Promise Me Tomorrow by Candace Camp Page A

wistful look on her face. He wondered what she made of it.
    “Who?” Lady Ursula demanded. “Who is this Mrs. Cotterwood?”
    “You know, Mama, the lady we met last night at the party. That woman you know, Mrs. Willoughby, introduced us.”
    “I scarcely know Mrs. Willoughby—encroaching woman! I doubt that any friend of hers is someone we want to know.”
    “Perhaps she is no more a friend of Mrs. Willoughby’s than you are,” Penelope suggested.
    Her mother’s eyes narrowed, somewhat suspicious that Penelope in her quiet way was making game of her. But Lord Buckminster said seriously, “There you go. Probably Mrs. Willoughby was encroaching to her, too. Mrs. Cotterwood is perfectly respectable, I’m sure.”
    Lady Ursula’s pursed mouth made clear her opinion of Lord Buckminster’s ability to judge respectability. She turned toward Lord Lambeth. “Is she known to your family, Lord Lambeth?”
    “Oh, yes,” Justin replied easily. “I’ve been acquainted with Mrs. Cotterwood for some time.”
    Penelope shot him a grateful look as Lady Ursula remarked, somewhat reluctantly, “I suppose that she is all right, then.”
    “I invited her to call on us,” Penelope went on, pressing her point.
    “Without asking me first?”
    “Well, you were not there,” Penelope pointed out reasonably, “and I quite liked her.”
    “Are you going to call on her, Pen?” Lord Buckminster asked, blithely unaware of Lady Ursula’s disapproving look at his use of Penelope’s nickname. “I would be happy to escort you.”
    “I’m afraid I cannot. I don’t know where she lives,” Penelope confessed. “She did not tell me, and I didn’t think to ask.”
    Buckminster’s face fell so ludicrously that Lambeth had to smother a laugh.
    “Who is she?” the Countess asked. “Have I met her?”
    “I don’t think so, Grandmama. She is very nice—and she’s beautiful, as well.”
    “Ah. A rare combination, to be sure.” Lady Exmoor smiled at her granddaughter.
    “Yes. But that isn’t even the best part. She likes to read. We had a nice chat about books. She had read this one I borrowed, and she said it was thrilling. In fact, that’s where I met her. I was coming from the lending library, and she was going to it.”
    “I hope I shall meet her.” The Countess looked across at Lord Buckminster, who seemed to have sunk into a gloom, and Lord Lambeth, whose attention was focused on a tiny piece of lint he was picking from his trousers. “But I am afraid we are boring our visitors. Lord Buckminster came to see if we had had any word from Thorpe and Alexandra.”
    “Oh! And have you?” Penelope’s interest was diverted.
    “Yes. I got a letter from Alexandra this morning. They are still in Italy on their honeymoon—Venice now, it seems. She waxed quite ecstatic over the beauty of it, but she did say that they planned to come home shortly.”
    “Good. I shall like to see her again.”
    “Yes. I say, that will be bang-up,” Lord Buckminster agreed, abandoning his glumness. “Thorpe’s a good chap.” He paused. “Lady Thorpe, too, of course—well, what I meant was, not a chap, of course, but still—though I don’t know her all that well—I mean—”
    “Yes, Bucky,” Lady Ursula stuck in blightingly. “I feel sure we all know what you meant to say.”
    “Er—yes. Quite.” Buckminster subsided.
    “I feel sure you will be very glad to have Lady Thorpe back, Lady Castlereigh,” Lord Lambeth said blandly to Ursula, observing her through half-closed lids.
    The Countess smiled faintly and carefully avoided looking at her daughter. Lady Ursula colored. Most people in the ton knew how little she had believed that Alexandra Ward was her long-lost niece when the American heiress had arrived in London a few months ago, and how vigorously she had fought against the Countess’s accepting her as such. When finally it had been proved, she had given in with ill grace.
    “Of course I will,” she told Lord Lambeth,