Letters to a Lady Read Free

we shall take them and be off,” Miss Peabody said.
    “Ah, yes, the . . . documents,” Mrs. Whitby said with a quizzing little smile. Something caused a wicked gleam to enter her eyes. She took a parcel from the table and handed it to Miss Peabody. “Give my kindest regards to Harrup, and tell him I shall look forward to seeing him soon in London. I find the country does not suit me. I can’t sleep for the racket of the grass growing.”
    “I shall be happy to tell him,” Miss Peabody answered, determined to be polite to any associate of Harrup’s. “You stay in London when Mr. Whitby is sitting in the House, do you, Mrs. Whitby?” she asked conversationally.
    “Oh, I am not married,” Mrs. Whitby said. “I have been widowed forever. Are you visiting Harrup for long?”
    Her eyes strayed to Diana, where they lingered, looking up and down for all the world like a forward gentleman.
    “No, we are not visiting him at all, except to deliver these,” Miss Peabody replied.
    Mrs. Whitby opened her lips and a silver peal of laughter tinkled forth. “You must also tell him for me that I think he mistreats his lady friends, using them for errand boys. But then, that is Harrup’s usual way, to abuse us ladies, n’est-ce pas?”
    Miss Peabody felt her spine curl. “I’m sure Lord Harrup has always treated me with the utmost kindness,” she answered firmly. “We are very happy to deliver these government documents for him.”
    Mrs. Whitby’s lovely face looked blank. Then a look of understanding flashed in her eyes, and again she laughed, more merrily than before. “Of course. We are all eager to help Parliament—especially certain noble members thereof,” she replied in a strangely insinuating tone.
    On this peculiar speech she turned and flounced from the room without so much as saying good day.
    “Peculiar woman,” Miss Peabody exclaimed as soon as they were outside the door. “Why is she still in half-mourning if she has been widowed for eons? She hardly looks old enough to have been married long.”
    “Wasn’t she beautiful?” Diana sighed. “I would kill for that gown. I’m sure she must have a French modiste. I liked her—a little brash, but lively.”
    “Handsome is as handsome does. Not even the courtesy to say good-bye. I cannot think Harrup will be overjoyed to see that one in London. I wonder what she was doing with these documents.”
    She settled into the carriage and glanced down at the packet of letters. They were held together with a pink satin ribbon. The scent of lavender was noticeable in the closed carriage. It was soon borne in on the Argus-eyed Peabody that she had seen the handwriting on the top envelope before, most recently yesterday when she received her letter from Harrup. She looked askance at Diana, who had already realized a pink satin ribbon sat uneasily on government documents. Neither did the envelopes look at all official. There were no seals on them but only Harrup’s frank. Her eyes moved to the handwritten address and she gasped.
    “Peabody!”
    Peabody stuffed the letters into her reticule and snapped it shut. “Yes, Diana?” she asked blandly.
    Her charge looked her in the eye and laughed aloud. “Too late. The damage is done. I’ve already seen Chuggie’s handwriting. Good gracious, how shocking of you, taking me to visit a member of the muslin company.”
    Blood suffused Peabody’s saturnine face, lending a livid hue to its usually sluggish complexion. She had leaped to the same conclusion a moment earlier and, for once in her life, was uncertain what posture to take. Rumors of Harrup’s affairs had reached her ears before this. She had been able to overlook intimations of a bachelor’s London peccadilloes, providing they remained rumors and remained based in London. To have pretty convincing evidence that the rumors were true and had strayed so close to Harrup Hall and the Willows was hard to digest. With no one else to take her ill humor out on, she