To Dream of Love Read Online Free PDF

been presented to her by the vicar’s wife, who had social aspirations and had been much impressed by Harriet’s grand statement that she was to have a season in London. Around her shoulders she wore a gold brocade stole, one of the few pretty relics of her mother’s wardrobe.
    Harriet had thought they both looked very fine when they set out from Pringle House. But here, in the heart of fashionable Mayfair, contrasting their clothes with the finery they saw about them, she feared they looked like a couple of upper servants trying without success to ape their betters.
    She wanted to turn and flee. But the footman was stolidly waiting on the doorstep.
    They had not been able to afford the expense of visiting cards, but Harriet had neatly penned their names on two homemade squares of card and had turned them down at the corners to show Cordelia that they were calling in person.
    The footman gingerly took the cards and went back inside, shutting the door in their faces—an open condemnation of their shabby appearance.
    At last, the door was opened again, this time by the butler, Findlater. He surveyed them sorrowfully, as if dealing with such persons went right to his heart, and inclined his head as a signal that they were to enter.
    The hall was bright with flowers in vases and had a black-and-white tiled floor. A graceful staircase led to the upper floors.
    “Please wait here,” said Findlater grandly, and then proceeded to mount the staircase with maddening slowness.
    “Well, here we are, Aunt Rebecca,” said Harriet brightly.
    “I wish we had not come,” whispered Aunt Rebecca nervously. “The atmosphere of this house is
not
welcoming.”
    “Fustian,” said Harriet bracingly. “I shall enjoy living here, I think.”
    Findlater came majestically down the stairs, their two cards on a silver salver. He fixed his eyes on the cornice. “My lady is not at home.”
    “What!” Harriet gasped. Then she recovered. “How silly of me. She has merely gone out.” She looked hopefully at the butler. “We will wait until her return.”
    “That,” said Findlater impassively, “would not be advisable.”
    Tears gushed out of Aunt Rebecca’s eyes. “To refuse to see her own sister,” she wailed. “It is too much. Oh, Harriet, I
cannot
go back in that coach again. I would rather
die.”
    “At least we do have a home to go to,” said Harriet gently, although her mind was working feverishly. The marquess’s generosity had meant they had been able to travel inside, but now they had only enough money left to take two outside places.
    “Come, Aunt,” urged Harriet. “We are not wanted here.”
    There was a brisk knocking at the door.
    Findlater opened it and bowed low before the two men on the step. “This way, my lord, Mr. Hudson,” he said. “My lady is expecting you.”
    “Miss Harriet!” exclaimed Mr. Hudson, walking into the hall. “And Miss Clifton. What are you doing here?”
    The Marquess of Arden stood framed in the doorway.
    “We are just leaving,” said Harriet in what she hoped was a dignified manner.
    But at the sight of Mr. Bertram Hudson and the Marquess of Arden, Aunt Rebecca began to cry noisily again.
    “It’s so terrible,” she said. “Cordelia will not even see us. Her own sister! And me … her aunt!”
    “Her sister!” exclaimed Mr. Hudson. “But Lady Bentley said that her sister had died after she rescued her from the river.”
    “Are you Lady Bentley’s sister?” demanded the marquess, his eyes fastened on Harriet’s face.
    “Yes,” said Harriet stiffly. “Now, if you will excuse us …”
    “No, we will not,” said Mr. Hudson hotly. “If Lady Bentley ain’t going to entertain you, then she ain’t going to entertain
us.”
    “What is all this commotion?” Cordelia appeared at the top of the stairs. Her blue eyes widened as she took in the scene: the marquess looking amused, Mr. Hudson glaring up at her in a fury. Aunt Rebecca weeping, and Harriet staring