Lady Hathaway's House Party Read Free

he would be there, and she had written back assuring her, truthfully, that he would not. Who would believe her? Belle would think she’d planned it, and spend her weekend hiding in her room.
    Lady Hathaway could have gone on thinking about it all day, but she had more urgent things to see to. There was her dance, which she might call a ball if enough of the neighbors sent in acceptances, and if she felt up to it. That would call for a larger orchestra and more elaborate decorations than the dozen potted palms she had rented from the florist. It would also call for some brainwork as to who should lead off. She must also order extra ricks of hay for the stables, and hire some village girls to help Pierre out in the kitchen.
    Thank God for Pierre! At least her meals would be unexceptionable. Talk to him about the menus and see to wines. She took up her list of accommodations and began her other work, with only intermittent memories of the Avondales to pester her. She was always happy when she was planning a party. How good it was to be planning a party again! A pity Alfred wouldn’t be here. He used to like her parties too. He would have enjoyed the Italian soprano. On second thought, maybe it was as well he wasn’t here.
     

Chapter Two
     
    In Devon, the Duchess of Avondale sat waiting for Mr. Henderson’s carriage to pick her up. By leaving at nine o’clock they would reach Ashbourne before dinner. She wished she had declined Lady Hathaway’s invitation, and said so one last time to her father, Sir Donald. “I can’t think why I’m going,” she said, tapping her foot and wondering still how she could get out of it.
    “You’re too young to be cloistered,” Sir Donald replied, only mechanically now. Belle was packed and she had accepted the invitation, so of course she would go.
    “I’m not cloistered,” was her automatic reply. “I see everyone."
    But everyone at Easthill was only a handful of neighbors. She should be in London with her husband. One way or the other, the matter must be settled. If she was serious about never going back to Avondale, then there must be a divorce arranged, and if she wasn’t—well, close to a year was long enough to play games. She owed it to Oliver as well as herself to get the position regularized. And how would it be done, Sir Donald wondered. She never said a word against Avondale, but she had been saying a good deal about Mr. Henderson lately, and what she said had a marrying sound to it.
    Arnold was kind, and understanding. He was very pleasant to be with. Anderson was forced to read backward from this that Oliver was not kind and understanding, not so pleasant to be with. Whatever Belle wanted, he would stick by her, but it did seem a little odd to her father that she would want Arnold Henderson when she already had a real man. Arnold Henderson was—well, he was easy to be with, but so was a dog. He had big brown eyes like a puppy, and was as faithful as a dog to Belle. Always there, trotting after her. If that’s what she wanted, she never should have married Avondale. Still, one mistake at eighteen years couldn’t be allowed to spoil a girl’s whole life. He loved Belle too much to condemn her to that.
    This Hathaway person was Avondale’s cousin, and while Sir Donald’s first hope that Oliver might be there, pulling strings, had been vanquished by the letter assuring Belle he wouldn’t be there, still the two were cousins. Some meeting might be attempted or arranged, pushing either a reconciliation or a divorce. It would get Belle out of this rural rut she had sunk into. Maybe prod her back to London, and maybe that would be the best thing too, to get rid of the puppy at her heels.
    “I hope Lady Hathaway won’t think it odd, your going with Henderson,” her father said.
    “Nothing is considered odd in that circle, Papa.”
    Glancing at Belle, he thought she must have been considered odd. A simple little country girl, green as grass, pitched into the middle