Little Coquette Read Online Free PDF Page A

but she could hardly leave without seeing him, and it seemed best to do it with her mama so that she would not have to say much.
    Sir John, wearing a white linen nightshirt with a ruffled neckband, was propped up in a carved bed of imperial size, curtained in red damask. The elegant chamber had been turned into an ad hoc office, with papers and documents scattered over various tables and the desk. He had a folio of government papers in front of him and a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his aquiline nose.
    Lydia observed him as if he were a stranger, for so he seemed to her now. He was an elegant figure, even in his nightshirt. Age had been kind to him. The silver wings that adorned his temples lent an added air of distinction to his lean, swarthy face. As he had heard no rumor of the lightskirt’s murder, it never occurred to him that there was any ulterior motive for Lydia’s visit to London. He felt a match with Beaumont an excellent thing and directed a kindly smile at her as he removed his reading spectacles.
    “Enjoy yourself, Lydia. I have every confidence in your good sense. I don’t have to tell you not to run into trouble. Bring me my strongbox. You’ll want a little pocket money.”
    Lydia brought the strongbox from his desk. He unlocked it and handed her a few bills of large denomination.
    “Thank you, Papa,” she said in a failing voice. His smile was as gentle and loving as ever and seemed genuine. How was it possible, when he had been leading a double life all this time?
    Lady Trevelyn enquired dutifully how he was feeling and if there was anything the servants could do for him. He said he was feeling somewhat stouter; then the ladies rose to leave.
    “Aren’t you going to kiss me good night, Lydia?” he asked.
    A jolt of anger smote her heart at the casual words. She had to quell the angry tirade that rose to her throat. She blew him a kiss from the door, fearing that if she touched him, she would burst into tears of frustration,
    “I shan’t disturb you again tonight, John,” his wife said. “Good night, dear. I hope you sleep well.” Lydia noticed her parents had not exchanged a kiss, nor had her papa asked his wife if she was not going to kiss him.
    “Good night, dear,” he replied, already putting his spectacles back on and drawing his papers forward.
    After Lydia went to her room to change for dinner, it struck her as odd that her parents should say good night so early. They hadn’t dined yet. It wasn’t even dark out. Her mama was not going out, nor was there company coming. Did her mother know about the lightskirt? Was that why she treated her husband so coolly, hardly like a husband at all, but like a troublesome guest?
    All this was so worrying that Lydia wanted to be alone to think about it. She used the excuse of packing to go up to her room immediately after dinner. It took Marie, the upstairs maid, only half an hour to pack up what was required for the short visit. When the trunk was ready, Lydia lay on her bed, looking at the window as the purple shadows of twilight dimmed to darkness. She tried to remember if she had ever seen any tokens of affection between her parents.
    Her mama talked about Sir John a great deal. In theory, her life revolved around him, but when he came home from London, she just gave him a peck on the cheek and asked how everything was going at Whitehall. It was Lydia herself who flew into his arms and welcomed him more warmly. She was the one who asked the more detailed questions about what he had been doing. Her mama just sat, poking her needle into whatever piece of embroidery she was working on, listening with perfect contentment. When she spoke, it was about little neighborhood doings.
    When Lydia became aware that the window had turned black, she glanced at her watch and saw it was ten o’clock. She rose to go belowstairs to say good night to her mother. As she passed her father’s room, she saw a stream of light coming from the partially