Mrs. McVinnie's London Season Read Free

children—Larinda, who has just turned seventeen, and
Edward, who is fourteen and now Lord Summers. Larinda has begun her
come-out, and I have been ordered to London (I shall explain this later!) to act as head of the household. This is the
reason for my letter. I am in desperate need of a companion for
her, someone to chaperone her to parties and routs and such.
    You will recall that my
sister, Agatha Smeath, has for years been a quasi-guardian, filling
in where I could not, because of the press of war. You remember
Agatha and her flibertigibbet ways. She cannot be relied upon to
usher Larinda out and about. I need someone of dignified years,
considerable countenance, and copious good sense. Naturally, I
thought of you.
     
    “ Well,
I like that,” Jeannie declared. “I am not above
twenty-four!”
    Galen laughed.
“Jeannie, remember, we do not know this man. Nor does he know
you.”
    “ Then
we should not be reading his letter,” she said crisply. “I feel
like a Peeping Tom. Oh, bother it all! Let me finish. There isn’t
much more. Where was I?”
     
    In short, I need
someone who will not be flummeried by a headstrong chit just out of
the schoolroom. My dear Miss McVinnie, I rely on you to drop
whatever it is you are currently involved in and hurry to Number 3,
Wendover Square, where my sister has engaged a house for the
Season.
    I await your arrival
with considerable interest. It has been twenty years since we have
laid eyes on each other, although I have enjoyed your occasional
letters over the years. I trust I have improved since our last
meeting, although I do not know that I will satisfy your
expectations. I certainly never satisfied anyone else’s.
    I remain yours truly
and desperately,
    William Summers,
    Captain of His
Majesty’s Venture
     
    Jeannie stared at the
letter another minute. “I am no wiser than I was when I began this
letter, Galen. How odd! Can you make anything of it?”
    Her father-in-law took
the letter from her and reread the concluding paragraphs. The
crease between his eyes deepened for a moment and then disappeared.
He was smiling.
    “ All
right, sir, out with it! He cannot possibly be referring to
me.”
    “ Indeed, he is not,” Galen agreed. “My dear, this is delicious!
I only wish she was here to savor the moment.’’
    “ Who are you talking about?”
    Galen tapped the
letter. “This … Captain Summers can only be referring to my aunt
Jean McVinnie. You never knew her, and more’s the pity. Delightful
woman, if a trifle outspoken.”
    “ Oh,
how unlike the McVinnies I know,” Jeannie quizzed.
    “ Baggage! Seriously, she died—well, it wouldn’t have been too
long after that affair at Trafalgar that the good captain
mentioned.”
    “ Then
there really was another Jeannie McVinnie?” Jeannie asked. She
looked at the letter. “And she was—”
    “ A
nanny.” Galen finished her sentence. “Indeed she was, for five
years. When Mother died, she returned here to Kirkcudbright to keep
house for Father.” He chuckled. “And I don’t believe she was sorry
to shake the dust of London off her shoes. Bless me if she didn’t
refer to this very Captain Summers as—oh, let me see, I must get
this right—‘a thoroughly denatured son of Satan.’ ”
    Jeannie gasped and then
giggled.
    “ And
as I recall, that was one of her kinder phrases.” Galen leaned back
on the sofa, his eyes meditative. “Yes, yes, it was Will, because
George was a decided slow-top. My dear, you would have loved her
letters home. Come to think of it, they must still be about here
somewhere.”
    Jeannie picked up the
envelope and shook out the draft on a London bank signed by Captain
Summers. “I suppose this is for the mail coach and posting houses,”
she said. “Goodness, it is a substantial sum. Does this give us
some indication of the degree of desperation?”
    “ A sea
captain stuck in the middle of a come-out,” Galen said. “It does
make the blood run cold.”
    Jeannie handed him