Some two hours later she had the satisfaction of knowing that not only was her party a success, but so too was her protégée. She received her guests with Lucilla beside her, and had nothing to blush for in Lucilla’s manners. Not for the first time she handed a silent tribute to Mrs Amber, who, whatever her errors, had demonstrably instructed the child in all the rules governing polite behaviour. The wild rose colour that flushed her cheeks when she was embarrassed, and her occasional gaucheries did her no disservice in the eyes of Bath’s most influential hostesses, even old Mrs Mandeville, that most rigid critic, who had already gratified Annis by appearing at the rout, saying to her: “A nice gal, my dear. I don’t know where you picked her up, or why you’re sponsoring her, but if she’s a Carleton I should say that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and you’ll have no difficulty in buckling her to an eligible gentleman!”
Mr Carleton was amongst the last to appear. Miss Wychwood had released Lucilla from her post at her side, but was herself still standing at the entrance to the drawing-room when he came leisurely up the stairs. Lord Beckenham, who, from the moment of his arrival, had been hovering solicitously about her, no sooner saw who was approaching than he withdrew immediately from her vicinity, muttering that it would be better if he and “that fellow” didn’t come face to face. His abrupt retreat did not escape Mr Carleton’s hawklike eyes; he said as he bowed slightly, and carried Miss Wychwood’s gloved hand to his lips: “If looks could kill I should be stretched lifeless on the threshold! How do you do, ma’am? Accept my felicitations on being able to hold such a brilliant Assembly thus early in the Season!” He put up his glass, and through it surveyed the crowded room. “All the rank and fashion of Bath, I collect,” he said. “Who, in God’s name, is the formidable dame in the wig and enough feathers to furnish an ostrich with plumage for two of her kind?”
“That, sir,” said Miss Wychwood, controlling a quivering lip, “is Mrs Wendlebury, one of the leaders of Bath Society. Only Mrs Mandeville’s approval is more necessary than hers for a girl making her first appearance in Bath. She has brought her widowed daughter, and her granddaughter, to my party tonight—which I count amongst my triumphs!”
He lowered his glass, and directed one of his penetrating looks at her. “I wish you will tell me why you are putting yourself to so much trouble for my tiresome niece?” he said unexpectedly.
“I don’t find her tiresome,” she replied. “Indeed, she has provided me with a great deal of amusement! When I met her, I was feeling sadly languid and bored, but that, thanks to her, is a thing of the past. Come, I must make you known to Mrs Stinchcombe! Her eldest daughter and Lucilla have struck up a great friendship, and I am persuaded she will wish to make your acquaintance.”
She led him inexorably away to where Mrs Stinchcombe was seated beside Mrs Mandeville on an elegant settee, pushed against the wall, and performed the introductions. To her surprise, Mrs Mandeville said: “No need to present him to me, child! His mama and I were bosom-bows, and I knew him when he was in his cradle! Well, Oliver, how do you do? Are you that pretty child’s guardian? When Annis told me that she was a Carleton, and the ward of her uncle, it did cross my mind that you might be the uncle, but it didn’t seem to me to be possible!”
“It doesn’t seem possible to me either, ma’am,” he said ruefully.
She cast him a shrewd glance. “Makes you feel older than you thought you were, does it? High time you did, if all I hear about you is true! But that’s no bread-and-butter of mine! I like your little niece: not fully fledged yet, but a bud of promise. Don’t you agree, ma’am?”
“Yes, I do indeed,” answered Mrs Stinchcombe. “She casts the rest into the shade.” She smiled up at Mr Carleton, and said: “You will certainly have enough on your hands when she comes out, driving away ineligible suitors, sir!”
“You shouldn’t have invited Kilbride tonight, Annis,” said Mrs Mandeville, in her forthright fashion. “An engaging scamp, I grant you, but dangerous.”
Avoiding Mr Carleton’s eyes, Annis responded with a lightness she was far from feeling: “I’m afraid my hand was forced, ma’am!”
