Barbara Metzger by Miss Lockharte's Letters Read Free Book Online

appeared, for the viscount's sister was next to arrive at his erstwhile private office. One look at her and Wynn's heart sank. Susan's face was red, her eyes were swollen, and she clutched a sodden handkerchief in one hand, a crumpled piece of paper in the other. Sarah Siddons before noon. Just what he needed.
    "No."
    Susan stopped short in midsob. “No? But I haven't said anything yet."
    "No anyway. No whatever. No. No matter what it is you are hoping to wheedle out of me with your histrionics. No. And if you throw something else at me, Sukey, I swear I'll marry you off to the next man I see."
    Stubbing coughed and backed out of the open door, red-faced.
    Susan's gaze followed the officer's ramrod-straight back. “Who was that, Wynn?"
    He groaned at the sudden interest in her voice. “My new secretary. No one for you to know. Now, please, Susan, I am busy...."
    "But, Wynn, we have to do something.” She waved the paper in his face. “Miss Lockharte is dying! She might even be dead by now."
    "Lockharte, is it? I couldn't tell. I got one of her missives also. High melodrama to make herself interesting, puss, nothing to send you into a decline."
    "Oh, no, Wynn. There really is an epidemic at Miss Merrihew's. Most of the girls have been sent home. And Lady Mary did die. It was in the newspapers this morning. So, you see, you have to go to Brighton."
    " I have to? She's your friend, Susan. Why aren't you going?"
    "The Farragut rout is tonight and Almack's is tomorrow, then there is a theater party on Thursday. Besides, you'd never let me traipse off to Brighton by myself."
    "True, but why the deuce should either of us be going to Brighton in the first place?"
    'To help Miss Lockharte, noddy. I told you."
    "I appreciate your confidence, puss, but if your friend is already dead, I'm afraid she's beyond even my help. I'm only a viscount, you know, not God."
    "I know that you are being purposefully dense. You have to go to Miss Merrihew's at Worthing, outside Brighton, to make sure, to offer aid if need be, and to lay flowers on her grave."
    "Good grief, why should I do any such thing? I never met the woman."
    "Yes, you did. And you—we—did her a Great Wrong."
    Wynn could hear the capital letters. He sighed for his lost morning, sure Susan was about to elucidate.
    She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “I wanted her as my companion when I left Miss Merrihew's, but you said no."
    Wynn vaguely recalled something of that nature, but he brushed it off. “You knew Cousin Lenore was coming. She's the perfect companion, up to every rig and row, widowed and respectable. And she needed the position."
    "But Lenore is old, and Rosellen was my friend."
    Lenore was Wynn's own age. He shrugged. “I am sure your friend found another post."
    "That's the problem. She never did. Miss Merrihew wouldn't give her any references once she had given notice. Then the old witch was horrid to her, and now she's dead, and it's your fault. The least you can do is lay some flowers on her resting place. That was her last request."
    Wynn seemed to recall that the termagant's last request was for his head on a platter. He rustled through the trash until he found her letter. He reread what he could of the splotched, crumpled mess. “It's no wonder she couldn't find another place teaching penmanship,” he muttered.
    Susan didn't wait for him to finish reading. “And she told me I had to be firm, I had to stand up for myself and not let you control my life with your high-handed ways."
    "And you think I should have hired some ... some seditionist to encourage you in this fustian, thinking you know better than your guardians?"
    "It's not fustian, it's my future. And I will not marry your friend, no matter how many times you invite him for dinner. Doesn't the man have a cook of his own? For sure he doesn't have any conversation."
    "Lenore has no trouble talking to Tripp Hayes."
    "Then let Cousin Lenore marry the dullard. I will not.” She stamped her