Letters to a Lady

by Joan Smith

  Such heavy-handed flattery as this could only be treated as a joke. “I don’t suppose you’d care to put it in writing?” she quipped.

  A spontaneous burst of laughter came from Harrup. It was a natural sound, unlike the sardonic mirth she was more accustomed to hearing from him. “I’ve gone beyond the acceptable limit of complimenting, have I?” he asked.

  “When the eyes become jewels and the lips rosebuds, a lady knows she is dealing with a gazetted flirt—and a demmed unoriginal one to boot.”

  “The gazetted flirt I can forgive, but unoriginal? Cut to the quick, Miss Beecham.”

  Before more could be said, the door knocker sounded and Ronald was admitted. His arrival reminded Diana that her brother’s job was still unsettled. She looked hopefully to Harrup, who was regarding Ronald closely.

  Diana followed his gaze, trying to see Ronald as an outsider would. Beside Harrup, he looked extremely unprepossessing. Slight in stature, young, the jacket not of the first stare or even of the second, and one glove already dropped on the floor. Poor Ronald. He looked like an unlicked cub, and it struck her as unfair that he should make such a poor appearance when he was actually very intelligent. To add to the rest, Ronald wore a sulky expression, due to his rampant jealousy of Harrup.

  “Congratulations, Harrup. I hear you got the position,” Ronald said.

  “Thank you. Later this evening we must decide what post best suits your abilities,” Harrup replied.

  This hopeful remark brought a smile to both the Beechams’ faces. It was in this cheerful mood that the carriage embarked for Lord Groden’s house.

  Chapter Eight

  The atmosphere at the Groden residence had changed noticeably from Diana’s last visit, and she soon deduced that the cause of the change was Lord Groden. There was a formality, a stiffness bordering on hostility in his manner. Lord Groden was a fierce-looking old gentleman with snow-white hair and bushy gray eyebrows. He wore a habitual scowl and spoke gruffly. Though he was trying to smile on this occasion, it was such an unusual expression for him that he had only indifferent success.

  As soon as the preliminaries had been accomplished—introductions and congratulations to the new attorney general—Groden turned piercing gaze on the newcomers. Neighbors and friends of his future son-in-law were of some slight interest. To Groden, a lady was no more than an ornament and a potential bride for someone. He tacitly acknowledged that Miss Beecham fulfilled her ornamental function adequately, and as he had no unmarried sons, her dowry didn’t interest him. It was Ronald Beecham whose bona fides must be established before he was made welcome under his roof.

  “My gel tells me you are just down from Oxford and looking about for a position,” he said accusingly to Ronald.

  Ronald shifted uneasily in his chair. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

  “Speak up, lad.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ronald said, too loudly this time.

  “What sort of work is it you have in mind?”

  “All work is noble,” Ronald answered simply. Groden drew his monumental gray eyebrows together and stared. “Shoveling out a stable ain’t noble, sir. Nor proper work for a university lad, either. You’re a Tory at least, I take it?”

  “The Beechams have always been Tories,” Harrup informed the host.

  The gray brows eased to mere hostility. “Are you interested in government at all?” he asked Ronald.

  Ronald glanced at Selena, who nodded her encouragement. “Any man who isn’t interested in the body that exercises control over his life is a fool. I hope I am not a fool, sir.”

  “Aye, there is something in that.” Groden nodded, satisfied to hear his work described so properly. “The Tories have ruled for many a long year now, and mighty fine control they have exercised, too.”

  “As Aristotle says, they should rule who are able to rule best,” Ronald announced, then added modestly, “I do not mean to say I see my role as a ruler, but as a handmaiden to rulers.”

  Harrup saw Groden furrowing his brow—it would be that “handmaiden” that did it—and spoke up to protect the hapless boy. “Something can be found for Mr. Beecham in my office.”

  “Do you know anything about the law?” Groden asked Ronald.

  “Not much specific detail, but I know that law is order, and good law is good order. I would be happy to be a cog in the wheel of lawmaking. Again referring to Aristotle, ‘For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them.’”

