“Miss Lilly, my daughter says that she has not received a note or telephone call from Mr. Danforth since we returned from Eagle Rock,” said Mr. Frick. “Is that correct?”
He looked over at Miss Helen, who shrank miserably into the velvet upholstery. Miss Helen hadn’t had any correspondence; that was true.
But Lillian had. Three letters a day, all delivered to the servants’ entrance, each one more passionate than the next, the romantic words like dynamite. He’d written that the moment together among the organ pipes had been an unexpected, utter delight, and that their ease of conversation was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Miss Winnie had caught the footman handing one to Lillian that very morning, and when asked about it, Lillian had quickly explained that she was advising Mr. Danforth on the setting for the engagement ring. Miss Winnie had nodded and gone about her business.
Lillian hadn’t responded to his entreaties. He thought she was a proper young lady, and he wouldn’t understand her past. He probably thought that her wish to become a movie starlet was a silly girl’s dream, not a true goal close to being realized. They couldn’t be more different. Not to mention that if Mr. Frick found out she’d diverted Mr. Danforth’s attention from Miss Helen, she’d be subject to his wrath and retribution. No one crossed Mr. Frick. No one.
She fully intended to burn the letters—it was stupid to leave them lying about—but each night before bed, the very sight of them set the blood rushing in her veins, as she relived the kiss and the way Mr. Danforth had looked at her, like she meant everything in the world to him. So far she hadn’t gotten up the courage to light the match.
Mr. Frick was staring at her, waiting for an answer.
“That is true, yes. Mr. Danforth has not reached out to Miss Helen, as far as I know.”
“We had planned for the engagement to be announced over Thanksgiving. I worry that my daughter has said or done something foolish to dash our hopes. Can you enlighten us?”
How could he talk like that in front of his own daughter? An unexpected surge of pity took Lillian by surprise. She wanted to kneel down before her and explain that she didn’t deserve her father’s harsh words. That she was deserving of love, and Mr. Danforth’s retreat wasn’t her fault. “Miss Helen, I am sure, has done nothing untoward.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
The stupidity of Lillian’s actions during the scavenger hunt hit her full force. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, in the lush surroundings, in the grand isolation of the week, acting as if the mansion and its artifacts were hers, acting as if Miss Helen’s beau was hers as well. She must make this right.
“I’ve been privy to some questions from Mr. Danforth, regarding the ring setting, the proposal, and so forth.” She looked over at Miss Helen, who had brightened considerably. “I’m sorry to have kept this from you, but he wants it to be a surprise. I assure you, all is well.”
Mrs. Frick clapped her tiny hands together, and relief flooded Miss Helen’s features. Mr. Frick, however, didn’t change his visage at all, his blue eyes never leaving Lillian’s. “Well then, I suppose that’s good news.”
“Father, why don’t we send Miss Lilly to him tomorrow? That way she can answer his questions and report back. But, Miss Lilly, you won’t tell him we’re in on the secret, will you?”
Even if it would be painful for Lillian, it was the best course of action. “I won’t let him know that you know. Don’t worry.”
The next day, she found herself standing again in front of Mr. Danforth’s townhouse, holding a note from Miss Helen in her hand—one that Miss Helen had insisted Lillian write, of course. It was time for Lillian to put a stop to Mr. Danforth’s wrongheaded idea that they were a match. It simply couldn’t happen. She’d placed all of her hard work from the last two months at great risk.
How cruel she’d been, to clumsily destroy Miss Helen’s prospects. Sure, the woman was difficult and sometimes unnecessarily biting, but it wasn’t all her fault. The war, as well as her family’s manipulations, had damaged her, stunted her development. She deserved a happy home, out from under the thumb of her father and the ghost of her older sister. Mr. Danforth was the answer, and Lillian needed to get out of the way.
The butler led her into the front parlor. Before Mr. Danforth entered, she heard him give the butler an errand, something about a trip to the grocer, and the front door opened and closed. Through the window, she spied the butler heading for Third Avenue.