A Dream Come True by Barbara Cartland

imagined.’
    She took the letter out of the machine and looked for a fresh sheet of paper, but she could not find a single piece anywhere on the desk.
    â€˜Perhaps there is some in the desk drawers?’ she pondered, pulling one open.
    There were a few envelopes and pencils inside and she could not help but notice a cheque book. Knowing that she should not, she slid it out of the drawer slowly and opened it.
    Almost the first stub she came across was one clearly marked Sir Arthur McAllister and had been made out for the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds.
    â€˜So, the bargain has been sealed,’ she muttered, putting it quickly back into the drawer.
    Every now and then she would pause in her work and listen out for signs of life in the room next door, but it was ominously silent. She only wished it was not quite so obvious what was going on.
    â€˜Come and see my etchings indeed!’ she snorted. ‘I wonder if my stepfather knows that I am working for a man with loose morals and thinks nothing of flaunting his amours in front of his servants and his secretary? But I would suppose that my stepfather has chosen to turn a blind eye to any rumours as the lure of twenty-five thousand pounds will have proved enough to buy his ignorance.’
    Her own father, she knew, would no sooner have compromised the reputation of his daughter than he would have eaten dinner with the wrong set of cutlery.
    She remembered what an effortlessly well-mannered and pleasant man her father had been and it made her so very sad.
    â€˜Oh, Papa,’ she prayed, momentarily forgetting the duties at hand. ‘I hope that you are watching over Mama and willing her better. I miss you so very much.’
    It was all she could do not to cry as her eyes threatened to fill with tears. Quickly, she searched for something else to do and noticing another pile of letters she began to inspect them.
    Sure enough they were yet to be answered, each one with pencilled notes from Lord Winterton, guiding her as to how to respond.
    And again there were unopened letters that she supposed to be from ladies.
    She stood with the silver letter opener poised over the first one, hesitant.
    â€˜Well, he did say I should open everything and compose a clever reply,’ she exclaimed before slitting it open.
    She quickly scanned the contents. It was in the same vein as the other letter. Another lady, this time a Mrs.Radford-Hall, had written entreating him to visit her the following weekend as her husband was away in Scotland.
    â€˜Does Lady Shelley know that she is not the only woman in his life?’ she wondered, as she quickly composed a suitably efficient yet noncommittal reply.
    â€˜I do wish he had not insisted that I open these billets doux and reply to them. It really isn’t something to entrust to a new secretary.’
    It occurred to her that Lord Winterton may have been playing a game with her.
    â€˜Perhaps he seeks to shock and finds sport in outraging me,’ she debated. ‘Well, I will prove to him that I am not easily ruffled!’
    With the letter to Mrs. Radford-Hall completed, she opened another. The hand was ill-formed and came from an actress at the Gaiety Theatre.
    She raised a neat eyebrow and then replied that she was very much afraid that his Lordship would not be able to attend an intimate dinner after her performance in The Sunshine Girl at the theatre that Saturday.
    She also replied to a rather important Duchess, a French Comtesse and a woman who simply signed herself, your own Margaretta.
    As she put the finishing touches to the last one, she heard Lady Shelley’s voice outside in the hall. Then the front door opened and closed.
    â€œThank Heavens she has gone,” said Lucia out loud.
    Not five minutes later, a rather dishevelled-looking Lord Winterton appeared in the study. He seemed quite unabashed about the fact that his waistcoat was partially undone and his hair was no longer neat and