“In what way, Miss Wychwood?” asked Mr Carleton, more than a hint of steel in his voice.
She was obliged to look at him, read condemnation in his face, and was goaded by vexation into making him a sharp answer. “Lucilla forced my hand, sir, by inviting him, and begging me to endorse the invitation! As he was standing beside her at the time, what could I do but say I should be happy to see him here tonight?” She saw his brows draw together, and added quickly: “Pray don’t blame her! She knew him to be a friend of mine, and I had told her she might invite whom she liked.”
“Well, it was a pity,” said Mrs Stinchcombe, “but I don’t think any harm will come of it. From what I can see, he will find it a hard matter to get up a flirtation with her! Young Elmore is playing watch-dog, and is sticking to her as close as a courtplaster!”
Miss Wychwood soon found that this was true: Ninian was obviously standing guard over Lucilla, which would have been amusing had his hostess been in the mood to be amused. Whether he was protecting her from Kilbride, or from Harry Beckenham, each of whom was making her the object of his gallantry, was a moot point: Miss Wychwood could only be thankful that his jealously possessive instinct had prompted him to behave very much like a dog guarding a bone; and to derive a certain amount of satisfaction from the realization that Lucilla was showing no preference for either of these dashing blades, but was merely enjoying, quite innocently, the novel experience of being a Success.
A cold supper had been laid out in the dining-room. It was informal, but most of the very young gentlemen present had engaged the very young ladies of their choices to go down to it under their escorts, and just as Miss Wychwood, an accomplished hostess, had matched the dowagers with appropriate partners, she found herself being confronted by Lord Beckenham, begging for the honour of leading her down to supper. She felt that nothing more was wanting to set the seal on the most unenjoyable evening of any she had ever spent but there seemed to be no way of escaping this added scourge, and she was about to smile politely, and to lay her hand on his arm, when Mr Carleton, standing, unperceived, immediately behind her, said: “Too late, Beckenham! Miss Wychwood is promised to me! Are you ready to go now, ma’am?”
She found herself in a quandary. If she repudiated this engagement a quarrel between the two men would be the inevitable outcome: Beckenham’s face had already assumed an alarmingly purple hue. Anything, she decided, would be preferable to a brawl in her house! She forced a smile to her lips, and said, mendaciously, but placably: “I’m afraid I did promise to let Mr Carleton take me down to supper, Beckenham! Will you oblige me very much by taking Maria down in my stead?”
Mr Carleton, having drawn her hand within his arm, and led her inexorably out of the room, said reproachfully, as they began to go downstairs: “You know, that was quite unworthy of you, my child! To have fobbed your most distinguished suitor off on to your cousin will very likely have made him your enemy for life!”
“I know, but what else could I do, when she was the only lady left in the room, and you had claimed—falsely, as you well know!—that I had promised to go down with you? Heaven knows there is no one I wouldn’t liefer be with!” she said bitterly.
“Come, come, that’s trying it on much too rare and thick!” he told her. “You can’t gammon me into believing that you would prefer Beckenham’s company to mine!”
“Well, I would!” she asserted. “For I know very well you only wish to be with me so that you may pinch at me for having invited Denis Kilbride to my party, and I won’t endure it, and so I warn you! What right have you, pray, to dictate to me on whom I invite or do not invite to my parties?”
“Lay all those bristles!” he recommended. “You are not going to come to cuffs with me, my girl, so don’t be so ready to show hackle for no reason at all! I may deplore your taste in admirers, but I don’t presume to meddle
in what is no concern of mine. And when I pinch at you, it won’t be in public, I promise you!”
Slightly mollified, she said, in a more moderate tone: “Well, I will own, sir, that it was no wish of mine to include Kilbride amongst my guests. Indeed, I said all I could, within the bounds of civility, to make him think he would find the party a dead bore. And when that didn’t answer I invited Harry Beckenham, and his friend, and Major Beverley, and—oh, several others as well!”
“In the belief that they might cut Kilbride out, or the hope that I might not notice him amongst so many dashers?”
