“Not, I understand, until the last trump,” he replied. “I fully expect the current order to continue unchanged until then.”
“It may,” she agreed with undiminished sweetness, “but, if I were you, my lord, I would show kindness to the lower orders lest you be caught unprepared.”
“Lord!” he exclaimed with disdain. “Must I be looking over my shoulder all the time? Are you a daughter of the Church? I must suppose such a preachy female to have received a depressingly sanctimonious upbringing. I am surprised you are able to bring yourself to attend an evening devoted to mammon.”
“I consider it to be my duty, my lord,” she replied in repressive tones.
At this point Louisa interrupted, exclaiming, “You are both behaving in a ridiculous manner: Agnes, why have you taken such a strong dislike to poor Lord Danehill, who has gone to the trouble of getting out his carriage to fetch you? And, my lord, why are you taunting my dearest friend because she does not possess a fortune?”
“He began it,” Agnes said.
“No, I did not; you did,” he replied. “You rushed immediately to denounce me as a nobleman. I can no more help my birth than you can help yours.”
“That is true,” she acknowledged, “but I was jesting – at least I was at the start.”
“Well, now it is time to put up your swords,” Louisa said, “and make friends.”
“I think that might be going a little too far,” his lordship replied, “but I will certainly withdraw all the insults you disliked, Miss Helman, and, to show how willing I am to start afresh, I will beg you, if there is to be dancing, to stand up with me for the first dance.”
“Lud!” she exclaimed. “Do you know, it will not only be the first dance of the evening but, for me, the first dance of my life. I hope I will not disgrace you, my lord.”
Chapter 17
Parting from Lord Danehill in the hall, Louisa led Agnes up the stairs, explaining as she went that she had been assigned to her old bedchamber.
“Thank you, but I cannot stay too long; I do not think I should abandon Lady Armitage all night.”
“Why in the world not? She has one of her sons with her and she managed perfectly well before you became her companion.”
“Yes, but she did not have the son with her then! I do not believe that he is much comfort to her – in fact, the very reverse. And what if he should take a turn for the worse?”
“Well then it would most likely be a very good thing if you were not there! Surely she is capable of keeping an eye on her own son without your help?”
“In any event, I have not told her I will be staying all night and neither have I brought any baggage.”
“No, but we can easily send a note and I can provide everything you need for the night. You can go back tomorrow after breakfast if you must, but only to fetch more clothes. I do not think I can face all these fashionable people without you by my side.”
“I cannot see how I can help except by being so unsophisticated that you will seem positively tonnish in comparison.”
“Well, there you are! That is precisely why I need you but it is my opinion that you only pretend to be a mouse. You stood up to Danehill in a remarkable fashion!”
“I own I do not like him; I find him high in the instep and – and – frankly – a little sinister.”
“Are you warning me against him?” Louisa asked, frowning.
She led the way into her bedroom, saying that she wanted Agnes’s opinion on her dress.
“No, I don’t think I’m in any position to do that; after all, I do not know the man. I think, if I were to warn you, it would be just to be a little wary.”
“I do not intend to marry him!”
“Do you not? What else do you mean to do with him?”
“Flirt a little, I suppose.”
“I would advise caution there in particular because he is so much older than you and so steeped in town bronze that it is difficult to perceive the real man beneath; that aura of power, which is what I think attracts you, may turn out to be uncontrollable.”
“Good Gracious! Are you saying that, if I encourage him in the least degree, he may not, in the end, take no for an answer?”
“I do not suppose he means to force himself upon you; I think it far more likely that he is thinking of making you an offer but, if you decide you don’t like him and you say no, I am just a little anxious that he might then try to force you – to pay you back, as it were, for humiliating him!”
“You do not like him, do you?”
“No; the thing is that he is trying to please you because he thinks he might pursue you in earnest but has not, perhaps, altogether decided on it just at present. His attitude towards me is entirely different because I am beneath him; I have nothing to offer but, in spite of that and in spite of not being pretty, I would not like to find myself alone with him. He would not, you see, hesitate to force himself upon me if he wished to punish me for some perceived slight.”
“Good God! Why then did you try to provoke him in the carriage? You were positively impudent!”
“It was very likely foolish and I own I did feel a frisson of something which I must suppose to have been fear. You are much stronger than I, Louisa, but pray, pray, have a care!”
“Now you have succeeded in frightening me,” Louisa admitted. “But I think the truth is that you too find him attractive. Shall I have to fight you for him?”
“No, for I do not like him and he does not like me. I think he is the sort of man who expects to have an effect upon every female he meets. As I said, if he was interested in me at all – which I am certain he is not – it would not be in marrying me.”
“He might, though, want to seduce you for you look so very innocent and somehow pure; much more so than I.”
“That is only because I am small and bear such a striking resemblance to a mouse: such looks excite cats. I have never met anyone so elevated in my entire life and I suppose it is that which makes me – almost defiant, I think – in the face of his condescension.”
