The Stanforth Secrets Read Free

Bristol.”
    “Saucy chit,” said the Duchess as she snatched her letter.
    “Lady Mackering?” queried Chloe with a twinkle. “Why, I would have thought her at least sixty.”
    The Dowager cackled. “Seventy-seven. She is a year older than I. What airs and grace she put on about that year when we were girls!” She broke the seal and began to read greedily.
    Chloe sorted the remaining post more methodically. Three missives were clearly accounts and she placed them to one side. One was addressed to Lord Stanforth, and this too she put apart. There had been three Lord Stanforths within the space of one year, and the current viscount was still abroad with his regiment. Anyone unaware of the confusion could hardly have urgent news to impart. The remainder of the post presented more of a problem. Chloe sighed.
    Her grandmother looked up. “Are you maundering again, Chloe? Why don’t you just open them all?”
    Chloe shrugged. “It is so distasteful to be opening other ladies’ correspondence. I don’t know why people cannot learn to address them correctly. See, here is a letter from my old friend Emily Grantwich—we were at Miss Mallory’s together, you know. It is clearly and correctly addressed to Chloe, Lady Stanforth. Here is one simply addressed to Lady Stanforth. You know Belinda is hurt whenever I open her letters, but it does look as if it’s from Herr van Maes. He is doubtless hoping to wheedle a few more invitations to dine at the Hall.”
    “Let him wheedle,” said the Duchess. “He springs for handsome gifts, I’ll give him that.”
    Both ladies looked at the fine set of oil paintings which the Dutch antiquarian had presented to Chloe last Christmas. The four small landscapes represented the seasons with pictures of villagers around an apple tree.
    “Yes,” said Chloe. “Almost too handsome. I admire the pictures but they seem excessive payment for a few quiet dinners.”
    “Perhaps he was attempting an investment,” said the Duchess with a smile. “It wouldn’t be strange if he had an eye to more than your dinners, gel.”
    Chloe shook her head, accustomed to her grandmother’s naughty tongue. “I never saw any sign of it. Anything younger than a half a millennium holds no interest for him at all. In fact, he probably just wanted to dispose of such modern pictures. Now, what should I do with these letters?”
    “You could let Belinda handle all the business,” said the Duchess unsympathetically. “As the widow of the most recent viscount, it’s her responsibility.”
    “Do you really think so?” said Chloe with a slight frown. “I am not sure . . .”
    “God’s sake, gel. Don’t take me seriously! It’s bad enough having that farmer’s daughter around the place, ingratiating herself. She wouldn’t know how to run a hedge-tavern, never mind a place like Delamere.”
    Chloe had to fight back a giggle. Daughter, wife, and mother of dukes, the Duchess had a low opinion of the local girl married by Stephen’s successor, his Uncle George.
    “Really, Grandmama, how can you say such things? Be fair. Belinda was educated at a respectable seminary. She does not disgrace herself, and I believe she genuinely likes to help. She’s not without sense, you know, and if necessary she could learn to manage the Hall. With George dead, however, we all know there’s no point. If her child had been a boy and inherited the title, I would have trained her, but with a daughter she will not reign here. As soon as Justin arrives he will doubtless marry, and then we will all be free of the burden.”
    “Ha,” said the Duchess. “The sooner the better. Can’t wait to see you upon the Town again. There won’t be a man in London with his wits left.”
    “Grandmama!” said Chloe, blushing very prettily. “Among all the latest blossoms?”
    “I haven’t seen one to match you in a decade, my dear. You know I never condemned you for eloping from the schoolroom, but you deprived me of an anticipated