This hit the nail on the head with sufficient accuracy to surprise a laugh out of her. She said: “Oh, how detestable you are! And the worst of it is that you make me detestable too, which is quite unpardonable!”
“I don’t do any such thing,” he replied, a queer twisted smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I could—even if I wished to.”
They had reached the foot of the stairs by this time, and were about to enter the dining-room, so that she was not obliged to answer, which was just as well, since she could think of nothing to say. She could not even decide whether he had paid her a compliment, or whether she had misunderstood him, for although the words he had spoken were certainly complimentary the tone in which he had uttered them was coldly dispassionate. He left her side as soon as they entered the dining-room, but returned in a very few minutes with various patties for her, and a glass of champagne. She was already the centre of a group, and he did not linger, but was next to be seen exchanging a few words with Lucilla, who was eating ices under the aegis of Harry Beckenham. She greeted him with acclaim, and a demand to know whether he had ever been to a more delightful party. He looked rather amused, but assured her that he hadn’t. Harry said: “‘Evening, sir! I’ve been telling your niece that Miss Wychwood is famous for the first-rate refreshments she gives her guests, but all she will eat is ices! Shall I bring you another, Miss Carleton?”
“Yes, please!” she responded promptly. “And may I have some more lemonade? Oh, sir, should I like champagne? Mr. Beckenham says I shouldn’t.”
“No,” said Mr Carleton. He held out his own glass to her. “Try it for yourself!” he bade her.
She took the glass, and sipped cautiously. The expression of distaste on her face was almost ludicrous. She gave the glass back to her uncle, saying: “Ugh! Nasty! How can people drink anything so horrid? I quite thought Mr Beckenham was hoaxing me when he said I shouldn’t like it, for he, and you, and even Miss Wychwood seem to like it very well.”
“Now you know that he wasn’t hoaxing you.” He looked her over critically, and surprised her by saying: “Remind me, when I return to London, to hand over to you your mother’s turquoise set. Most of her jewels are not suitable for girls of your age, but I imagine the turquoises must be unexceptionable. As I recall, there is also a pearl brooch, and a matching ring. I’ll send them to you.”
The unexpectedness of this took her breath away. She could only regain enough of it to thank him, but this she did so fervently that he laughed, flicked her cheek with one finger, and said: “Ridiculous brat! There’s no need to thank me: your mother’s jewels are yours: I merely hold them in trust for you until you come of age—or until I judge you to be old enough to wear them.”
Mr Beckenham having come back by this time, Mr Carleton left Lucilla to his care, and returned to Miss Wychwood. She had been observing what had passed between him and his niece, and moved forward to meet him, saying in a conscience-stricken voice: “I have been shockingly remiss! I ought to have told Lucilla not to drink champagne!”
“You ought indeed,” he said.
“Well, if you know that, I am astonished that you should have given your glass to her!” she said, with some asperity.
“Did you like your first sip of champagne?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Exactly so! Young Beckenham had told her she wouldn’t like it, so I proved his point for him.”
“I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, “that that was probably more to the purpose than to have forbidden her to drink it.”
“Certainly more to the purpose!”
She flashed a mischievous smile at him, and murmured: “I feel it won’t be long before you become an excellent guardian!”
“God forbid!”
At this moment, Denis Kilbride, disengaging himself from a group of matrons, bore down upon his hostess and said in deeply wounded accents, belied by the laughter in his eyes: “Now, how could you have misled me so about your party, most cruel fair one? Is it possible you can have been trying to keep me away from it! I cannot believe it!”
“Dear me, no! why should I?” she returned. “I am glad you don’t find it abominably insipid, which I feared you might.”
“No party which you grace with your exquisite presence could be insipid, believe me! I have only one fault to find with this one: I cherished the hope of being permitted to bring you down to supper, only to find myself cut out by Carleton here! But for one circumstance, Carleton, I should ask you to name your friends!”
Mr Carleton was so patently uninterested and unamused by this lively nonsense that Annis was impelled to step into the breach caused by his silence. She said smilingly: “It’s to be hoped the one circumstance was the impropriety of spoiling my party!”
