Letters to a Lady by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

was pointing at a man who was approaching them. Diana looked quickly as the man bustled past, his head buried in a letter. She saw a young man of average height and build. He had chestnut hair and a nondescript but not displeasing face.
    “That’s him,” Peabody gasped.
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’ll never forget his bold face as long as I live.”
    Diana felt a thrill of triumph. She said to the clerk. “Did you recognize that man? I think I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
    “That’s Viscount Markwell, old Lord Belvoir’s son and heir. A bright young lad. He’s working with Lord Eldon’s office.”
    “Yes, I thought so. About my note—would you mind waiting a moment? I just remembered something I must add.” She hastily scribbled down the gentlemen’s name and sent it off to Harrup.
    “That’s that,” Peabody said happily as they went to the carriage to proceed to Ronald’s hotel. “I am very happy to be able to help Chuggie. A morning in that dreadful aerie was well worth it. I hope I haven’t taken one of my chills.”
    “Yes,” Diana agreed, but a frown creased her brow. Harrup had thought the man must be a Whig. Why would a fellow Tory want to embarrass his own party? The man worked with Eldon, besides—he must be a friend of Harrup’s. “Are you quite sure that was the man, Peabody?”
    “Positive. The same eyes, a ginger shade, and that little lock of hair falling over his forehead. He’d had his hair cut. It wasn’t quite so short over the ears before, but it is the same person, I promise you.”
    Perhaps Harrup could make some sense of it. Diana’s part in the mystery was over, and she turned her mind to Ronald. He was waiting in front of the hotel for them, pacing up and down the street. As the street was empty, he didn’t bump into anyone. His papa often said his son couldn’t cross a desert without knocking something over.
    Ronald was a slender but elegant figure. He was prey to no freakish excesses of fashion. His jacket of blue Bath cloth was well cut, the buttons not ostentatiously large or yet too small for the current mode. His waistcoat was a discreet beige, his Hessians polished to a city sheen. He lifted his curled beaver when he saw them, revealing hair like an infant’s, fine as silk and the color of sand, slightly curled.
    Ronald always managed to be pale, whatever his health or whatever the weather. What could be expected, when he stayed up too late and remained too much indoors reading? Constant reading gave his young eyes a fatigued look, and his habitual expression was one of irresolution, but his smile was sweet and gentle, his whole desire to please as he hastened forward.
    “Diana, Peabody! At last you’ve come. I’ve been pacing up and down this street since nine o’clock this morning. What kept you?”
    “I’ll tell you all about it, Ronald,” his sister replied.
    “Why on earth did you not wait for us in your room? We would have asked for you.”
    “I thought you might not like to go into a hotel alone,” he said vaguely. As he helped Diana from the carriage, he managed to knock her bonnet askew.
    “Good gracious, we may be provincials but we’re not that backward! Is there somewhere we can go and sit down? I expect Peabody would like her tea,” Diana said.
    Ronald offered a hand to Peabody, who was swift enough to escape his help and reach the road unharmed. “We could go into Ibbetson’s,” he mentioned. “Or to my place. I haven’t found a servant yet, but I am to pick up the key to my flat this morning. At ten-thirty, actually,” he added, pulling out his watch.
    “In that case, you’d better get into the carriage at once,” Diana said. “You’re nearly two hours late.”
    Ronald directed the driver to the real estate office and thence to his rooms. During the trip, Diana informed him of their adventures since leaving the Willows. “As Homer said, ‘There is no more trusting in women.’ I doubt there ever was,” Ronald said