canfield here and I have a rendezvous with Julius Caesar in Gaul. Do excuse us.”

With a smile, she let herself out of the library and was soon seated in front of a pleasant fire, where the invitations awaited. She was deep into them an hour later when Mr. Butterworth joined her.

“
I am nearly half done,” she announced, putting down the pen to flex her fingers. “Sir, I suspect you went to some trouble to find a dip pen. I hear they are all the rage in London.”

Mr. Butterworth looked over her shoulder. “Writes well, doesn't it? What a modern idea, and how smart I am. I shall order a dozen more for my mill offices.” He bowed. “Madam, I am a selfish beast. Feathers make me sneeze, and I am lazy enough to put you to work, testing the newfangled invention for me.”

Jane touched his arm. “You are nothing but kindness, Mr. Butterworth.” She hesitated, then looked in his eyes. “I do not know how Andrew and I can intrude upon you like this for his education. I will simply have to think of something else.”

He sat down in the chair that was pulled up beside the desk. “You will do nothing of the kind, Miss Milton. Actually, you have solved a dilemma of my own.”

“
That cannot possibly be the case, sir,” she protested. “We are nothing but a burden! I plop my troubles in a messy little pile at your feet, and you ply me with lemon curd pastries and tempt me with modern pens.”

The mill owner smiled at her, and she wondered how Lady Carruthers could ever think him common. He did look especially fine in that plain dark suit. She wasn't so sure about the waistcoat, but decided that bright green paisley may have been the exact touch. She took a deep breath; she could never fault his cologne.

“
My dear Miss Milton, I could not be more serious about this. I have recently purchased another mill and ….”

“
Mr. Butterworth, we are twice the burden then!” she exclaimed in dismay, her well-being gone as quickly as it had come.

He laughed and took hold of her hand, giving it a slight tug before releasing it. “Miss Milton, the only thing that keeps you from being by far the prettiest woman in this district is your disturbing tendency to frown!”

And my almost thirty years, she thought, pleased in spite of herself, and hoping that she was not so simple as to blush at compliments from a man almost fifteen years her senior. “Try as I might sir, I cannot think how the addition of another mill, plus a schoolboy needing the remedy of Latin can possibly lighten your work,” she said. “Perhaps I lack sufficient imagination.”

“
Yes, Miss Milton, I do fear your imagination has been stifled by too much confrontation with Lady Carruthers,” he replied. “There! I was hoping you would smile!”

“
How can I do otherwise, when you are so preposterous?” she asked.

“
It is this way, my dear. The addition of another mill in Huddersfield means that I finally require the services of a secretary here. Now, do not frown! I have needed a secretary for several months, and have been too poky to stir myself about it until now.”

“
You are so busy,” she began, but even to her ears, it sounded like a weak protest.

“
Busy is what I like, Miss Milton, and you know it,” he reminded her. “My secretary will handle any additional correspondence that the new mill generates, but I am certain that he will have extra time.” He leaned closer and looked into her eyes, as though daring her to animadvert. “That was why I put off transferring Joseph Singletary here. He clerks in my other mill in Huddersfield. I happen to know that he took honors in Latin at school, and is just the tiniest bit bored by only secretarial duties. Andrew and Caesar will be just what he needs to round out his week.”

“
He should be on his way to Oxford then,” Jane said.

“
And he will be, when I figure out a way for one of his distant relatives to leave him a nest egg.” He leaned back in triumph. “It takes even me time to think of everything, Miss Milton. Joe can handle my additional correspondence, which will not be onerous, and tutor a small boy who will find him quite a remarkable fellow, and far more fun than a mill owner whom he probably thinks is old enough to have accompanied Caesar's legions. Now you may applaud my good sense!”

She laughed and clapped her hands. “How will you create a distant wealthy relative, Mr. Butterworth? Mr. Butterworth?” She looked at him in alarm, surprised at the sudden tears in his eyes. “Are you well?”

He took her hand again, and could not speak for several moments. She wanted to dab at his eyes with her own handkerchief, but felt shy. Besides that, he was holding her hand, and she had no urge to pull her fingers away.

In another moment he was smiling at her. He released her fingers. “Miss Milton, I have not heard you laugh in months. That is all,” he said as he stood up and moved to his own desk across the room. “If that is what a secretary and newfangled dip pens will do, why, we will plan surprises every week!”

“
Thank you,” she said simply. “I suppose now you will tell me that you will discover a distant nabob dangling from Mr. Singletary's family tree, or a buried Caribbean treasure, or Revolutionary War bonds next fall when the Long Term begins.” She knew he would smile at her own wit again, and he did. I think that exposing your own generosity is more than you care for, my dear Mr. Butterworth, she thought. I can keep this light. She folded a paper and sailed it across the room to him. He caught it in midair and returned it the same way.

