Chapter XII
“My dear!” exclaimed Antonia, “you are causing a regular sensation! Did not you notice half the men in the hall regarding you admiringly? I confess myself half green with envy!”
“Oh, Tony—how can you say so? They were looking at you, no doubt,” replied Serena, fastening the last of the buttons on her glove. The two had escaped their companions for a moment with the plea that Antonia had torn the hem of her gown, and needed a needle and thread. The little maid kneeling at her feet had repaired the tiny rent in a moment, and was just breaking off her thread.
“Nonsense! Did not you see Mr. Howard’s expression when he first saw you? I thought he should remain in the same spot all night, with his jaw down to the ground! Oh, Rena, I am so pleased!” exclaimed Antonia, giving her cousin a hug. “And Mr. Lytton-Smythe is simply enchanted with you!—He seems a very amiable sort of man.”
“As amiable as any I ever met,” replied Serena, trying to show the full volume of her feelings. “He is everything gentlemanlike, considerate, and kind.”
“And passionate, I am sure!” remarked Antonia, with a teasing look.
Serena chose not to notice it, though in her heart she was not insensible of Antonia’s meaning. Instead, however, she said, “And you, Tony? Are not you enjoying Mr. Howard? I think him perfectly delightful—easy and open-hearted, and so much admiring of you—”
“Tush!” replied the younger girl, peering at a ringlet in the glass. She had been rather provoked by Freddy Howard’s leading her into that lie about the Opera. How was she to know that there was no such thing as accapellago or standard phrasing? And he ought not to have asked her that, and then inquired, at the end of the first act, if she thought the accapellago very fine? Yes, she had replied, quite innocently, and then he had laughed at her, and said there was no such thing! Still irked by the memory, she added,
“He is only a boy, and our cousin, besides. However delightful you may think him, I am sure he ranks a poor second behind Mr. Lytton-Smythe! He is not so childish, and behaves himself like a man of the world. I wonder, dear,” she said, turning to her cousin with a sly look, “if he likes children?”
Now Serena flushed perfectly scarlet, and shook her head in disbelief.
“Really Antonia, how you do jump about! From first acquaintance to children, in a wink! Do be still, dear—the poor girl cannot see what she is doing. There now—’tis done. Shall we return?”
“In a moment, Rena. I must tell you the most delightful thing! It seems Aunt Winnie procured us tickets to Almack’s. You know it is considered a great honor to be granted an invitation. Well, what do you think? Shall not you like dancing with Mr. Lytton-Smythe?”
Serena gave her cousin an odd look, and said, “Tony, you know I have not danced in years! I should not know what to do!”
“Bosh, my dear—only lean upon his arm, and look demure. They are waltzing here now. D’you remember seeing it done in Vienna? I think it the most beautiful dance!”
“You shall tell me more when we are at home, dear, but perhaps we had better not keep them waiting now!”
Antonia, astonished, cried—“But it is now we are to go, Rena!”
“What! This very night? But it must be one o’clock in the morning!”
To this Antonia smiled blissfully, and returned, “Yes, dear! And I hope we shan’t be home before six! Lord, I am in spirits! It has been months since last I danced!”
Antonia was to dance much that night, and with a great many charming gentlemen. The ballroom seemed to be crowded with them and with a brilliant company of women, in gowns as elegant as she had ever laid eyes upon. It was true the Assembly Rooms were not so grand as they might have been—a mere four of them, bare-walled, and sparsely decorated, with a row of chairs about the walls, and a modest supper table—but they were more luxurious than anything she had seen in Philadelphia of the kind. The whole entertainment was more lavish than anything save a private ball at home, and to her eyes, starved for several months for gaiety of any kind, it seemed a feast of merriment. She laughed at the idea, put forward by Mr. Howard, that it could not compare to what she was accustomed to, saying,
“At home, Mr. Howard, we have for the whole of our amusement six winter balls, and five summer. For the rest, we must depend upon the hospitality of our neighbors, for my father will not think of giving a ball!”
