don't see why not. We'll only be meeting in social situations. He won't have any idea that we're the Go-Between. Even if he senses I dislike him, it's not going to matter. People dislike people all the time, but they're perfectly polite about it. Anyway, I'm sure I can hide it. There's no reason why I should ever be alone with him, and when we're in company I'll just keep the conversation on neutral subjects.”
“I suppose so,” her sister said, sounding unconvinced. “'Night, Chas.” She went out, closing the door behind her.
Chastity surveyed the closed door for a minute. She understood her sister's puzzlement. She was as puzzled herself by this violent dislike of a man she'd only met once. Maybe, she thought, as she got to know him better she'd find something in him to ameliorate that dislike. First impressions couldn't always be relied upon. But she didn't seem to be able to convince herself, however hard she tried, as she brushed her thick, vivid red curls the requisite one hundred strokes and completed her nighttime ablutions, hanging the emerald-green gown in the armoire before slipping into her nightgown.
She climbed into bed and lay propped on the pillows, watching the firelight dance on the molded ceiling. For some reason she wasn't sleepy. She reached out and turned on the bedside light again. An easy matter since Gideon, like Max, embraced all modern conveniences of daily life with a vengeance, whether it be electric lights, motorcars, or telephones.
There was a small secretaire in the guest room, with pen, ink, and a writing tablet. Chastity got out of bed and went to sit at the desk. She began to compose the Go-Between's letter to Dr. Douglas Farrell. He was to present himself at 10 Manchester Square on Wednesday next at three o'clock, when the lady of the house, the Honorable Miss Chastity Duncan, would be holding her weekly At Home. He was to give the butler his card and explain that he needed to talk with Lord Buckingham, whom he had been told he could meet there that afternoon.
Chastity leaned back in the spindly chair, tapping her teeth with the top of her pen. There was, of course, no Lord Buckingham. The fictitious character was merely the excuse the Go-Between routinely used to bring prospective clients together.
She put pen to paper again, explaining that Miss Duncan herself would have no idea who Dr. Farrell was, but since she was acquainted with Lord Buckingham would welcome the doctor without question.
Intimately acquainted with Lord Buckingham,
Chastity reflected with a grin. Since he had sprung for the first time from her imagination.
A lady whom the doctor might find of interest in his search for a bride would be wearing a white carnation. If, after observation, he wished for an introduction, his hostess would furnish it, again without question.
Chastity set down her pen and read through the letter. It was one she had written many times before, so she could find no fault. She signed it
The Go-Between,
blotted the sheet, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope that she addressed to the doctor, care of Mrs. Beedle's corner shop, as Douglas Farrell's original letter had requested. Mrs. Beedle acted as a poste restante for more clients than
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between, and Chastity had been puzzling for some time over why a London doctor should need a poste restante. Did he not have an address of his own? It was a question that came into the same category as what such a man with his social ambitions was doing frequenting such an unfashionable part of town.
She frowned, thinking about the surgery just off St. Mary Abbot's. Chastity had never set foot in that area of London, but she knew, or thought she did, that Earl's Court, the Warwick Road, and the Cromwell Road were not just unfashionable but downright slums, for the most part. He couldn't make much money practicing medicine there, which was presumably part of his problem. But just why would a man who was openly and
“I suppose so,” her sister said, sounding unconvinced. “'Night, Chas.” She went out, closing the door behind her.
Chastity surveyed the closed door for a minute. She understood her sister's puzzlement. She was as puzzled herself by this violent dislike of a man she'd only met once. Maybe, she thought, as she got to know him better she'd find something in him to ameliorate that dislike. First impressions couldn't always be relied upon. But she didn't seem to be able to convince herself, however hard she tried, as she brushed her thick, vivid red curls the requisite one hundred strokes and completed her nighttime ablutions, hanging the emerald-green gown in the armoire before slipping into her nightgown.
She climbed into bed and lay propped on the pillows, watching the firelight dance on the molded ceiling. For some reason she wasn't sleepy. She reached out and turned on the bedside light again. An easy matter since Gideon, like Max, embraced all modern conveniences of daily life with a vengeance, whether it be electric lights, motorcars, or telephones.
There was a small secretaire in the guest room, with pen, ink, and a writing tablet. Chastity got out of bed and went to sit at the desk. She began to compose the Go-Between's letter to Dr. Douglas Farrell. He was to present himself at 10 Manchester Square on Wednesday next at three o'clock, when the lady of the house, the Honorable Miss Chastity Duncan, would be holding her weekly At Home. He was to give the butler his card and explain that he needed to talk with Lord Buckingham, whom he had been told he could meet there that afternoon.
Chastity leaned back in the spindly chair, tapping her teeth with the top of her pen. There was, of course, no Lord Buckingham. The fictitious character was merely the excuse the Go-Between routinely used to bring prospective clients together.
She put pen to paper again, explaining that Miss Duncan herself would have no idea who Dr. Farrell was, but since she was acquainted with Lord Buckingham would welcome the doctor without question.
Intimately acquainted with Lord Buckingham,
Chastity reflected with a grin. Since he had sprung for the first time from her imagination.
A lady whom the doctor might find of interest in his search for a bride would be wearing a white carnation. If, after observation, he wished for an introduction, his hostess would furnish it, again without question.
Chastity set down her pen and read through the letter. It was one she had written many times before, so she could find no fault. She signed it
The Go-Between,
blotted the sheet, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope that she addressed to the doctor, care of Mrs. Beedle's corner shop, as Douglas Farrell's original letter had requested. Mrs. Beedle acted as a poste restante for more clients than
The Mayfair Lady
and the Go-Between, and Chastity had been puzzling for some time over why a London doctor should need a poste restante. Did he not have an address of his own? It was a question that came into the same category as what such a man with his social ambitions was doing frequenting such an unfashionable part of town.
She frowned, thinking about the surgery just off St. Mary Abbot's. Chastity had never set foot in that area of London, but she knew, or thought she did, that Earl's Court, the Warwick Road, and the Cromwell Road were not just unfashionable but downright slums, for the most part. He couldn't make much money practicing medicine there, which was presumably part of his problem. But just why would a man who was openly and
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