“Alas, no! It was mere cowardice!” he said, mournfully shaking his head. “He is such a devilish good shot!”
Mr Carleton accorded this sally a faint, contemptuous smile, and stepped back politely to allow Major Beverley to approach Miss Wychwood. He then strolled away, and was next seen talking to Mrs Mandeville. He left the party before the dancing began, declining unequivocally to join the whist-players for whose entertainment Miss Wychwood had had two tables set up in the book-room. Nettled by this cavalier behaviour, she raised her brows, when he took leave of her, saying sarcastically: “But dare you leave Lucilla in such dangerous company?”
“Oh, yes!” he replied. “From what I’ve seen, young Beckenham and Elmore will take good care of her. And since the only dangerous company seems to be bent on fixing his interest with you rather than with Lucilla there’s no need for me to play the careful guardian. It’s not a role which suits me, you know. Ah—accept my thanks for an agreeable evening, ma’am!”
He bowed, and left her. She was so much infuriated that it was long before her wrath abated sufficiently to permit the suspicion to enter her head that his outrageous conduct sprang from anger at what he no doubt considered her encouragement of Denis Kilbride’s familiarities. While she continued to move amongst her guests, outwardly as serene as ever, uttering smiling nothings, her brain was seething with conjecture. She had been prepared to play the game of flirtation with Mr Carleton, but it was now plain that idle flirtation was not what he had in mind. It seemed incredible that he could have fallen in love with her, but his anger could only have been roused by jealousy, and such fierce jealousy as had led him to say the most wounding things he could think of to her had nothing to do with flirtation. It clearly behoved her to set him at a distance, but even as she resolved to do this it occurred to her that perhaps he believed her to be ready to accept an offer from Denis Kilbride, and instantly it became a matter of the first importance to disabuse his mind of this misapprehension. It was in vain that she told herself it didn’t matter a button what he believed: for some inscrutable reason it did matter.
The last of her guests did not leave until eleven o’clock, a late hour by Bath standards, for which the success of the impromptu hop was responsible. Several very young ladies were too shy to waltz, or perhaps too conscious of parental eyes of disapproval on them; but although the waltz was barred from both the Assembly Rooms even the starchiest and most old-fashioned of the dowagers knew that it would not be long before it penetrated these strongholds, and confined their objections to sighs and melancholy head-shakings over times past. As for the matrons with daughters to launch i
nto society, few were to be found whose principles were so rigid as to make the spectacle of their daughters seated against the wall preferable to the shocking, but gratifying, sight of these dashing girls twirling round the room in the embrace of a succession of eligible young gentlemen.
Miss Wychwood confined her part in these mild revelries to keeping an eye on them, seeing to it that inexperienced girls unaccompanied by their mamas did not stand up more than twice with the same man, and finding partners for neglected damsels. Since nearly all the young people were well acquainted there was not much of this to be done: indeed, it was more important to take care that the impromptu dance did not develop into a romp, which, with so many very young persons who had known one another from the nursery onwards, was more than likely it would.
She was many times solicited to dance, but smilingly refused to stand up with even a gallant old friend, who might well have been her father. “No, no, General!” she said, twinkling up at him. “Chaperons don’t dance!”
“Chaperon? You?”he said. “Moonshine! I know to a day how old you are, puss, so don’t talk flummery to me!”
“Next you will say that you dandled me when I was an infant!” she murmured.
“At all events, I might have done so. Now, come, Annis! You can’t refuse to stand up with such an old friend as I am! Damme, I knew your father!”
“I should like very much to stand up with you, but you must excuse me! You may think it absurd, but I am being a chaperon tonight, and if I were to stand up with you how could I refuse to stand up with anyone else?”
“No difficulty about that!” he said. “You have only to say that you stood up with me because you didn’t care to offend an old man!”
“Yes, no doubt I could if you weren’t well known to be the wickedest flirt in Bath!” she retorted.
Lady of Quality Page 14