  “You’ll not find Parliament to be much like Aristotle’s Utopia,” Groden warned him.

  “Actually Plato wrote the Republic, sir. I was quoting Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics just now. The Republic is interesting, but too idealistic ever to work.”

  Ronald continued with various learned notions on the importance of politics and law. Groden was not a literary man himself, but he knew the value of a quotation and said to Harrup, “I daresay the lad could dress up a speech with all the trimmings. We could use a good speech writer. And the boy’s politics are sound. ‘Even when laws have been written down, they ought not always to remain unaltered.’ There is a useful bit for changing our minds on the Corn Laws.”

  Lady Selena, resplendent in a pale blue gown with white underskirt, smiled softly at Ronald. Words of praise from her papa were rare. Before long, the small party had broken up into three discrete groups. Groden and Harrup sat talking in one corner, Ronald and Selena in another, and Diana and Lady Groden in a third. It was a fairly wretched party, both the conversation and food heavy. The best part of it was that it broke up early. Diana observed that Harrup and Selena didn’t exchange a single private word, nor even those speaking, secret smiles that might be expected between a betrothed couple.

  She took Harrup to task for it after they had delivered Ronald home. “You were supposed to conciliate your young bride this evening, sir,” she reminded him. “I didn’t see you put yourself out to do it.”

  “I’m only flesh and blood. Could you make love to anyone under the eye of that father?”

  “Indeed I could not. I felt as though we had wandered into a spinster’s wake. You might as well get used to it; you will spend many such lively evenings after you’re shackled.”

  Harrup felt a shiver run down his spine, as though someone had just walked over his grave. What an appalling prospect! “And you haven’t met the brothers and sisters yet,” he said bleakly.

  Diana laughed lightly. “I don’t know how Ronald could remember quotations in such a setting. You must get Lady Selena away from them—take her out for some drives—and get to know her.”

  “Yes, I should, but first I must deal with Mrs. Whitby.”

  “Why don’t we take a spin down Glasshouse Street and see if she’s home?” Diana suggested.

  “What’s the point in that?” he asked, yet he felt strongly inclined to drive past her house himself.

  “Merely to satisfy vulgar curiosity. I feel the need of some common vulgarity after our evening of overwhelming propriety. We could peek in Markwell’s window—see if they’re together.”

  Harrup pulled the check string and directed his driver to turn left into Glasshouse Street. He and Diana alighted and walked along arm in arm till they reached the house. Markwell’s rooms were in darkness, but that was of no use to them. Overhead, lights gleamed in nearly every room of Mrs. Whitby’s flat. Sounds of revelry—music and loud laughter—indicated that she was having a party.

  “I wonder who’s invited,” Diana mused.

  “Short of loitering in the shadows till two or three to watch them leave, I don’t know how we can find out.”

  “I do!” Diana said, and laughed.

  “We are not crashing that party,” Harrup said very firmly.

  “I am not that encroaching!” she defended. “What I had in mind was George Cuthbert. He has taken the flat next door. Let us see if he’s home. We could peek out his door or just listen from his saloon. The voices can be heard from the street. You might recognize some
accents from right next door.”

  “I’m not really that interested.”

  “Come on.” She had already pulled him up the walk. “If men from your department are in league with Markwell, you must want to know,” she pointed out.

  They entered the hallway and started mounting the stairs. As they were halfway up, a door at the top opened, and two laughing voices were heard heading to the stairway. Harrup turned and fled down to hide himself behind the steps. The celerity of his departure left Diana stranded. She moved aside and smiled as two bucks a little the worse for drink came lumbering down. Hoping to recognize them from her visit to the House of Lords, she searched their faces closely. One was young and not unhandsome; the other an elderly gentlemen, stout, red-faced, nearly bald, but exceedingly elegant. Her perusal was all the encouragement they needed.

  “I think we must return to Laura’s rout if this little ladybird has come to entertain,” the elderly gentleman suggested. His bold grin set her nerves on edge.

