Her eyes shining with the thrill of hearing such tales as he recounted, and laughing at his anecdotes, it was with much humility that she first replied to his questions about her own life and home. But very soon his encouragement and fascination proved infectious; she found herself describing her family with more wit than she knew she possessed, and her father’s house and lands with something nearly approaching lyricism. The rich earth, the rolling fields of tobacco and cotton, the great plantation house with its vast portico, the magnolia trees in full flower—these seemed to come to life in her mind’s eye, and with a wave of nostalgia, she painted them.
“It is a beautiful place,” she said earnestly. “We have nothing of your history, your culture and cosmopolitan attractions—but Maryland is as beautiful as anything I have seen, even in Europe.”
“So it would seem,” remarked Mr. Lytton-Smythe. “And yet, of course—you have as much history here as anyone, is it not so?”
“In theory, yes: but in reality, I feel no sense of it. Perhaps it is because I never really knew my mother before she died—but even she had never been to England. Though I do have relations here, I do not know them—save of course Mr. Howard and Lady Pendleton, whom I met in America. I have no idea where my grandfather lived, or what his life was like, and nothing to even remind me of that part of his life which was spent here. He brought a few possessions with him, it is true—but they passed to my uncle, who died before I was born. I believe he gave up everything, when he came.”
“Your grandfather? Yes—Freddy was telling me something of the kind. What a proud, romantic man he must have been! I confess a great admiration for anyone who could so lightly give up everything he owned—everything, nearly, that he was—to set sail for a country he had never seen, and start from nothing. It would be easier to understand in a man possessed of nothing, with no title or great inheritance to lose. Do you,” he added in a moment, “never wonder what it would have been like, had he never left?”
Serena replied that in all honesty she never had wondered such a thing. Her own life was what she knew, and what she must concern herself with; to ponder any other possibility seemed a waste of time.
“But should you not like to live in England?” persisted Lytton-Smythe.
Serena looked surprised. “I never thought of it!”
“Well, naturally—you have so much to love in America.” He was staring off into thin air, with a strange, intent look. But suddenly Serena saw his face darken, and following his gaze, saw that he was looking at her cousin, moving in and out of the dancers upon the floor.
“Excuse me,” said he suddenly. “I must attend to something. Would you mind very much being left in the care of that lady over there”—nodding toward an elderly woman of motherly aspect, seated in a chair against the wall, in a row of other dowagers. “She is Lady Hepplewaite—my mother’s first cousin.”
Serena made no objection, though she was a little startled by the change which had come over her escort. She allowed herself to be guided across the room, and having been presented to her ladyship, sat down beside her. Lady Hepplewaite was a stout, good-natured female, of advanced years and middling intellect, but possessed of so much good will and kindness, that her vague manner and often puzzling remarks were made palatable. It was clear she had little interest in anything save gossip, and, as Serena knew nothing of the people she spoke of, the ensuing interlude was a little tedious and rather more bewildering. Having, however, learned that Lord Chesterton was coming to Town “at last,” that Miss Walpole was engaged to marry a very eligible young man, and that her own niece—a distant cousin of Mr. Lytton-Smythe’s—was making her come-out in the spring, and having followed all this with as much interest as she could muster, Serena finally glimpsed the only figure in the room she thought worth seeing coming toward her again.
Evidently catching sight of him at the same moment, Lady Hepplewaite broke off her narrative to remark, “Such a fine young man! He is really the nicest of all my young cousins, though to be sure, his poems are a little puzzling. Are you to be married very soon, my dear?”
Serena was not quite sure she had heard correctly, and started violently.
“Are you, my dear,” repeated her ladyship indulgently, “to be married at once?”
“No—no!” responded Serena, coloring. “That is to say—I don’t believe so!”
“How wise of you,” said Lady Hepplewaite, with a sigh. “Young people are much wiser today than when I was young! But, I have always fancied summer weddings myself. So romantic! And you shall have a lovely home, my dear. Though the castle is a bit drafty, to be sure. Still, you seem so clever, I am sure it shall all come out right!”
With this piece of wisdom, her ladyship trailed off, patting Serena’s hand, and beamed up at the face of Mr. Lytton-Smythe.
