Free Marry Me by Heidi Wessman Kneale Page A

lifted his hat. “You l-l-look s-so l-l-lovely.”
    She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.” She accepted his proffered arm. Never had she been so grateful to be getting away from her mother.
    ****
    On the ride to 44 th Street Mr. Chandler entertained Millie and bored his wife with stories of his adventures at university. Raymond and Mr. Chandler may have been several years apart, but they had attended the same alma mater.
    “Really, Charles. I doubt Miss Moore wants to hear about the cricket wickets on the soccer lawn. I’ve heard them so many times.”
    “I don’t mind,” replied Millie. “It’s the first time for me.”
    That was all the permission Charles Chandler needed. Millie found herself thoroughly entertained. As she laughed in genuine amusement, a corner of her heart warmed to the Chandler family.
    The clubhouse on 44 th was a stately new building decked out with banners in celebration of the gala. Here educated men rubbed shoulders as they shared drinks and jokes while their wives bent their bouffant heads together. The floors were covered in exquisite mosaic and the walnut-panelled walls bore portraits of distinguished men. Ferns and other greenery filled out the corners while the club guests filled out the floors. So many elegant people!
    Lively music wafted down a double staircase infecting Millie’s feet with a desire to dance.
    Raymond gave Millie’s hand an extra squeeze. “L-l-let m-m-me get-t you a-a drink.” He and Mr. Chandler left her in the capable hands of Mrs. Chandler.
    Mrs. Chandler looked resplendent in a green and gold evening gown that complemented her honey hair. She smiled and waved to various acquaintances. “When the men return, I shall have to introduce you around.” She skipped the shallow small talk. “My brother speaks well of you.”
    Millie blushed and ducked her head. “Thank you.”
    “How did you meet?”
    A hand gripped Millie’s upper arm and pulled her away from Mrs. Chandler. She gasped in surprise.
    Guy Elliott.
    “Excuse us,” he proffered to a very surprised Mrs. Chandler. To Millie he said, “You can chat with your friends later.” And he hauled her away.
    Millie struggled against his grip. “What are you doing here?”
    Mr. Elliott leaned in close. “We’d agreed that I would escort you to the gala.”
    She blinked at him. “We agreed no such thing. Why are you even here?” He wasn’t a member. Raymond had told her that.
    He tucked her arm in his and pulled her along, his grip keeping her painfully by his side. “Your mother told me—”
    “My mother?”
    He sighed and gave her a pointed look. “She’s only concerned about you. You’re not exactly young any more. After all, if you can get in here unescorted—”
    “I’m not unescorted.” Why couldn’t she get free? And what had her mother been saying to Mr. Elliott?
    He pushed past a laughing group of men. As they passed, he tilted his face away from them. “They wouldn’t have let you in if they thought you too young.”
    Millie’s jaw dropped. “Oh!”
    He patted her trapped hand. “It’s all right. I don’t mind that you’re all but on the shelf. I’m happy to take you, even if no one else wants you.”
    He steered them toward the door. Millie dug in her heels. She looked about. Where was Raymond?
    No Raymond. Mrs. Chandler?
    No. Even she was gone.
    Millie was on her own. Alone, she was not strong enough to resist Mr. Elliott’s persistent motion to the door. Was he kidnapping her?
    A light blossomed in her mind. Mr. Elliott might not be listening to her, but that didn’t mean everyone else wouldn’t.
    She drew in a deep breath and did not hesitate. From the top of her lungs, Millie Moore screamed.
    Mr. Elliott started and let her go. Several other women in the crowd cried out in alarm. As one, everyone surged back from her.
    Millie kicked Mr. Elliott in the shins before retreating. She’d hoped for the safety of the crowd, but they backed away from her, leaving