Mrs. McVinnie's London Season Read Free Page A

the
bank draft. “I suppose you can write ‘void’ upon the draft and send
it back. You probably should accompany it with a letter,
Galen.”
    “ I am
sure that would be best, Jeannie, although …” His voice trailed off
and then he began to laugh. “Oh, the things Aunt Jeannie used to
write about the Summers boys! I would almost give a year of my
pension to see the look on William Summer’s face if you were
to show up in Jeannie’s place!”
    Jeannie smiled
indulgently at her father-in-law. Men will have their little jokes,
she thought as she returned the letter to the envelope. She
retrieved the draft and placed it with the letter on the mantel,
where it would remind Galen to reply.
    Her cloak must be dry
by now. Nodding to her father-in-law, who was still in the grip of
a huge good humor, she went into the other room and picked up her
plaid.
    She was smoothing out
the fabric when the idea took hold of her. So Captain William
Summers wanted a woman of good sense, did he? And he wanted Jeannie
McVinnie, in particular.
    She went to the desk
and looked at the calendar there. April, May, and June. Was that
not the extent of a London Season? It would amount to a few balls,
suppers, and parties to occupy her agreeably while Galen McVinnie
went to his regimental reunion and trout-fishing in the
Highlands.
    Jeannie knew that he
would do none of these things if she remained in Kirkcudbright. He
would remember his promise to his dying son and stay to look after
her, even though he longed to be elsewhere. She shivered. Even
though you so politely wish me elsewhere, Galen McVinnie.
    “ You
McVinnies are so stubborn,” she said out loud. “If you will not do
what is best for you, then I must. And surely one Jeannie McVinnie
is as good as another.”
    She gave the idea
several minutes’ thought. When nothing surfaced to wave her away
from it, Jeannie went to the door of the sitting room. Galen was
still there, only he was rereading his well-read note from Laird
Ross. He looked up at her and Jeannie made her decision.
    “ Father McVinnie,” she declared, “I have a wonderful notion.
Tell me what you think of it.”
     
     

Chapter
2
    J eannie’s first glimpse of London was disappointing in
the extreme. Because of a loose wheel, their entrance in the city
had been delayed until dusk. The rain, which had been threatening
all day to fall, thundered down, obscuring what little else she
could have seen.
    Her back ached from the
discomfort of sitting upright hour after hour. She longed to curl
up in a dark corner and abandon herself to sleep. Food could wait;
clean linens could wait; she wanted to sleep.
    The mud-spattered coach
pulled into the Bull and Hind with a flourish of the horn and a
great squeak of water-soaked brakes. It remained only to reclaim
her baggage and procure the services of a hackney.
    The several hackneys
for hire were quickly bespoken for by the other occupants of the
mail coach, who danced about in the sodden roadway, raising their
hands to attract the attention of the drivers and then leaping back
to the curb in time to avoid an accident.
    I can never do that,
thought Jeannie. I will be forced to stand here until spring at
least, or until someone takes pity. She was the only unescorted
woman remaining in what was obviously an unsavory neighborhood.
That thought, plus a sudden rush of water down the back of her
neck, compelled her into the street. She waved her arm vigorously,
and to her infinite relief, a jobbing cab stopped.
    “ And
where’ll ye be heading, now, miss?” asked the driver.
    “ Three
Wendover Square, if you please,” she replied.
    The driver whistled.
“That’s a mighty fine direction, miss,” he said, and leaned down
from his box. “Now you’ll not be offended if I ask ye to show me
some money first, will ye? It’s a bit of a way to go.”
    And I look none too
prosperous soaking wet, she thought grimly as she dug about in her
reticule and salvaged a handful of coins. The