by Joan Smith
This interpretation didn’t sit easily, either. If she were prey to a hankering for rank and riches, she would have been aware of it before her twenty-fifth year. No, the dreadful truth was that she was jealous of Laura Whitby. It wasn’t Harrup’s title and money she wanted; it was his admiration, his company when he was at leisure, his love. She had enjoyed their private meetings, their arguments, had felt the sting of jealousy before this moment. It wasn’t for Lady Selena that she had taken him to task about his postmarital plans for Mrs. Whitby. Last night she had been angry for herself—that was why she’d attacked so violently. He must think she was an interfering shrew.
When had it happened? When had she been fool enough to fall in love with a man who was in love with a lightskirt, and engaged to another lady besides? Either circumstance should have been enough to open her eyes. It had sneaked up and caught her unawares. It was the fact of Harrup’s being already attached that had brought down their defenses. Neither had bothered to put on the polite face of courting, and in the ensuing free-for-all, she had come to love a man with all his human weaknesses laid bare.
Harrup was no hero. He was arrogant, ambitious, addicted to the fair sex. Lady Selena would not have an easy life with him—but she would have an interesting life. Except that the silly chit wouldn’t know enough to realize it was interesting. She wouldn’t know how to control Harrup’s vices, or even want to try. And they could be controlled if his wife wielded a firm hand. Harrup wasn’t completely incorrigible; he just needed someone to nag him into rectitude.
While these thoughts filled Diana’s head, the door knocker sounded and Ronald was shown in.
“I don’t suppose you spoke to Harrup about a position for me?” he asked.
“The subject arose, but nothing definite has been settled. He’ll certainly find something for you, Ronald. I did take him to task about Lady Selena, however. He has agreed to show her every kindness in the future. I’m sure he can conciliate her if he puts his mind to it.”
This speech didn’t have the expected result. Rather than thanking her, Ronald looked displeased at her interference. “She will never be happy married to that old man,” he said firmly. “They haven’t a single thing in common. ‘To like and dislike the same things, that is indeed true friendship.’ I would add ‘and true love’ to the quotation.”
“But she will be married to him, Ronald, and at least she will not be made unhappy.”
Ronald accepted a cup of coffee, and while he was nursing it, Stoker appeared at the door.
“Lady Groden and Lady Selena are waiting in the saloon, Miss Beecham,” he said.
Diana looked startled. “Did you not tell them Lord Harrup is out?” she asked.
“They are calling on yourself, ma’am.”
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, and looked to Ronald for assistance.
She didn’t know whether the pink flush rising up from his collar denoted simple pleasure or a guilty foreknowledge of this visit. Had he arranged it the day before? How had he got Lady Groden to connive with him? Diana was in a quandary. She had warned Ronald, she had warned Harrup; must she now go so far as to warn Lady Selena’s mama? While she silently debated this, Ronald rose and flew off to the saloon. When Diana arrived a few paces behind him, he had already detached Lady Selena and was leading her to a loveseat away from her mama.
Diana welcomed the callers, waiting expectantly to hear what had occasioned this unexpected visit. “You have heard the news?” Lady Groden asked. A broad smile sat on the dame’s face.
For one absurd moment, Diana thought she was going to say Lady Selena had called off the wedding. She was trembling like a blanc-manger when she replied, “No, ma’am. I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Harrup has received his appointment. Groden wrote me a note from Westminster this morning. It is being announced as soon as the House sits today.”
Diana was happy for Harrup, but her overall reaction was one of disappointment. “I am so happy to hear it,” she said. Her eyes turned to Lady Selena to see how that young lady was taking the news. Selena was gazing silently at Ronald. No conversation passed between them, but their eyes said much. Now they will surely make me have him, Diana interpreted from the strained face that stared imploringly at her brother.
“Harrup will doubtlessly be sending a note home as soon as he has a moment,” Lady Groden continued. “I have several calls to make, and could not wait for you to hear from him. Groden desires me to have a celebration party this evening. Dinner is all I can arrange on such short notice. I hope you and your brother will join us.”
