Little Coquette by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online

appearance.
    So was Beaumont when he called for her. “A charming chapeau, Lydia. I was afraid you planned to wear that hideous scrap of nothing you wore this morning. I would be ashamed to be seen with you,” he said, smiling to show her he was joking.
    She returned an icy little smile. “I had no idea you were so superficial, Beaumont.”
    “Clothes reflect the mind of their wearer. That is an elegant bonnet for an elegant mind. Shall we go?”
    “You will join us for dinner, I hope, Beaumont?” Nessie said, pleased with the unintentional compliment to herself.
    “Thank you, ma’am. I would be delighted. Eightish?”
    “No, earlier!” Lydia exclaimed.
    “You are not in the country now, dear,” her aunt said.
    “But—but the lecture begins at eight,” she said.
    “Oh yes, the Coleridge lecture,” Nessie said. “It slipped my mind. What is the subject?”
    A guilty flush started on Lydia’s cheeks. She had read that Coleridge was to give a series of lectures and thought it would be interesting to attend, but as it was unlikely, she hadn’t paid much attention. She cast an appealing eye on Beaumont.
    “Shakespeare,” he said. “Coleridge is involving himself in the controversy over whether he actually wrote his own plays. Nonsense, of course, but Coleridge likes a good argument.”
    “That should be very interesting—for bluestockings,” Nessie said with a tsk.
    They made their escape soon after that little contretemps.
    Lydia was disappointed to see Beaumont’s crested carriage waiting at the door. No one would see her in Nessie’s lovely bonnet. She immediately chided herself for this vain thought.
    “Why did you change carriages?” she asked.
    “You expressed disappointment that I had driven my curricle this morning. I did it to please you.”
    “Oh,” she said, her expression making perfectly clear she was not pleased. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of you, Beaumont,” she said, and climbed into the rig.
    “Did you have any luck with your searching?” he asked.
    “Very little, just one note, dated the day before Papa came home. Her first name is Prissie. Papa bought her a bonnet before he left. Red, like the one the lady in the river wore. She said she would be away for a few days. It is odd she didn’t mention it if she was going to Kesterly.”
    “Perhaps she thought your papa would not like it.”
    “Then you think he didn’t know where she was going? It is odd that he returned home himself the very next day.”
    “Coincidence. What else did the note say?”
    “Coincidence, or did he write her and invite her?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” Beaumont said. “He is too sharp to foul his own nest.”
    “She mentioned a man named Dooley. She was having some trouble with him. She said Papa would know who she meant. Do you recognize the name?”
    After a frowning pause, Beaumont said, “No, the name means nothing to me. Irish, of course.”
    “Oh.” She sat, thinking.
    “You didn’t ask me what I discovered,” Beaumont said, chewing back a smile of triumph.
    She looked at him with interest. “Did you find out something?”
    “I did. Her name was not St. John for one thing. It was Prissie Shepherd. I expect she used an alias at the inn because of its being so close to Trevelyn Hall, in case anyone who knew of her association with your papa should see her name in the register. Or perhaps she had some other reason. If she was having trouble with this Dooley fellow, she might have been trying to avoid him.”
    “I wonder what trouble she was in.”
    “Let us hope we find a clue at her apartment.”
    “I didn’t get her address,” Lydia said, and sighed.
    He gave her a triumphant little smile. “I did.”
    “Where? How?”
    “From a friend.”
    Her eagerness faded to chagrin. “Then everyone knows about her and Papa?”
    “There are few secrets in London, but the friend I got it from is not one of the everyones you are concerned about. It wasn’t Prinny. It was a