  The younger man reached out an unsteady hand and pulled aside her cape to view her charms. Her eyes fiery, she snatched the cloak back and kicked his shin. “Get your hands off me, you fop!”

  The elderly man reached for her arm, but before he could grasp it, she turned and pelted downstairs, just as Harrup’s head appeared around the corner of the staircase. In the split second it took her to find shelter, she got a glimpse of Harrup’s face, white with fury, eyes blazing like live coals. The two bucks were following closely at her heels.

  She frisked to safety behind Harrup and missed the first blow, but she saw the elderly gentleman go crashing to the floor. The other blinked in surprise and exclaimed, “Harrup!” just before Harrup landed him a facer that sent him sprawling on top of his companion.

  “Well done, Harrup!” she congratulated.

  There was no answering smile, but only a black scowl.

  “Is that enough vulgarity for you?” he asked curtly.

  She was not listening, but examining the bodies on the floor, which were showing signs of recovery. “They’re all right. Let’s get up to Cuthbert’s place before someone else comes,” she suggested.

  Without answering, Harrup took her arm and drew her from the building.

  “I don’t see why you’re in a pelter. You recognized one of the men, as we hoped to. Is he someone you and Markwell work with?”

  “No, he is Lord Groden’s second son,” Harrup said through thin lips.

  “Really! But how nice for you! You thought they were all as boring as Groden. There is one you’ll have something in common with.”

  “I am not a drunkard, nor do I molest defenseless ladies,” he said through thin lips.

  Diana realized he was in no mood for conversation and went silently to the carriage As soon as he had caught his breath, Harrup turned to revile her. “I must have been crazy, going along with your cork-brained idea!”

  To avoid a lecture, she said, “We should hurry straight home. You might have received a threatening letter from Mrs. Whitby by now.”

  Harrup sighed wearily. “Of course I have. Nothing else would be a suitable finish for this night.”

  “Don’t worry,” Diana said, patting his hand. “Groden’s son can’t tell his papa you were there without revealing he was there, too.”

  “It’s not Groden’s son I’m worried about,” he said in a hollow voice.

  “Harrup! Who was the other man? If you tell me it was Lord Eldon—”

  “Lord Eldon? No, it was no one so insignificant as the lord chancellor. It was Prinney’s brother, the Duke of York.”

  “Oh!” A quick gasp of breath hung on the air. “How fortunate you already have the appointment. I daresay that could have hampered your getting it,” she said, and held her breath to hear what he replied.

  “I daresay it could,” he answered, and closed his eyes.

  Diana was very much surprised that the next thing Harrup did was to begin laughing quite hysterically.

  No letter had arrived when they reached Belgrave Square. Harrup had ceased his hysterics, and Diana tried to discover how serious his landing the Duke of York a facer might be.

  “They no longer use the Tower of London as a holding pen for victims of the ax. I think that, like Groden’s son, we may assume York won’t want to broadcast his attendance at Laura’s rout. As it’s still early, we might as well begin planning my do. I want to have it before you and Peabody leave,” he mentioned.

  She was more than eager to change topics. “We should go home this week. You couldn’t arrange a rout that quickly, could you?” she asked.

  “Go home? You’re not going to leave me before the Whitby business is finished?” he asked. He sounded shocked and even angry at the idea.

  Something in her wanted to remain. She had become involved in the complications of his interesting life and would not be at all happy to leave before it was straightened out.

  Regret soon turned to peevishness. “We can’t stick around forever like a pair of barnacles,” she answered gruffly. “Besides, it looks odd for me to be staying here with you. Lady Groden asked rather pointedly how long a visit I was making and whether I had any relatives in London. I know what she was getting at.”

  Harrup knew perfectly well the visit should end. There was no impropriety in a short visit, particularly as Peabody was his cousin, but to lengthen it would raise a few questions. “Stay for the party, at least. We’ll have it the day after tomorrow. That is an unexceptionable reason for remaining a little longer. Even Lady Groden realizes a party doesn’t arrange itself. It requires a hostess—that is, someone to oversee the invitations and flowers and so on.”

