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between them, for the present moment at least.
     

Chapter Five
     
    It was a vast relief to Deirdre, and an even vaster one to Pronto Pilgrim, when the duchess decided the weather was too inclement for her to walk from the front door to the carriage, and from the carriage to the lending library.
    “Bring me home the latest novel by Madame d’Arbley, and if they haven’t got that, I’ll take anything by Mrs. Radcliffe,” she said. “You know what I like, Deirdre,” she added, waving them from the drawing room. What she really liked was a Gothic tale, the scarier the better.
    As Donaldson’s was just around the corner, they had stopped and chosen their books within a few minutes. Pronto was unable to find anything by Ben Franklin for Belami, but decided the very thing to impress Miss Gower was Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Romans , which he took out for himself. He set it ostentatiously on the seat beside him, drawing her attention to it by tapping it with his knuckles.
    “What’s that you’ve borrowed, Pronto?” she asked.
    “It’s all about the Romans,” he said, feeling this was a safe guess.
    “Oh, dear, how very dull,” was her disappointing comment. “I had no idea you read such heavy books.”
    He assumed she was weighing his brain, as Belami mentioned he used books for. “It’d weigh four or five pounds,” he decided, hefting it, before letting it plop to the seat, its job done in impressing her.
    She nibbled a smile and said, “I don’t have to return home immediately. Since we’re so close to the Royal Pavilion, shall we drive by and have a look at it?”
    He couldn’t believe his simple plan was so effective. Just one glance at Plutarch and here was she, throwing herself at him. Pronto lowered his window and hollered to his groom to “go on up Pavilion Parade past the Chinese place.” They both gazed out at the conglomeration of domes and minarets, pinnacles, the arcade of arches and columns—all bathed in a golden winter sun. The garden looked derelict in its dusting of snow.
    “Now that’s what I call a house,” Pronto said, smiling in pleasure.
    “It’s certainly a building at least,” she agreed, trying to think of a word to describe such a macedoine of styles, all rolled into one incongruous whole. “It looks as if it might have been drawn by Fuseli.”
    “I’ve heard the name Nash mentioned and a somebody Holland,” he said, eager to set her straight.
    “Yes, they’re the architects. Are you in a hurry to get away, Pronto?”
    “Not at all. What else can I show you? There’s a dandy little cemetery not too far away, just by St. Nicholas’s Church.”
    “That’s a little too lugubrious for me.
    “Hate ‘em myself,” he said with relief. ‘‘Seems to me we have a deal in common. Just say the word and I’ll steer John Groom.”
    “It was a real estate office I had in mind,” she answered.
    “Eh? Don’t tell me you’re planning to put Dick’s house up for sale? He won’t like it a bit, my girl. Nothing likelier to put him off than you cutting up such rigs without asking him,” he said sternly.
    “Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course I’m not selling his house. I want to inquire about another house, a much cheaper one. How would you like to marry me, Pronto?” she asked as calmly as though asking the time of day.
    “Well, upon my word! I haven’t even read the book, Miss Gower. Truth to tell, it ain’t likely I ever will. I only took it out to impress you. Have you and Dick had another tiff?” he asked suspiciously.
    “Another tiff? What do you mean?” she asked, startled.
    “He told me all about it last night. About you hopping around to Charney’s tune and not paying any attention to him. I could see trouble brewing, but I never thought it would get here so soon.”
    “What did he say exactly?’’ she asked swiftly.
    “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. I’m sure you could reel him back in all right and tight with a little clever angling,”