Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith

society. I hope Miss Longville has something I can fit into. She’s such a little squab, her gowns will be above my ankles. And these vulgar red slippers! They’re comfortable, though.”
    “She’s dainty as a sylph,” Ronald smiled.
    “Dainty as two sylphs rolled together. Her body is fuller than mine. It’s the length I’m concerned about.”
    The well-rounded sylph returned wearing a frown of confusion. “You don’t have any cases. There was nothing but the mounts.”
    “We were just out for a ride,” I answered swiftly, before Ronald took into his noggin to say more than he should. “We are visiting at Dover, and wanted to see a bit of the countryside while we’re here.”
    “Would you like to send a message to someone?” Miss Longville asked.
    “No, we are putting up at a hotel.”
    Miss Longville raised a prudish eyebrow at this. “Mr. Kidd is my nephew,” I assured her, “as well as my secretary.’’
    “It is odd, a lady having a secretary,” she said.
    “I am an author. Perhaps you’ve heard of my book, A Gentlewoman’s Memoirs of the Orient? I was to lecture at Canterbury tonight, but had to postpone it.”
    Her “Oh” said as plain as day she’d never heard of me, and had very little interest in the Orient besides. A herd of sheep would be of more interest to this country bumpkin. As the girl was rather simple, I had to remind her of the patient. “Would it be possible for Mr. Kidd to lie down somewhere for an hour or so?”
    “He can stay right here,” she answered witlessly, pointing to the sofa he sat on.
    “Perhaps we’d best send for a doctor after all. He’s passing out,” I announced, with a commanding eye to Ronald, who promptly fell into a marvelous coma.
    “I hope it’s not contagious!” Miss Longville said, and jumped back a yard or two.
    With great forbearance, I didn’t box her ears. “Call your Ruggers and a couple of footmen. We must get him into bed at once. He’ll require plenty of covers and some hot soup. It isn’t contagious, Miss Longville. It is like intelligence in that respect.”
    “But what ails him?”
    “It is a fever of the brain.”
    “Oh dear! I don’t know what Papa will say!”
    This was the first interesting utterance to have left her lips. “Your papa dislikes company, does he?” I asked. This seemed the expected behavior of a traitorous spy.
    “It’s not that. He already has company. Lord Kestrel is staying with us overnight.”
    “Overnight!”
    Strangely, the witless thing picked up on my peculiar reaction, mentioning the length of Kestrel’s visit. There was a somewhat knowing look in her eyes as she examined me. She didn’t say anything, but there was definitely a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll call Ruggers,” she said, and left.
    Ronald recovered sufficiently to walk upstairs on Ruggers’s arm. I went up behind him, accompanied by Miss Longville. “We are about to have dinner. Miss Mathieson,” she said. “Could you be prevailed upon to join us?”
    “If you have a gown I could borrow, I should be delighted,” I answered.
    “Come to my room while they settle Mr. Kidd in. We can be alone there.”
    One hardly expected to change in front of men, but I found her “alone” rather ominous. When we were alone, she said, “Did you know Lord Kestrel was here?” A sharp look in her eyes caused me a moment’s consternation, till I figured out she thought I was throwing my hankie at him and had come here haring after him.
    This put me in the devil of a predicament. I wanted to deny any knowledge of the man, but what if Kestrel blurted out that he did know me? It seemed more likely he would not do this, however, so I said, “Lord Kestrel?” in a confused sort of way that left the door open to recognition later if necessary.
    “He works with my father at Whitehall, and lives nearby.’’
    “It is strange he stays overnight then.”
    “He plans to return to London tomorrow morning. Something has come up.”
    “I