“Truly, Miss Powell?” demanded Freddy in shocked amazement. “Ah! But I understand! He must wish to protect you from the intruding lines of courtiers.”
Antonia laughed at this. “I shall not disillusion you, cousin, for I confess I have two or three admirers in America. However, I am perfectly capable of defending myself against them, and against you as well.”
“Then I hope you are well armed, Miss Powell,” Freddy murmured, “for I doubt you ever encountered a more persevering one!”
Antonia only half heard this, so immersed was she in absorbing the whole spectacle. Already she had seen a dozen admiring glances cast her way, and, in no mood to discourage them, had smiled brilliantly in return. She had no intention of passing the whole evening fending off the young man’s excessive admiration, for she had glimpsed a number of other very well-looking, and very amiable-seeming gentlemen. Looking about her now, she observed an exquisite young lady, just coming into the ballroom upon the arm of an elderly gentleman.
“Who is that lovely creature?” she demanded. “Why, she is looking at you, cousin—and with a most interesting expression!”
Freddy, following her gaze, blanched slightly. “That is the Honorable Miss Theonia Ulridge,” murmured he.
“Oh!” exclaimed Antonia, remembering the name from her first afternoon at Cadogan Place. It was the one Lady Pendleton had mentioned, as having just “jilted” her nephew. Discomfited, and hoping to soothe over the blunder, she turned away, searching for some better object of their interest.
“Well! I suppose you had better introduce me to some of these old women who have been scowling at me since we came in. Who is that?”
“ ‘That,’ ” said Freddy with a smile, “if you mean the small, determined-looking lady in blue, is the Princess Lieven, wife of the Russian Ambassador. She is the chief patroness here, and I suppose, as it is owing to her influence that we have tickets, we had better pay our respects. Everyone is afraid of her, save Aunt Winifred!”
“Afraid? What on earth for?” inquired Antonia, as they moved through the scented, noisy crowd of dandies and great ladies.
“Because she is as close to being a Royal Personage as anyone in the kingdom, I suppose. She possesses the power to make or break careers, and is feared for her unpredictable whims.”
“Then I shall not be afraid of her,” returned Antonia, a little defiantly. “Let her hate me if she likes! Besides, I am only a visitor, so I suppose she will be forced to be civil.”
Freddy smiled at this, but said nothing. They took their places in a line of people which had formed to speak to the Princess, and while they waited, Antonia searched the room for a glimpse of Serena and Mr. Lytton-Smythe. At length she saw them, standing well away from the crowd, and immersed in conversation with each other. The sight brought a smile of real pleasure to her lips, for it was clear that the ounce of admiration she had prescribed for her cousin’s remedy had been more than amply provided. Neither of the young people seemed aware of anyone else in the room, and, for all that they appeared to be enjoying the ball, they might as well have been standing in a field by themselves!
“Your Highness,” Freddy was saying, “may I present Miss Powell? Miss Powell is come from America to visit my aunt.”
The Princess, a thin, small, indestructible-looking woman of great fashion and elegant bearing, raised her lorgnette to her eye. Perusing Antonia from head to foot, she said nothing for a full minute, until at length the latter began to wonder if she were a filly, and the Princess a prospective buyer of horseflesh.
“Mais, enchantez, mademoiselle,” said the great lady at last, lo
wering her eyeglass, and holding out her hand, “I have heard so much about you, that I was prepared to find it had all been false. But I see now that the gossip was quite justified. It so rarely is, you know.”
Antonia, absolutely taken aback by this strange greeting, colored. She had certainly not expected to feel discomfiture at the mere sight of this small woman. But the Princess was possessed of that ephemeral quality, so much desired by so many, which is capable of discomfiting the most serene of characters, of disorganizing their whole minds with one look, and rearranging their thoughts to her own advantage. This remarkable feat was achieved, moreover, without benefit of one harsh word, one stern look, or even a hint of disapproval. She spoke softly, politely, and without the slightest trace of any emotion. So removed did she seem, indeed, that she might have been in a separate room, observing her own conduct.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?” stammered Antonia at length. “My cousin and I have only just come to England—I am sure you can have heard very little about us!”