“
You are almost correct, Miss Milton,” he said as he opened the ledger before him. “Mr. Singletary—who by the way will arrive by the end of the week—will indeed find good fortune by September next, and so will Andrew, if you will permit me some entanglement in his affairs. I believe that your charge will discover St. Stephen's in Scarborough far more to his liking than Harrow. It will not contain those little twits currently applying themselves at the vicar's Latin School, who are probably more than eager to spread rumors enough to blight Andrew's existence. St. Stephen's is
my
school; I am a trustee, and it will be an economy over Harrow, so Lady Carruthers will dare not complain.”

“
Why are you managing Andrew's affairs, sir?” she asked suddenly. “No one has ever taken an interest in them before.”

He opened his eyes wide and stared at her until she laughed again. “Miss Milton, you
are
going to tell me what you think!” he declared. “I thought that you would retreat and become missish after our little heart to heart yesterday. Thank God I was wrong.”

“
You were wrong,” she agreed. “After I told Lord Denby what I thought last night, and sent that note to you, I knew that I had no shame left, sir!” This is the right touch, she thought, pleased with herself. And my word, but it feels good to say what I think. I shall continue. “You are amazing, sir.”

He settled back in his chair with a smile on his face as he directed his attention to the ledger. “Amazing, eh? Now, hush. I have mills to run.”

She straightened the paper missile on her desk, dipped the pen in the ink, and wrote, “Thank you!” on one of its wings. When it dried, she sailed it back, enjoyed his chuckle, and turned her mind to the reunion invitations.

It came sailing back with “You're welcome,” written on the other fold. Impulsively, she blew a kiss in the mill owner's direction, felt the warmth of his laugh, and returned to the invitations.

They were done by the end of the week. She had no more excuse to visit, and so she told Mr. Butterworth as she sealed the last invitation and waited for the wax to cool.

“
I refuse to accept that, Miss Mitten,” he said, with typical good humor. “Joe Singletary is arriving tomorrow or Sunday, so you must return on Monday to meet him, and see if he passes muster.”

“
Very well, sir,” she agreed, admiring the invitations. “Thank you for the use of your lovely sitting room, the extravagant luncheons …”

“
I must eat, too,” he interrupted, and winked at her.

“…
the dip pens, fresh ink and paper,” she continued, then clasped her hands in front of her. “But I will wager you have no idea what else has happened this week, sir.”

He closed the ledger in front of him with a certain finality. “You have decided that I am a superior man,” he quizzed.

“
I already knew that, Mr. Butterworth,” she said serenely, and felt a certain delight when he blushed. “Lord Denby is starting to grumble and complain because I was not at Stover Hall this week.” She gestured to the invitations. “What is even better, he began complaining again about you and your ham-handed, mill owner's way of buying this estate right out from under his nose ten years ago!”

Mr. Butterworth rolled his eyes. “After it had sat vacant for years and sprung more leaks than an East India merchant's dinghy!” He rubbed his hands together, and she almost laughed at the look in his eyes. “Did he squawk about the survey and assure you that he was robbed of my pretty little lake?”

“
The very thing, sir,” she replied, looking around for her reticule and bonnet. “Stanton is so proud of himself and his reunion idea. He is practically crowing about the fact that Lord Denby is grouchy now and taking a real interest in things again. Even you.”

She found her reticule, and Mr. Butterworth retrieved her bonnet from the bust of Julius Caesar where Andrew regularly hung it each morning. He set the bonnet carefully on her head. “Actually, my dear, if we are to be plain speakers, I suspect that Lord Denby is a grouch because you are not there.”

“
That is a strange notion,” Jane contradicted as she tied the ribbands. “No one ever misses me.” No, that is not true, she thought. They miss me if there is something disagreeable to do, like sitting up with Blair while he lies dying. She frowned into the mirror over the fireplace as she realized that she had not thought about Lord Canfield for an entire week. How odd. “They do not miss me, Mr. Butterworth,” she repeated.

“
I cannot agree,” he said. He handed her the invitations and walked with her to the library. “I'll wager that you are the heart and soul of the place, Miss Milton.”

It was so absurd that she stopped. “You cannot be serious, sir,” she said finally, when she could almost feel the blush spreading up from her bosom to her face.

To her relief, the mill owner did not pursue the matter. He shrugged and held open the library door for her. “My mother—you would have liked her, Miss Milton—was much that way. I do not recall Mama ever raising her voice, or even stating her opinions much in a far too opinionated household.” He sighed. “But I do not suppose I have felt much peace since she left us, my dear. I never knew how necessary she was to me until it was too late to tell her.”

Then we are all fools together, she thought, you and me, and Blair, and probably Lord Denby, for all I know. “You should marry, Mr. Butterworth,” she said impulsively, motioning to Andrew that it was time to leave.

“
So should you, Miss Milton,” he replied just as quickly. “Andrew, have you finished the entire page? You will make Mr. Singletary's life a heaven on earth. Let us go over it.” He winked at her. “Miss Mitten can wait, for it is what she is best at, so she tells me.”