“But, if he did want to marry me, it would only be for my money,” Louisa said in a deflated tone. “He might fall in love with you and then he would want to marry you. I am persuaded he does not need my money although I don’t doubt he would welcome it, but, if he fell in love …
“Will you help me with my dress so that I need not send for Annie? If she comes in, we will have to stop talking about him.”
“I think we have probably said enough for the time being – it is all speculation, and dangerous at that because we might, both of us, begin to believe it. It is a lovely dress; I will indeed help you to put it on but I am afraid I cannot do your hair. As you saw earlier, it is not my forte.”
“Very well, I will ring for Annie after all – and she can do yours again too.”
By the time Louisa was buttoned into her Pomona green crepe and her hair dressed, it was some time since the gong had sounded and they found everyone assembled in the blue saloon. Entering together, they caused quite a stir. The Marquess was not slow to approach and bestow a suitable compliment upon Miss Newbolt.
“I have already admired you, Miss Helman,” he said smoothly, turning his fine eyes upon her.
“Have you?”
“I believe so although, now that I recall our conversation in the carriage, I do not believe you allowed me the opportunity to say how very charmingly you look. You were inclined to bite my head off at every opportunity.”
“Oh, I will not do so if you pay me a compliment, my lord. I am not so accustomed to flattery that I have grown weary of it.”
“In that case, let me tell you that you are one of the prettiest females here tonight – I cannot say more for fear of hurting the feelings of any other ladies within earshot,” he added sotto voce.
“Or perhaps you do not wish to appear ridiculous in singling out one of the plainer girls for your praise?”
“In no company would you appear plain, Miss Helman. Can you truly
be unaware of the enchanting picture you present with your skin as pale as moonlight and your hair as dark as night?”
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, trying, without much success, to discount what his lordship said on account of her belief that he wished only to mock her but nevertheless blushing rosily.
While she was being thus addressed, Mrs Newbolt had gathered up Louisa to introduce her to some of the other guests. Mr Armitage, Agnes noticed, was talking to a pretty fair girl who, from Louisa’s earlier description, she guessed to be Miss Harrison.
When it was time for the company to process into the dining room for dinner, it was Agnes who was paired with Mr Armitage, the Marquess having been instructed to lead in Louisa.
“What a very august set of persons,” Mr Armitage murmured, offering his arm. She noticed that he had changed into close-fitting white silk breeches and an unexceptionable evening coat in a blue so dark that it appeared black from a distance. Once again, his neckcloth was dazzlingly white and tied with elegant simplicity. She thought that he was a fine-looking man; no one, she was convinced, would know that he lived upon a less than princely salary.
“Yes; I am glad you are here, Mr Armitage, for I fear I would not be able to hold my own amongst these quite overpoweringly tonnish people.”
“If I were not already convinced that you are wedded indissolubly to the truth,” he said, “I would suspect you of prevaricating in order to elicit a compliment; I have seen you conversing with my lord Danehill and seen too his expression when he looks at you.”
“Really? How very observant of you! And what did his expression convey to you?”
“Admiration, interest – I think he is excessively taken with you!”
“I think that shows your naïveté, sir. I daresay he has never been obliged to speak with such a lowly person as me before; it is no doubt that which fascinates him – as though,” she continued with her earlier analogy, “a cat were forced to converse politely with a mouse.”
“Is that how you think of him – as a predator?”
“Yes; he is undoubtedly a predator; I suppose one could liken him to a wolf except that I do not think he hunts in a pack.”
“But you are not a mouse, Miss Helman!”
“Do you know, I don’t believe I am – but I look like one so it is easy for a man to be mistaken.”
“A mouse, an angel – to what else have you been likened? I would not describe you as either; to me you seem like an intelligent and kind-hearted young woman.”
“How dull!” she exclaimed, hunching her shoulder at him.
“And a flirt!” he added.
“Oh no, never that! How could I be – I have never been into Society before; indeed, I have barely exchanged two words with any young men except for the ones in my father’s parish.”
“I believe it is a natural ability; you may not have studied to be a flirt; you simply cannot help it.”
“Oh dear!” Agnes was not sure whether he was laughing at her or trying to pay a dull girl the sort of compliment he thought she might like.
“I did not mean to upset you,” he said after a moment when she turned away from him and began to rearrange the food on her plate.
“I did not for a moment suppose that you meant me any harm,” she said not altogether truthfully. “You were teasing but – but – it is not kind to tease a woman like me.”
“Why not? Because you are a companion to my mother? Does that put you outside the normal sphere of relations between a man and a woman? How so?”
“I suppose because, by becoming a companion – and I do not think the fact that my employer is your mother is relevant – I have put aside such light-hearted encounters.”
“But you have not entered a nunnery – and my mother, now that she has my brother home, has no need of a companion.”
“Do you not think so? Will she be quite content to reside with him?”
