Letters to a Lady Read Online Free Page B

jiggled back upstairs to learn the details from Hattie Peabody.
    “Mrs. Whitby, you say?” she asked, creasing her pink brow. “No, she’s not one of his city light-o’-loves. He’s been carrying on with an opera dancer—nothing serious—but even that has dropped off. Now don’t poker up, Hattie. He is a bachelor—and his females are all high-stepping dashers, nothing low class about them, I promise you. Lately it’s all come to a halt. You’d think he was up for canonization the way he’s burning the midnight oil. Work, work, work. You’d be proud of your Chuggie, Hattie.”
    “I was not proud of him this day, Agnes. To have such unsavory goings-on in front of Miss Beecham.”
    Mrs. Dunaway bit her lip and said, “The chit didn’t seem overwhelmed by it all. She’s not what you’d call a deb, I think? Older than seven.”
    “Older than that, but as green as grass. She’s never been outside of the county, except for a few days in London with the family.”
    “Ah, well,” Mrs. Dunaway replied, “country gels don’t shock easy, as we well know, eh, Hattie?” On this comforting speech she trundled from the room to try her luck with Miss Beecham below. Two minutes in that young lady’s company told her nothing but that—yes, it was unfortunate about the letters, and Miss Beecham would like to be informed the instant Harrup arrived. In the meanwhile she would like a pen and paper. Very cool was Miss Beecham for a chit who was supposed to be a provincial green-head.
    Over her coffee Diana wrote a note to Ronald, explaining that she had been delayed and would call on him tomorrow at his hotel. She then rang for a servant to deliver the message and resumed her wait.
    What she had seen of the house and servants impressed her. Harrup’s dining with the lord chancellor impressed her. Her courage was beginning to fail, and she took herself firmly by the scruff of the neck. She would not apologize for barging in uninvited. It was Harrup’s fault that they were in this pickle in the first place.
    At ten-thirty Harrup’s tread was heard in the hallway. Diana hastened to the door of the morning parlor but decided to wait and let Harrup come to her there. She listened impatiently as he handed his coat and hat to the butler.
    “Anything happen while I was away?” Harrup asked. “I trust you got Tantes Gertrude and Millicent blasted off.”
    “Yes, milord.”
    “Good! Thank God for large favors. Bring me a very large brandy and my slippers to the study.”
    “You have company, milord,” the butler murmured apologetically.
    “At this hour of the night? Hell and damnation,  who did you let in behind my back, Stoker?”
    “A Miss Beecham and Miss Peabody.”
    “You know my views on harboring country neighbors.”
    “They said they were your cousins, sir. Here at your express request, the young lady said.”
    “She always was a forward wench, but this goes beyond anything. Why didn’t they go to a hotel? Very well, where are they?” he demanded in a gruff voice.
    “The young one’s waiting for you in the morning parlor.’’
    “Send for her. I’ll be in my study. And bring the bottle of brandy, Stoker.”
    “Perhaps wine for the young lady, sir?”
    “No, don’t encourage them.”
    Upon hearing this rude speech and demeaning description of herself, Miss Beecham returned to the table. With a hand trembling in anger she poured herself an unwanted cup of coffee. When she was requested to follow Stoker, she smiled coolly. “Please send Lord Harrup to me. As you can see, I am not quite finished dinner. Thank you, Stoker.”
    “His lordship—”
    “Immediately, if you please,” she said, and speared him with a shot from her sharp eyes.
    “Yes, Miss Beecham.” Stoker bowed and returned to the study.
    For some five minutes Diana waited, trying to catch a few words of the raised voice that shouted from the study. She was unconcernedly stirring her coffee when a stiff-legged Harrup finally entered