“We would be very happy to accept,” Diana said.
“Excellent. I shall be making my calls in person, as time is short. Will you come with me, Selena, or would you rather remain and visit with Miss Beecham?” the mother asked.
“Oh, I am sure Lady Selena will want to accompany you,” Diana said swiftly.
Lady Selena cast an angry eye at her hostess. “I would rather remain for a visit, Mama. If Miss Beecham has no objection,” she said.
Miss Beecham sought in vain for a valid objection. “My chaperon is not feeling well today. I’m afraid I am confined to the house,” she ventured.
Lady Groden laughed inanely. “Mr. Beecham is chaperon enough for you two ladies if you wish to go out,” she said, as she rose and pulled on her gloves. “Remember, Selena, you have the coiffeur coming at two.”
Diana glanced at the head-and-shoulders clock on the mantelpiece. It was only ten o’clock—an unusually early hour for a social call, and one that left her four hours to ride herd on Ronald and Selena. Her heart sank at the prospect of such a daunting chore. For the next four hours she did not leave their sides for a moment. She had Harrup’s carriage called and took them to every park in the city and half the churches. She insisted on seeing St. Paul’s and the Tower of London and the Elgin Marbles on display at Somerset House.
If she turned her back for a moment during any of these diversions to look at a gargoyle or turret, she found the two young lovers whispering when she turned back. By one-thirty her head ached and her feet were tired, but the unwanted guest still lingered. Shyness, she had learned, was not so great a part of Selena’s makeup as she’d thought. The girl was forward enough when she was off the leash. It was her soft voice that led one astray.
Finally Diana said bluntly, “You had best go home now, Lady Selena. The coiffeur will be waiting for you.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Ronald,” Lady Selena said softly, love gleaming in her eyes.
“Till this evening,” Ronald answered.
“I’m taking you home now, Ronald,” Diana said when they were alone. “And don’t ever play such a wretched stunt on me again. Have you no scruples, to be making up to Harrup’s fiancée behind his back, when he is arranging a position for you?”
Ronald drew a deep sigh. “We only have these few days together, Diana. You can count on my honor and my discretion. I would never do anything to discredit Selena, but we must have these few hours to remember. It is not too much to ask of fate.”
“My God, you sound like Peabody.”
She left Ronald off at his flat and went directly home, planning to check up on Peabody. Stoker met her in the hallway. “His lordship made a darting visit home to tell you of his appointment, Miss Beecham. He was very sorry to miss you.”
Diana’s heart plunged deeper in her chest to hear she’d missed him. “How thoughtful of him.” She smiled wanly. “Miss Peabody will be delighted with the news. I must tell her.”
“He left a note,” Stoker added, and handed her a piece of folded paper.
Diana went to her room to read it.
Dear Heart: Have a very large bottle of champagne and two glasses prepared to celebrate the victory. There is only one shadow to this day.
Her heart thudded heavily, and she closed her eyes for a moment, fearful to read on. Was he going to say he regretted his betrothal? She opened her eyes and read.
&n
bsp; Markwell looks like the cat that just swallowed the canary. Unsettling, n’est-ce pas? Perhaps we are not finished with Whitby and the billets-doux yet. Best stand prepared for another break-in. Your deliriously happy attorney general, Harrup.
There was much in the note to please her and much to cause concern. “Dear Heart” was an opening that allowed any amount of pleasant conjecture. The absence of Lady Selena’s name told her nothing, but she worried about Markwell’s gloating mood. Was it possible he and Mrs. Whitby still held the other two letters, the most incriminating ones? Why would they wait so long to use them?
She went to tell Peabody the news. “Dear Chuggie! I knew he would succeed.” Peabody smiled. “He is like a dog with a bone when he wants something. He allows nothing to stand in his way.”
