talking as they made their way to the front and waited for their carriage to be brought around. What could she do? Reach out and grab the front of the lady’s dress? Demand she lift her skirt? No, the thought of what would happen if she was wrong was too horrible to contemplate, but she must do something.
Their carriage arrived and the driver jumped down and opened the door.
Time was slipping away. Millicent had to do something now. When the Lady Heathecoute reached for her husband’s hand to be helped into the carriage, Millicent deliberately stumbled and fell into the viscountess, hitting something hard in the front of her skirt that clattered like silver teapots clanging together.
“You oaf!” Lady Heathecoute squealed and shoved Millicent with such strong force she couldn’t stop herself from falling forward. She slammed into the carriage door, her head striking the metal handle and cutting a deep gash into her forehead.
Chandler rushed to her aid and kept her from falling. “Millicent, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, but in truth her head was throbbing with pain and she was a bit dazed. She felt the trickle of blood running down the side of her face.
He threw a hostile glare to the lady. “This roughness wasn’t necessary.”
“Now see here,” the viscount said. “Millicent stumbled into her.”
Chandler found a handkerchief in his pocket and pressed it against Millicent’s wound. She winced and took it away.
“Chandler, I’m fine. Let me handle this.”
“No, we are in this together and you’re not all right. The skin is broken and your head is bleeding.”
Millicent looked up into his eyes and whispered, “Do not worry about me. I will be well. Let’s finish what we have started.”
He looked deeply into her eyes. He whispered, “You are more important to me than anything else. Hold this to your wound so it will stop bleeding.”
Why did he have a gift for saying things that made her heart beat a little faster, her breath come a little slower?
“Millicent, that does look like a nasty cut and should be seen to right away,” Lord Heathecoute said.
Millicent was now certain that her chaperone was hiding something beneath her clothing. She didn’t know what was holding the items under her skirt, but the viscountess had deliberately pushed her into the carriage and it was no slight shove. Her head was pounding.
“Ma’am,” Millicent said, ignoring the viscount and looking directly at his lady. “I hit something under your skirt. What was it?”
Lady Heathecoute took a step back. Her eyes quickly darted from Millicent to Chandler to her husband. “I don’t know what you are talking about. There’s nothing beneath my skirt.”
Millicent noticed that several people had gathered around. “I felt it,” Millicent insisted and took a challenging step toward her.
“She’s right,” Chandler said. “I heard something clang together when she stumbled into you.”
“You’re both talking nonsense,” Lady Heathecoute huffed loudly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” She turned to her husband. “You didn’t hear anything, did you, my lord?”
He lowered his eyes and looked down at his wife. “Yes, I do believe I heard some kind of a clanging noise, but I don’t know what it was or where it came from.”
“You imbecile!” she exclaimed in an earsplitting voice, but then, as if realizing how loudly she had spoken, she lowered her voice considerably and continued. “If there was noise it certainly didn’t come from under my skirt! Now, Millicent, get in the carriage at once. We must get you home and see to that cut before you visit with Beatrice. I don’t know what made you so clumsy tonight.”
Millicent and Chandler looked at her, and so did the six or so other people who had gathered around them. Millicent knew she had to do something. She would be leaving London as soon as her aunt was well. She need never return. This was Chandler’s home. She could withstand the talk and embarrassment if they were wrong about Lady Heathecoute. Chandler could not. Millicent had to be the one to press the issue.
It was now or never. She might not get another chance to expose the thief.
“No, I won’t leave until you reveal to us what you are hiding beneath your gown.”
The viscountess’s eyes widened further. “How dare you disobey me.”
“I felt something when I hit you. Lord Dunraven and your husband heard something. Now, take off your cloak and show us what you are hiding.”
Lady Heathecoute’s face contorted into a mask of cold rage. “Of all the