The Great Christmas Ball Read Online Free Page A

I noticed particularly. I caught a glance at his hands when he was tightening my cravat as well. I’d recognize those ugly digits anywhere.”
    “Was he wearing a ring?”
    “No, but he had those short, flat fingers like Cousin Marion—as if he had ten thumbs.”
    “Oh.” That, did not sound like much of a clue to identification. “Perhaps Mr. Lovell will know who he is. We must go at once.”
    “You cannot think I will allow a lady to accompany me on such an errand!” he exclaimed, reverting to his father’s manner.
    Allow her! She was the one who translated the letter. But emotion was not her way, and she said calmly, “You would not recognize Mr. Lovell.”
    “They will steer me to him fast enough at Whitehall.”
    “There is some little doubt that Lovell is his real name. The man with the gun called him Costain. I must go to identify him, for the letter was of strategic importance.”
    “Really!” Gordon exclaimed. “What did it say?”
    “I promised Mr. Lovell I would not tell a single soul.”
    “Damme, you may tell me. I am no one—I mean, I am your brother.”
    “I cannot tell even you, but it is of such vital importance that it may alter the course of the war, Gordon.”
    Gordon gave a frowning “Hmmm,” but he was actually less interested in the details of the war than in having a bit of excitement. “Let us go, then, if you insist on tagging along,” he said.
    “Yes—but what shall we tell Mama?”
    “Why, we shall tell her we are working for king and country. She can hardly say no.”
    “She will say no to me,” Cathy replied with irrefutable logic. “And besides, I was not supposed to tell anyone about the letter. I told you only because I need your help. You tell Mama I am waiting for Mr. Steinem, and will take my tea here in the office. You will have to sneak my bonnet and pelisse down to me.”
    “I shall tell her I am bearing you company. She has Rodney with her to prose her ear off, so she shan’t mind. Best lock that door,” he said, and left.
    Cathy hopped up and locked the door, then drew the blue velvet curtains to ensure privacy from prying eyes. She felt a thrill, to think that someone might be peeking in the windows. She hoped Mr. Steinem would not come, for she had lost both his original letter and her translation. She wrote out a rough translation as well as she could remember, to stick on the door when she left. Mr. Steinem could pick it up, free of charge.
    The tea tray arrived, followed a moment later by Gordon, bearing her bonnet and pelisse. She dressed, and they went out, leaving Mr. Steinem’s note stuck to the door with a pin.
    “I might very well be made a lord for this,” Gordon said as they pelted through the snow. They did not wait for a carriage, as the distance was short. “I daresay Miss Stanfield would not wipe her feet on a mere baronet.”
    Gordon had his boots to keep his feet dry, but before they had gone a hundred yards, water was seeping through Cathy’s slippers and freezing her toes. The wind blew her hair and bonnet to pieces, and found its way under her pelisse. She was hardly aware of the discomfort. In minutes she would see Mr. Lovell again, and she would gladly walk through fire or ice for his approval.
    The yellow brick of Whitehall looked dingy in the fading light, but the many lighted windows gave them hope that Mr. Lovell was still there. The clock tower of the Horse Guards soon loomed ahead of them. They entered unchallenged, although a few eyebrows rose to see a young lady breach this masculine preserve.
    “I am looking for a Mr. Lovell,” Gordon said in a businesslike way to the guard.
    The guard scanned his list. “No Mr. Lovell here, sir. Would it be the Admiralty you want?”
    “Is there a Mr. Costain?” Cathy asked.
    “Lord Costain, you mean, Lord Cosgrave’s new boy? He’s here. Went dashing out a short while ago, but he was soon back. Second floor, third door on your left.”
    “That’d be him,” Gordon said.