“I am very happy for him,” Diana said, forcing her smile to match the dimensions of Peabody’s.
“I believe I shall just nip down and speak to Mrs. Dunaway,” Peabody decided. “The oil of cinnamon has done wonders for my ear. We must prepare a very special dinner for Harrup.”
“The Grodens are having a dinner party, Peabody.”
“Ah, then we shall miss it.” She sighed.
“Lady Groden invited Ronald and myself.”
“Did she, indeed?” Peabody asked, gratified at this attention to her two pets.
“Why don’t you stay in bed and rest?” Diana suggested.
“I am feeling much better now. I’ll stuff cotton wool in my ears and go downstairs. There is nothing so tedious as being forced into bed all day long, sipping pap like an invalid.”
Peabody dressed and went to celebrate with Mrs. Dunaway. Diana had lunch alone and spent a fairly dull afternoon in Harrup’s library, thinking and worrying. She deduced that Mrs. Whitby had purposely kept the two most incriminating letters till after Harrup’s appointment so that he would pay more dearly for them. An attorney general would be more jealous for his reputation than a mere member of the Privy Council, and more easily bled. How could she help Harrup recover his letters?
This was the subject that creased her brow when she looked up and saw Harrup standing in the doorway, gazing at her from his dark eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a look of contentment in his expression.
“Harrup! When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in,” she exclaimed.
“I just arrived. No champagne? I thought you might have begun the celebrations early.”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
He entered and rang for the champagne.
“Congratulations,” Diana said.
She felt suddenly shy of him. The old ease was gone, leaving her self-conscious and uncertain. Nor did Harrup help matters. He, too, seemed ill at ease, as though aware of her feelings. Perhaps he even shared them. His eyes would rest too long on her, then dart away suddenly. She sensed a wariness, an uncertainness of how he ought to behave. Diana decided it was ridiculous for two mature friends to be so gauche and forced herself to act normally when the champagne arrived.
“Did Markwell say anything?” she asked.
“No, but his gloating phiz has got my nerves on edge. I believe I’ve figured out why Whitby delayed dunning me.”
“Yes, so have I. The attorney general will bleed more freely.”
“Precisely. Part of the reason I left early was to follow Markwell when he left Westminster. He went to Hyde Park and met Mrs. Whitby. The two of them were laughing like hyenas.”
“Oh, dear! That does look bad.”
“When I realized Mrs. Whitby wasn’t home, I dropped around to her flat, hoping to get in somehow. There was a servant there—I know her servants and tried my hand at bribing her dresser.”
Diana looked interested. “Any luck?”
“The woman was amenable to bribery. She told me Mrs. Whitby has some papers she always keeps on her person. Two letters,” he added, lifting a brow at this significant fact.
“On her person? Do you mean in her reticule?” Diana asked. Already she was figuring when and where would be the optimum moment to snatch the purse.
“No, secreted in her bosom.”
“Oh. Then I can be no help. You’ll have to try your luck again, Harrup,” she added, a mischievous smile lighting her eyes.
“It’s too late for that. The bosom, I fear, is closed to me forever.”
“Do you think the dresser might . . .”
“Short of knocking Mrs. Whitby on the head and stealing them, I don’t see how she could help. She’s as venal as Whitby. I imagine her mistress knows of my visit by now.”
Diana drew a deep sigh. “In that case, precautions will be taken while Mrs. Whitby sleeps, too. It looks hopeless.”
“Yes, there’s always a serpent in the garden. And I hear the Grodens have laid a party on for this evening as well.”
“Lady Groden was here this morning—with Lady Selena,” Diana told him. She watched him closely and saw no light of interest at hearing the lady’s name.
“I forgot to inquire how you had spent your day,” Harrup said, and settled back to hear her story.
“I hadn’t meant to burden you with that. You have enough problems.”
“What happened?” he asked with quickening interest.