  “Who usually does it for you?” she asked. “I know you frequently have parties.”

  “Mama, when she is in London. She is touring the Lake District with her sister this spring, however, which is why I require your help,” he replied reasonably.

  Diana considered this and agreed. “I do feel I ought to repay your kindness,” she said. “I will be happy to write the invitations, but you must know I haven’t a notion about ordering music or flowers or food for such a stylish do.”

  “Mrs. Dunaway handles all that,” he said, giving the lie to his mother’s involvement in former parties.

  “What does your mama do?”

  “Nags.”

  Diana regarded him doubtfully. “I’ll ask Lady Selena to help me,” she decided, and looked closely for his reaction.

  His first response was negative; then he suddenly changed his mind and said, “Excellent! And I shall try to spend a little more time at home, too—to get to know Selena better,” he explained.

  Harrup got the list of guests from his last party and went through it, deleting some names and adding others. “It will be just a small do,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper bearing fifty names.

  Diana blinked. “I am very happy it is to be so small. This will take hours. I’ll ask Lady Selena to help me do the cards.”

  In the interest of haste, Mrs. Dunaway was apprised of the party that same evening and flew into a flurry of activity. Peabody offered her assistance. And Harrup, the cause of it all, was left alone in his study, rubbing his chin and wondering if York had recognized him.

  The next morning Diana was up early to discuss a few matters with Harrup before he left. She accompanied him to the door, still chattering. “I asked Ronald to drop around my office this morning,” he mentioned. “I believe I’ve settled on the proper position for him, but I’ll let him tell you himself.”

  Diana smiled warmly. “Thank you, Harrup,” she said, and took his hand. Harrup squeezed her fingers tightly, and before he left, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  She mistrusted the sparkle in his eyes. “I hope you feel the same after you learn his post,” he said, and left quickly.

  Diana was on nettles, waiting to hear from Ronald. She wrote a note to Lady Selena requesting her help in arranging the party before she started writing the invitati
ons. Lady Selena arrived so promptly, one would think she had been waiting with her pelisse and bonnet already on.

  “It was kind of you to ask me to come.” The lady smiled shyly. Looking all around the entrance hall, she added, “Is Ronald here?”

  “No, he isn’t,” Diana replied. “The cards are in Harrup’s office. Shall we begin writing them?” In the commotion, it hadn’t occurred to her that Ronald and Selena would be thrown together. She would send Ronald off as soon as she learned his position.

  He arrived within half an hour, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ll never guess what, Di! I am to be Harrup’s special assistant!” he crowed. Then his happy eyes fell on Lady Selena and glossed over in a surfeit of good fortune.

  “Congratulations,” Diana said, but already she foresaw considerable difficulty in this scheme. Although it was kind of Harrup to give Ronald such a good post, it seemed unwise in the face of Ronald’s devotion to Lady Selena. This was why Harrup’s eyes had been sparkling when he left.

  Why had he done such a mischievous thing? She had warned him of the danger.

  “Papa thought you were very clever last night,” Lady Selena confided softly to Ronald.

  “I would have been a deal more clever if I hadn’t been trembling in my boots,” he admitted.

  “We are very happy for you, Ronald,” Diana said.

  “And now, I’m afraid we must ask you to leave. Lady Selena and I have a hard morning’s work before us.”

  “I am to help you,” Ronald told her happily. “Harrup most particularly asked me stay here today and give you any assistance I can for the party. It is my first assignment as his special assistant. Till he gets a desk and office fixed up for me, you know, I cannot do much at Westminster.”

  An angry buzzing sounded in Diana’s ears. What was that wretched man up to? He knew Lady Selena would be here all day. He knew she would be too busy to ride herd on them as she ought to do. She lifted her chin and said coolly, “In that case, perhaps you should speak to Mrs. Dunaway and see what needs doing while Lady Selena and I write these cards.”