Apparently amused by this idea, the Princess smiled indulgently, and patted Antonia’s arm, “Ma cherie, it is perfectly clear that you have no great knowledge of this town! For, au contraire it is quite well known everywhere, almost everything about you!”
With this, the Princess turned abruptly around, and commenced conversing with an elderly general in clipped French. Astonished, Antonia herself turned away and, taking Mr. Howard’s arm, moved back across the room.
“What on Earth could she have meant?” she demanded, as soon as they were out of earshot of the Princess. “What can she have heard?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about, Miss Powell!” Freddy assured her. “The Princess always likes to shock people. It is only her way of maintaining tournure.”
But for all his assurance, Freddy was himself quite puzzled. He endeavored to change the subject, drawing Antonia’s attention toward a group of people standing near the entrance, and narrating their family histories; but all the while, he was puzzling over Her Highness’s strange words. For some reason, he had an uneasy feeling, and, when he noticed that a number of people were staring at the young woman on his arm, it only grew more definite. The looks were admiring, to be sure—but even Freddy’s prejudice could not justify so much attention, though she was amazingly pretty, and a stranger, besides.
Antonia herself seemed to forget the incident quickly, her attention attracted by other figures in the room, and her curiosity by the number of customs and prevailing manners to which she was unused. She wished to know everything, to see everything, and to meet everyone they passed. Freddy satisfied her as much as was in his power, and soon regretted it, for the little book about her wrist was very quickly filled with other names. He found to his chagrin, only half an hour after coming in, that only one cotillion was left open—and this he instantly entreated, before some new gallant or other could have the opportunity.
Regretfully, he watched her walk away upon the arm of the first of a stream of admirers; watched her commence the first steps of a country dance, a dazzling smile upon her lips, and a more dazzling sparkle in her eye. It was clear her interest was not confined to himself! With a keen feeling of disappointment, he went into the card room, that he might not be forced to watch the gallantries of other men toward her, and—far worse—her own merry acceptance of them.
What a blow this was to his pride! Not an arrogant young man, but possessed of a certain assurance in regard to his powers over the opposite sex, he had not envisioned so swift a desertion by his charming cousin. Perhaps she was provoked by that business about the Opera. To be sure, that must be it! Little vixen—then why had she fibbed, and looked so adorable while she did so? Freddy, well accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the female temperament, chided himself for having been so foolish as to make her aware of her blunder. Far better to have let it go by, and why he had not done so was a mystery. Perhaps it was the archness of her look, or the self-possession of her manner, which had goaded him on. He had been a little too impatient to let her know that he was not to be fooled, when, it was now clear, he would certainly have done better to let her get away with it. Ah, well! He should make it up to her somehow. At the next possible moment, he would flatter her vanity twice as extravagantly as he had wounded it. Rehearsing such kinds of flattery as had often before aided him in his pursuit of females, he moved toward a table, and turned his attention to a game of écarté going forward at it.
“I say, old man,” came a voice from behind him, “what happened to that famous creature you were with a moment ago?”
Freddy, turning to see a fellow member of his Club, replied with a shrug, “Hullo, Portminster. She has been swept up by some devil or other.”
“Pity, old chap—she is a comely creature! Replaced Miss Ulridge, has she?”
Freddy did not like the oafish grin upon his friend’s face, and replied curtly, “She is a guest of my aunt, Lady Pendleton. I have only come as her escort.”
“Chaperone, eh what?” The fellow nudged him on the arm, in all too knowing a fashion. “I say! Bit of good fortune, is it not? Heh, heh. But! I suppose you cannot mean she is one of the American ladies—the Misses Powell, I think?”
“That’s correct,” responded Freddy. And then, with a sudden suspicious look, he demanded, “How do you happen to know that?”
Portminster made a mysterious face, quite repulsive to Freddy’s mind, and shrugged. “Why, everyone is talking of them! Only just now I saw the cousin pointed out—seems to be having a huge set-to with Lytton-Smythe! Now, that is what I call skillful work on his part. What a beauty! And I hear they are both rich as Croesus.”