“Nothing of any account. Lady Selena decided to remain here when her mama left. I toured London with her for four hours. Ronald was with me. I half suspect the two of them had prearranged the meeting, though I don’t see how. I spoke to Ronald, and he assured me he has no ungentlemanly intentions of cutting you out. It is just that they want to store up a few romantic memories to brighten their dim future. You must be very nice to Lady Selena this evening. I don’t suppose your busy day left you time to find a kitten?”
Harrup shook his head. ‘No. I was half afraid you might have done it for me. That is—I thought you might have done it, for a joke, you know.”
It was the word afraid that set him off on that awkward explanation. They both knew it, and the knowledge that Harrup didn’t really want to conciliate his fiancée sat between them like a cocked pistol, making them nervous.
Diana blushed prettily and said, “I let you down. Where would one procure a white kitten in London?”
“I’ll be damned if I know.”
He poured another glass of champagne, and they sat on together, talking. “I will be expected to have a party to celebrate my new honor,” he mentioned.
“You’ll wait till you hear from Mrs. Whitby?”
Harrup rubbed his chin distractedly. “I don’t know what to do. I’ll look like a fool if those letters are printed. I believe I shall just go on as if there were nothing the matter, and when Whitby duns me, I’ll pay up. It serves me right for being such an egregious ass.”
“You haven’t done anything worse than plenty of other gentlemen.”
He shook his heat ruefully. “Oh, yes, I have. I was indiscreet enough to get caught. A man can get away with doing and saying things he should never put on paper. I’m a babe in the woods, and here you thought me an experienced villain.”
“At least you were a bachelor, not even engaged when you wrote them,” she pointed out.
“I’m engaged now. Groden is one of the few lords who takes high ground on moral matters, too—at least in public. His choosing me for a son-in-law indicates my character isn’t completely blackened,” he pointed out.
“Only a little tattered around the edges. Well, it seems there’s nothing to be done, so I shall dress for dinner.”
“Let’s finish the champagne,” he suggested, but when he lifted the bottle, it was empty.
Diana laughed. “You didn’t think I’d walk away if there were any left!” she teased. “It wasn’t your scintillating conversation that held me. Papa never has champagne at home.”
“My champagne thanks you for that compliment.”
As Diana’s striped lutestring was beyond repair, she was left with no choice but to wear her blue satin to the Grodens’ party. An off-the-shoulder satin gown with si
lver ribbons beneath the bodice and a ruched skirt would have been considered too ornate for a simple dinner party in the country. She feared that with such a stickler as Lord Groden she might be considered overdressed, even in London. When she had arranged her hair and added her pearl-and-diamond earrings, she went below to ask Harrup’s opinion.
He awaited her in the saloon, pacing and looking from staircase to clock. When he heard her tread, he went to the doorway. Diana stopped beneath the chandelier, a slender, graceful form. Her golden hair gleamed like a crown on her proud head. Prisms of painted rainbows reflected on her shoulders and gown from the overhead crystals. She looked at him uncertainly, wondering at his peculiar expression. He wasn’t smiling, yet she read no condemnation in his eyes.
“Do I look hopelessly provincial, Harrup?” she asked bluntly. “I destroyed my lutestring and have nothing else to wear. When one is overdressed for the occasion, she looks so dreadfully underbred. What do you think?” she asked, and did a slow pirouette.
Harrup came forward and took her hand to lead her into the saloon. “Unexceptionable. You’ll put them all in the shade.”
“Lady Groden, perhaps. I’ll hardly cast a shadow on Lady Selena’s beauty.”
“Some gentlemen prefer roses to buds,” he said, running his eyes over her from head to toe in an assessing way.
She disliked such close scrutiny and snipped at him. “I only want an opinion on the suitability of the gown. Is it too décolleté?”
His dark eyes examined the area under consideration till she felt quite warm. “Certainly not for my taste,” he assured her. “And the color suits you. I erred in calling Laura’s eyes star sapphires. It is yours that resemble the jewel.”