To Dream of Love Read Online Free

thoughts. Is there any gossip?”
    “Plenty. Oh, if I am not mistaken, here is Cordelia again, although it refers to her as Lady B. Can the M. of A. be the Marquess of Arden?”
    Aunt Rebecca flicked through the pages of the peerage in her mind. “Bound to be,” she said at last. “Depends, of course, what the gossip is about. There is the Marquess of Anstruther, but he is in his dotage—not that that would deter Cordelia.”
    “It is all rather nasty,” said Harriet. “No one will ever forgive Cordelia for selling the Bentley estates, and at such a profit. They would rather she had lost them at the gaming tables and then shot herself like a respectable member of the ton. It says here: ‘Can the famous estates of the M. of A. be at risk? As well as his notoriously flinty heart? Rumor hath it that our noble peer is enamored of the fair Lady B., who is well known for her agility in disposing of landed estates. Let us hope that the M. of A. loses only his bachelordom, and not his
shirt
as well.’”
    “Oh, how cruel!”
    “I cannot see Cordelia caring what anyone says of her … provided she gets what she wants. Do you think our marquess would be enamored of such as Cordelia?”
    “Of course,” said Aunt Rebecca simply. “There was never a man who was not.”
    Harriet scowled horribly.’ This one little party, this short intrusion of the fashionable world into her own life, had brought color and magic—and discontent. The long, empty days of cold and hunger stretched ahead. Cordelia had never known what it was to be hungry or cold. She had ruthlessly sold all the best items in Pringle House to supply herself with a wardrobe to dazzle Lord Bentley.
    Aunt Rebecca and Harriet had to survive on a tiny annuity. Under the terms of the late Mrs. Clifton’s will. Pringle House could not be sold, or they would forfeit their annuity. Mrs. Clifton had gone to her grave convinced that everything would turn out splendidly for her daughters. Having never handled any money or bills herself, she was sure the annuity would be ample enough to keep the large house and large staff. The clause forbidding the sale of Pringle House had been put there for sentimental reasons. Mrs. Clifton had loved the mansion and wished it to stay in the Clifton family.
    “When did we last write to Cordelia?” asked Harriet suddenly.
    “On her birthday, last June. We always send her a little present on her birthday.”
    “And she did not even bother to reply,” said Harriet grimly, “although that shawl you crocheted took months, and the silks cost us more than we could really afford.” Harriet took a sustaining gulp of port.
    The kitchen fire crackled busily as the wind outside began to rise and snowflakes whispered against the windows.
    Harriet took a deep breath. “I think, Aunt,” she said, “that we should pay Cordelia a visit.”
    “Just what I was thinking,” said Aunt Rebecca calmly, much to Harriet’s surprise, since she had braced herself to face another bout of hysterics. “I was much taken with the Marquess of Arden,” went on Aunt Rebecca, knitting busily. “Such a fine man. And not at all old. About thirty, I should think. The gentlemen,
both
of them, were attracted to you, dear Harriet.”
    “Mr. Hudson was in his altitudes, and the marquess did not favor me at all, although I must allow his manners were of the best,” added Harriet with feeling, remembering how carefully he had kept silent over having seen her naked.
    “But he is only
one
man,” said Aunt Rebecca dreamily. “When the Season comes, London will be full of them just waiting to be picked up, like pebbles.”
    “I was not thinking of marriage,” said Harriet. “I was thinking of warmth and comfort and food. If Cordelia thought she did not have to show me to her friends, but simply feed me, I do not think she would mind so much.”
    “Our yearly allowance is due next week,” said Aunt Rebecca. “It is not much, and we cannot possibly spend it all