“How very odd,” returned Freddy coldly, “that you seem to know so much more about them than I do! Who on earth told you that?”
The man Portminster, of medium height and unexceptional features, save for a fat pair of lips, which gave him a loutish look, winked. “Oh, ’tis about,” said he. “But don’t pretend you do not know yourself! Why, I hear one of ’em is to be your sister-in-law shortly!”
Freddy narrowed his eyes in a manner which he hoped conveyed the full extent of his contempt, and glared at the trespasser. “That is rather difficult to believe, I fear—as neither of them have even met my brother!”
“Rally?” drawled Portminster, his lower lip growing fatter with incredulity. “How extraordinary! Why, I wonder where my man can have got his information?”
“From the ashcan, I suspect,” muttered Freddy and moved away.
The very cheek of it! If there was one particular aversion he held dearer than any other, it was that for men of medium height and fat lips who gossiped. His jocular tone, moreover, aggravated Freddy’s irritation, and turned a mild dislike to revulsion. But, however he argued to himself that Portminster was “a lazy, idle, foolish oaf,” he could not prevent himself from wondering why the Misses Powell were so great an object of interest among his acquaintance. The preceding conversation had only served to rekindle his bewilderment at Princess Lieven’s words, and he was almost tempted, a moment after walking away, to go back and force Portminster to tell him how he had come by his news.
Such an idea was indeed in his mind, when a few minutes later, having taken a turn about the card room, he emerged into the central chamber of the building. He was in time to see something which positively shook him, which brought a curse to his lips, and made him rigid with fury. There, before his very eyes, was Miss Antonia Powell, making her curtsey to her last partner, an officer of the Horse Guards. Taking his place was a tall gentleman, standing with his back to Freddy. But in a moment the music had struck up, and the movement of the dance brought his face within view: with a shudder, Freddy recognized the Marquis of Blandford.
Chapter XIII
“It is very odd, I vow—I never had any desire whatever to visit America. But you paint it so well, at least that part of it you reside in, that now I feel I have missed something wonderful!”
Serena turned her great soft eye
s upon her companion, and smiled. Mr. Lytton-Smythe had gained every moment in her estimation since she had met him. He was everything she considered worthy in a man, and more besides, for to his good sense, his knowledge, and his fair address, was added a quality of sympathy and gentlenesss he had never before encountered in a member of the opposite sex. Indeed, so rarely had she found it, even among women, that she had come to think of herself as overly delicate and scrupulous.
Her own nature was self-conscious and timid, characteristics she had long scorned in herself, and which were seldom praised by others. Gentlemen, in particular, appeared to admire quite opposite tendencies in females. Mr. Lytton-Smythe, however, seemed actually to find just these qualities entrancing, and to be possessed of that wonderful skill which can make a shy person lose consciousness of self. Under the warm sunlight of his smiles and questions, she had felt herself opening like a flower, and responding with tenfold the openness and confidence she had possessed an hour before. Very soon their conversation had lost that awkwardness which is generally the characteristic in a new acquaintance, and had gained that easiness, understanding, and delight which usually only marks the interchanges of old friends.
To this was added, however, a thrilling quality—which made her meet his eyes with a little tremble, and glow under his deep returning looks. In an hour of conversation, they had, it seemed, exchanged a wealth of knowledge about each other. Serena knew that he had been orphaned as a child, and had spent his early years in an ancient castle in the North, belonging to his uncle, had attended Harrow and Oxford. His descriptions were so eloquent, and yet tinged with such a delightful humor, that the whole passed like a picture before her; she felt that she had seen the ancient turrets and crumbling moat of his home, had endured the teasing of his comrades at school, had walked with him upon the downs where he first taught himself to invent rhymes, when he was but a lad of eight or nine. In the musty halls of Oxford, she felt that she had been, and heard the lectures of great doctors; and in the chambers of his college, drunk wine with his fellow poets.
Contrary Cousins Page 12
