quite sure he crawled to the cupboard, Peabody?” Diana quizzed. “I’m sure you told me Chuggie was walking at nine months.”
“Not when he was in a hurry. He could walk at nine months, but he had the cutest way of dragging himself across the floor, pulling one foot behind him when he was in a hurry. My, what a mess he made of his frocks.”
Diana turned a mocking gaze on Harrup. “He sounds adorable. Remarkable how he has changed.”
“She is only funning,” Peabody assured Harrup. “You never knew such a lively soul, Chuggie. How she makes fun of all the beaux at the assemblies at home. She can mimic the vicar’s droll tones to a T. Do the vicar for Chuggie, Di.”
Harrup turned a laughing eye on her. “Turnabout is fair play, milady. Your turn.”
“You show me the famous dragging crawl and I’ll do the vicar,” Diana bargained.
When the meal was finished, Peabody informed Harrup she was going to her room to knit him a new pair of slippers, for she was sure those shoes must be uncomfortable after a hard day at work. “Now that you are about to settle into a married man,” she said coyly, “your days of running around town are numbered. You will want to spend the evenings with your lady by the fireside. I’m sure she has all accomplishments, Harrup. You were always so demanding in that regard—remember how you used to scold about your mama’s friends. ‘No conversation,’ you used to say, though I’m sure the talk never flagged a moment. It will be quite like old times, having the nursery occupied again.” She sighed happily.
“Thank you, Peabody. You are too kind,” Harrup said, concealing his impatience as best he could.
Peabody gushed happily and went to search out her woolens. Not till she had left did Harrup turn a leery eye on Diana. “My God, how long have you had to listen to tales of my ingenuity?”
“For twenty-five years.” She sighed. “You may imagine our astonishment when such a paragon as dear Chuggie turned out to have feet of clay.”
“Peabody was sadly disillusioned with me over the Whitby affair, I should think?” he asked.
“You underestimate the height of your pedestal. It is all Mrs. Whitby’s fault. She preys on innocent young thirty-five-year-olds. Reality and Peabody’s memories run in separate channels. By the way, it was kind of you to go and visit her downstairs yesterday. I forgot to thank you.”
“It is I who should thank you for drawing it to my attention. I should have thought of it myself.”
“You’re very busy,” Diana said forgivingly. “Dear me, I’m beginning to sound like Peabody!” She smiled. “Let us go. Lady Selena may not be so understanding if we’re late.”
They left to call for Lady Selena. Harrup asked Diana to go into the Grodens’ house with him, but she elected to wait in the carriage. It was there that she had her first view of Lady Selena. Even in the dim light she could see the girl was an incomparable. A wave of black hair swept from her high forehead. The color of her eyes was indistinguishable, but their large size and luminosity were apparent, as were the contours of her face. A high cheek, a small nose, the face tapering to a nearly perfect heart shape below. Yet with all this beauty and high birth, there was no sign of haughtiness in the girl. Diana waited to hear how the vision spoke. The soft, hesitant voice was childish.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Beecham,” she said, and for the remainder of the trip she said virtually nothing.
Harrup prodded her to speech by making leading statements. “Miss Beecham is my neighbor at home,” he said.
Lady Selena smiled shyly.
“I hope we shall see a good deal of each other after you are married,” Diana said to fill the silence.
A faint “Yes” was whispered in the darkness.
“Do you ride? There are some lovely rides at Harrup Hall,” Diana said. Her voice sounded loud and harsh to her own ears.
“A little. Not much,” Lady
“Not when he was in a hurry. He could walk at nine months, but he had the cutest way of dragging himself across the floor, pulling one foot behind him when he was in a hurry. My, what a mess he made of his frocks.”
Diana turned a mocking gaze on Harrup. “He sounds adorable. Remarkable how he has changed.”
“She is only funning,” Peabody assured Harrup. “You never knew such a lively soul, Chuggie. How she makes fun of all the beaux at the assemblies at home. She can mimic the vicar’s droll tones to a T. Do the vicar for Chuggie, Di.”
Harrup turned a laughing eye on her. “Turnabout is fair play, milady. Your turn.”
“You show me the famous dragging crawl and I’ll do the vicar,” Diana bargained.
When the meal was finished, Peabody informed Harrup she was going to her room to knit him a new pair of slippers, for she was sure those shoes must be uncomfortable after a hard day at work. “Now that you are about to settle into a married man,” she said coyly, “your days of running around town are numbered. You will want to spend the evenings with your lady by the fireside. I’m sure she has all accomplishments, Harrup. You were always so demanding in that regard—remember how you used to scold about your mama’s friends. ‘No conversation,’ you used to say, though I’m sure the talk never flagged a moment. It will be quite like old times, having the nursery occupied again.” She sighed happily.
“Thank you, Peabody. You are too kind,” Harrup said, concealing his impatience as best he could.
Peabody gushed happily and went to search out her woolens. Not till she had left did Harrup turn a leery eye on Diana. “My God, how long have you had to listen to tales of my ingenuity?”
“For twenty-five years.” She sighed. “You may imagine our astonishment when such a paragon as dear Chuggie turned out to have feet of clay.”
“Peabody was sadly disillusioned with me over the Whitby affair, I should think?” he asked.
“You underestimate the height of your pedestal. It is all Mrs. Whitby’s fault. She preys on innocent young thirty-five-year-olds. Reality and Peabody’s memories run in separate channels. By the way, it was kind of you to go and visit her downstairs yesterday. I forgot to thank you.”
“It is I who should thank you for drawing it to my attention. I should have thought of it myself.”
“You’re very busy,” Diana said forgivingly. “Dear me, I’m beginning to sound like Peabody!” She smiled. “Let us go. Lady Selena may not be so understanding if we’re late.”
They left to call for Lady Selena. Harrup asked Diana to go into the Grodens’ house with him, but she elected to wait in the carriage. It was there that she had her first view of Lady Selena. Even in the dim light she could see the girl was an incomparable. A wave of black hair swept from her high forehead. The color of her eyes was indistinguishable, but their large size and luminosity were apparent, as were the contours of her face. A high cheek, a small nose, the face tapering to a nearly perfect heart shape below. Yet with all this beauty and high birth, there was no sign of haughtiness in the girl. Diana waited to hear how the vision spoke. The soft, hesitant voice was childish.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Beecham,” she said, and for the remainder of the trip she said virtually nothing.
Harrup prodded her to speech by making leading statements. “Miss Beecham is my neighbor at home,” he said.
Lady Selena smiled shyly.
“I hope we shall see a good deal of each other after you are married,” Diana said to fill the silence.
A faint “Yes” was whispered in the darkness.
“Do you ride? There are some lovely rides at Harrup Hall,” Diana said. Her voice sounded loud and harsh to her own ears.
“A little. Not much,” Lady
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