“I should suppose so – and I own I do not think it likely he will leave again. When he went to Africa he was trying, I imagine, to earn his living. I own I cannot quite think why Papa refused – for he must have refused – to buy him a commission. If John had been an officer – had not insisted on debasing himself – he would not, I am certain, have become so ill.”
“I do not think your father could have afforded it.”
“Of course he could; it would have added to the debts but I cannot conceive it likely that he would have wanted his elder son – and heir – to go off in such a way. It was absurd. I can only suppose that he, John, did it in a fit of pique when Papa refused to hand over any more of the ready. He no doubt wished, even perhaps planned, to die in a horrible manner and make everyone feel guilty thereafter.”
Once again they seemed to have drifted on to speaking of the Baronet and once again Agnes was uncomfortable with it.
“I do not think,” she said, “that anyone needs to feel responsible for the decision Sir John made to join the army in the way that he did, nor do I think anyone needs to castigate themselves for the result; he is – and was when he joined up – a grown man in full possession of his senses. In any event, although it has not turned out as well as perhaps it might, all is by no means lost. He is alive and safely returned home.”
“Not altogether safely - he may still die as a result,” Mr Armitage pointed out.
“Perhaps, but that will not be your fault.”
“Have you never done anything which has had such a bad effect on another that you have almost wished you had not been born?” he asked after a pause.
“No, I own I do not think I have – or, if I have, I have not acknowledged it. Why, how can you be responsible? Was it you who advised your father to send him off, without a commission, to almost certain death?”
“Yes, I did suggest it – at least I suggested the army; I never thought that he would join up without a commission.”
“Suggesting it is not the same thing as ordering. Whatever you may have suggested, you are the younger by some years; if your father advised – allowed - him to go without a commission that was his decision.”
“I suggested it to Mama – oh, not that he should go without a commission - I suspect, as I said, that that was John’s own doing. But I must assume that it was she who persuaded Papa.”
“Oh, I see. So that explains why both you and your mama are so uncomfortable with the situation. I take it that it was your papa who retailed the suggestion to Sir John? I don’t suppose he knows that the idea came from you.”
“No, but he probably suspects that it came from Mama.”
“I see,” Agnes repeated in a repressive tone and turned determinedly to her neighbour on the other side.
After dinner, the carpet in the drawing room was rolled back and one of the guests, a Miss Hartnell, sat down at the pianoforte to play a few dance tunes. The Marquess approached Agnes.
“You promised to stand up with me for the first dance,” he reminded her, bowing.
“I did, but will it not look odd if you stand up with me? I believe you should ask Louisa first.”
“Are you presuming to tell me how to behave, Miss Helman?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I suppose I was, but I own to being more concerned about my behaviour. What will people think if I stand up with such an elevated person as you, my lord?”
“They will think you honoured by my patronage!” he replied, taking her hand without more ado and leading her into the set which was forming.
Dancing with the Marquess in such an exceedingly prominent manner caused Agnes some disquiet. She was unfamiliar with the steps of the dance and felt, moreover, that the eyes of the whole room were upon her. She was not certain whether his lordship had invited her to dance in order to humiliate her or to make some sort of point with Louisa and her parents. He must be perfectly aware that he was there as a possible suitor for his hosts’ daughter and wished, perhaps, to show them that he would not be browbeaten into doing their bidding.
He proved, to her surpr
ise, to be a kind and helpful dance partner, instructing her, in a sufficiently low voice for no one else to hear, in the intricacies of the movements.
When he led her back to the chair from which he had plucked her, he said, “That was not so bad, was it?”
“No; thank you.”
“With a little more practice you might turn out to be an excellent dancer,” he told her, robbing the remark of any tendency to insult by smiling in a warmer manner than she had yet seen. “Will you stand up with me again later?”
“Why, yes, my lord. You are an excellent teacher.”
“And you an exceptional pupil; I am fired with enthusiasm for the task, I assure you.”
Chapter 18
Louisa, who had sat next to the Marquess during dinner, was, in spite of herself, annoyed – even insulted – by his asking Agnes to stand up with him for the first dance. It was a slight and one that, coming at the beginning of the house party, would be certain to colour everyone’s opinion of both her and Agnes.
He had led her into the dining room and behaved attentively throughout, passing her dishes and appearing to find the small-talk which she considered suitable for the dinner table fascinating.
“I have not forgotten you, you know,” he told her after they had exchanged views on the weather for the time of year, how fast London was emptying - not something on which she had much of an opinion – the differences in scenery between Sussex and Derbyshire, where the largest of his numerous family seats was to be found, his plans for a sojourn in Paris in the near future – which proved to be another subject on which she had no views since she had never set foot outside England – and, finally, something of the entertainments planned for the house party.
“No?” she asked, disbelieving.
“No, but I think you have grown up a good deal since I last saw you in Almack’s.”
“I daresay I must have seemed quite childish,” she acknowledged. “At what point do you think one ceases to grow ‘up’ and begins to grow ‘older’?”
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 14
