Autumn Glory and Other Stories by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online

as she told him, “Nessie is good. She is kind and caring, besides being beautiful and talented. She would make any man a fine wife.” Irma paused so he could listen to her sister’s sweet voice raised in a tender ballad, then she started twisting the strings on her reticule. “You, um, aren’t by chance considering her, are you?”
    Winn pretended to consider the outrageously forward question, studying the angelic vision at the instrument. “Hm. Perhaps I should.”
    “You mustn’t!” came back promptly, bringing a smile to his lips.
    “I though t not. I suppose I had better be seen paying my addresses to another young lady.”
    “No, that would only raise hopes in some poor female’s heart. You might even be forced to marry the girl.”
    “What if I pretend to fix my interest with you, then, so your estimable parents won’t thrust Miss Inessa at me? Just a pretend flirtation, you understand.”
    Irma laughed out loud, then bit her lip when several frowning heads turned in their direction. “Whoever would believe a paragon like you would choose a sad romp like me over Inessa?”
    Winn could think of any number of gentlemen who would prefer a spirited, loyal, and intelligent dazzler to a milk-and-water beauty. Some men favored diamonds; he for one fancied rubies. He held his peace, watching the sparkle in Glory’s eyes as she continued.
    “Besides, if you don’t drop the handkerchief, Mama means to attach Mr. Frye.”
    That brought Winn back to the drawing room with a start. He looked around and spotted the man she mentioned, sprawled in a side chair, staring at the girl at the pianoforte like a dog that’s missed dinner for two days. “That middle-aged mushroom? For Inessa?”
    “He’s wealthy, and raises champion racehorses.”
    “’Pon rep, you wouldn’t let— No, of course you wouldn’t. I demand a part in the maneuvers. What’s your strategy to be this time, General?” He gestured toward the pianoforte, where young Allbright had joined his baritone voice to Inessa’s soprano. “Somehow I doubt another compromising situation will arise.”
    “No, I have a much better plan.” She fumbled with her reticule, whose strings were now in knots. “I merely need a sample of Mr. Frye’s handwriting. Well, not his actual handwriting. I was hoping to stay down after the musicale and offer him a few more brandies, then ask him to write out the recipe for a poultice for my mare. That was the best I could think of. But you can do much better, if you really want to help. Do you?” His nod answered her eager question. “You can stay with him till he’s truly foxed, then get him to scribble something truly terrible.”
    “Like what?” Winn took the purse away from her and unwound the strings. “A seditious statement against the government? A blackmail threat?” Irma took back the reticule, fumbled inside, and pulled out a pointed quill. “It doesn’t matter what, as long as he’s so disguised he doesn’t notice the pen.” She triumphantly presented the item to the viscount, who checked around to make sure they were unobserved, smiling to himself at the intrigue, before examining the quill more closely. He raised his eyebrows. “Tiny pinholes?”
    “Mama cannot stand a messy hand. She says it denotes a flawed character.”
    “So the tampered pen and Demon Rum shall strike him from the lists?”
    Irma bit her lip. “As far as Mama is concerned. It might be best if you got him to write something Papa wouldn’t like, a love poem or such.” She patted his hand in reassurance. “You’ll know what to do; you can speak six languages.”
    So the pride of the Foreign Office was supposed to stay up half the night with a slimy cit he hardly knew, get the toadeater castaway enough to blot and bedaub an incriminating letter—and all for an engaging green-eyed, grinning chit who had such confidence in him, he could move a mountain.
    He did better than move a mountain. He moved two.
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    Only the