To Dream of Love Read Online Free Page A

or we would have no money for our return. But perhaps we might have enough to purchase two outside seats on the stage.”
    “I could sell the hens to Farmer Pennyfeather,” said Harriet, “and leave the keys of the house with the church for safekeeping. It is not as if we have to worry about being robbed. We have nothing left to steal.” She giggled. “Won’t Cordelia be furious!”
    “No, no. I am sure her natural good feelings, which have long lain dormant, will come to the surface,” said Aunt Rebecca. “I will write to her tomorrow and apprise her of our coming.”
    “No, don’t do that,” said Harriet slowly. “We’ll surprise her.”
    “Oh, yes,” said Aunt Rebecca, smiling through a rosy, port-induced mist. “That
will
be fun!”

Chapter Two
    When the next morning dawned, cold and sleety, Aunt Rebecca had become nervous and anxious again. The idea of packing up and journeying to London to throw themselves on Cordelia’s hospitality seemed a terrifying idea in the sober light of day.
    Aunt Rebecca pottered miserably and uselessly about the kitchen and then announced she was taking to her bed for the rest of the morning because all the excitement of the day before had badly damaged her nerves.
    Harriet was forced to confess to herself that she did not feel very courageous either, but there were the seemingly endless household chores induced by poverty and lack of servants to keep her busy.
    It was only when she found herself looking for an old pair of cotton gloves to cover her hands, which she had just anointed in a mixture of bacon grease and lemon juice to reduce their redness, that she realized she was still determined to go to London, and repairing her damaged hands was one little step in that direction.
    By early afternoon, wails and shuffling sounds from Aunt Rebecca’s bedroom, which was in the old study off the hall, heralded her second appearance of the day.
    Then came the clamor of the door knocker.
    Harriet ran to answer the door, her heart beating hard.
    A liveried servant stood on the steps. “The Marquess of Arden’s compliments,” he said. “Will you deliver this package to Miss Harriet Clifton direct? His lordship said it was most important.”
    Harriet realized he took her for the maid, but did not correct him. She could hardly wait until she had regained the kitchen so that she could open the small parcel.
    Aunt Rebecca came in as she was tearing off the paper.
    “Was that someone at the door, my love?” she asked.
    “A servant with this package from the Marquess of Arden,” Harriet told her.
    Harriet ripped off the last piece of paper and looked in dismay at a small, square morocco jewel box. He could not possibly be sending her jewelry. Gentlemen did not send jewelry to young misses unless they were members of the Fashionable Impure. Perhaps he thought she was!
    She opened the box and lifted out a letter that was lying on top. Underneath, embedded in silk, were ten golden sovereigns.
    “Dear Miss Clifton,” she read. “Pray accept this small payment to compensate for the murder of your birds. On behalf of myself and my cousin. I wish to thank you and your aunt for a most pleasant impromptu visit. Yr. Humble Servant, Arden.”
    She read it again, aloud.
    “Ten sovereigns!” exclaimed Aunt Rebecca. “And presented with such tact.” She sat down in a chair and rested her chin on her hand and thought hard.
    The Marquess of Arden was unmarried. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to be kind to them. Correction. To be kind to
Harriet
. Therefore, it followed he had been struck by her beauty. Aunt Rebecca adored romances. Gentlemen were always being “struck” by beauty. It would be wicked—it would be flying in the face of providence—not to take Harriet to London.
    Aunt Rebecca wandered off into a comfortable dream where Harriet was the Marchioness of Arden, and she herself, dressed in the finest silk and covered with a Norfolk shawl, held court in the fashionable