A Question of Impropriety Read Online Free PDF Page A

He had seen them before. He idly took down a book. ‘Finch, Finch. Should I know the name?’
    â€˜You won’t find song birds there, begging your pardon, sir,’ Hunt, the butler, put down the tray of port. ‘Birds and natural history have always been kept at the other end of library. Shall I fetch you a book on the subject?’
    â€˜Songbirds?’ Brett snapped the book and turned to face his new butler. ‘Admirable insight, Hunt. You must tell me how you do it some time. Songbirds, indeed.’
    â€˜I do try, my lord.’
    Brett waved a hand, dismissing the butler. Then in the stillness of the room, he poured a glass of port from the decanter and swirled the ruby-red liquid.
    Songbird. Finch. Algernon Finch. Son of Hubert Finch, Viscount Whittonstall. He’d died in the duel. That dreadfully point less duel over a disputed Cyprian. How could he have forgotten the name of Bagshott’s opponent? The man who had un wit tingly changed Brett’s best friend’s life and his own. A stupid boorish man who’d got every thing he’d deserved.
    It bothered Brett that the detail of Songbird’s name had slipped away. He had been so sure that he would remember every thing. The mud, the mist and the absolute horror of a life ended in such a way. Bagshott had already been up to his neck in debt, but it had not stopped him from quarrelling with Songbird. Standing on the dock after he’d bundled Bagshott into a ship, Brett had vowed that he wouldmake a new start, that he would succeed and would restore his family’s fortune. That he would not waste his talent, waste his life; but would use it wisely. But he had forgotten Finch’s first name. And that of the man’s fiancée.
    How much else had he forgotten? Brett pressed his knuckles into his forehead.
    Now all he had to do was remember her name, and why she was off limits to him.
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    â€˜A man approaches,’ Rose said the next morning as Diana sat re-trimming her straw bonnet in the dining room. ‘He is driving one of the smartest carriages I have ever seen.’
    â€˜Since when were you interested in carriages, Rose?’
    â€˜I have an eye for a well-turned carriage, same as the next woman. My uncle used to work at Tattersalls. You should have seen them come in their carriages.’ Diana’s maid gave a loud sniff. ‘Which admirer of yours drives such a thing?’
    â€˜I have no admirers, as you well know.’ Diana bent her head and concentrated on the bonnet. A large silk rose now hid the mudstain and the ribbons were a deep chocolate brown instead of hunting green. More sombre. Less noticeable. By following her rules, her life was returning to its well-ordered pattern. ‘It will be someone coming to see Simon.’
    â€˜The master is at the colliery. Where he always is these days. Why would a man not call there?’
    Diana stood and went to stand by Rose. Her breath stopped. Lord Coltonby neatly jumped down from the high-perch phaeton and handed the ribbons to his servant. Diana drew back from the window as his intense gaze met hers. Her heart skipped a beat, but ruthlessly she sup pressed it. She began to pace the drawing room. ‘Lord Coltonby, Rose.He has come to call. What has Simon gone and done now? I told him to wait.’
    â€˜Shall I inform his lordship that both you and the master are not at home, Miss Diana?’ Jenkins asked, coming into the dining room.
    â€˜No, no, Jenkins. I will see him. I want to know why he is here. I can only hope that Simon has not done anything rash.’ Diana’s hands smoothed her gown and adjusted her cap so it sat squarely on her head. Although some might have argued that at twenty-two she was far too young for a cap, Diana had worn it ever since that dreadful day in London when she had received news of Algernon’s death. There was a safety of sorts in caps. ‘You may show him into the drawing room if he