“I was just saying to Miss Powell, dear boy, that it is much nicer to be married in the summer. You are so wise to wait, especially as it shall give you time to repair that drafty old castle of yours. Dear me! I believe I have got it all wrong. It is you, is it not?”
Serena, perfectly crimson, looked up to see the gentleman’s face as bewildered as her own. With a laugh, however, he returned, “Dear lady, I have no idea what you are talking about! If you say it is I, then I suppose you must be right.”
But Lady Hepplewaite was shaking her head in bewilderment, and clucking. “Dear me! I have got it all wrong. It was Cumberford I was thinking of. Do excuse me, children! How perfectly stupid I am!”
“No such thing, your ladyship,” returned Mr. Lytton-Smythe, with a very gallant bow, “you are second only to Miss Powell in my estimation. Now, however, I think I shall force her to dance with me, if you do not object.”
Lady Hepplewaite could scarcely raise any objection to this, and waved the young people off with many kind smiles and nods. Left to her own devices, Serena would certainly not have chosen to dance. She had not done so in several years, and was unsure of her skill now. But it created so easy a distraction from the fluster she had been in, upon hearing Lady Hepplewaite’s strange mistake, and hoping against hope that Mr. Lytton-Smythe would not think she had instigated the blunder, that she walked willingly toward the floor. The gentleman, for his part, did not seem at all displeased, and having given her a curious smile, led her into the line. Here they stood facing one another, waiting for the music to begin, and Serena found herself flushing beneath the intent gaze of her partner.
But in a moment the cotillion was in progress. With the movements of the dance, Serena was drawn away from Mr. Lytton-Smythe, and down the line, until she found herself gazing into the eyes of Lord Blandford. The same pair of inscrutables which upon the ship had examined her with about as much interest as a collector staring at a common coin, now seemed to peruse her with keen attention, even with admiration. Serena, who did not know if their conversation on shipboard could be accounted an introduction, but who was loath to be uncivil, smiled and nodded. Lord Blandford made a bow, not at all coldly, and smiled in return.
“You are enjoying England?” he inquired.
“Oh, very much so!” responded Serena, flushing at the memory of his censoring look a week before. But Lord Blandford looked anything but disapproving now. “I hope you have dismissed your first unfortunate impression of it,” said he, most cordially.
There was no time for a response, for Serena had now to return to her former place. In doing so, she met Mr. Lytton-Smythe’s eyes, which evidently had been following the interchange, and thought she saw in it something cold and angry. The look disappeared, however, as soon as she was opposite him again. If his eyes once or twice strayed down the line before the dance was ended, she did not see much expression in them, nor find any reason to think it odd.
As they walked back across the room, however, he was silent, until suddenly demanding what Lord Blandford had said to her.
“He hoped my stay in England was an improvement over my arrival here!” she responded, somewhat surprised by the sharp
ness of the question.
“And you replied, I hope, that it had been?”
“Yes,” murmured Serena, “a great improvement!”
“Ah.” The gentleman said nothing more, till they were esconced in a quiet corner of the supper room, away from the crowd. Then his face, which had been clouded since the end of the dance, suddenly grew troubled.
“I have no right to advise you, Miss Powell—” he commenced slowly, “but I think there really is something I should tell you.”
Serena gazed at her companion in confusion. He seemed so loath to say what was on his mind, that she urged him to advise her in any way he could or thought necessary. Such a show of confidence evidently strengthened his resolve, for he inquired, “You will not mind if I suggest that Lord Blandford is not a man whose company you would be advised to seek?”
“Not if that is the case!” responded Serena, amazed. “I know you do not think very highly of him—but why?”
“I really am unable to tell you anything against the man, Miss Powell,” replied Mr. Lytton-Smythe, slowly. “I am afraid you must simply trust my judgment, which I cannot blame you for refusing to do. I only know Blandford to be unfit for the title of ‘gentleman’—at least, in that sense in which it is best meant. The refinements of gentility are so numerous, nowadays, that I suppose a great many would disagree with me, for Blandford is certainly everything many people think admirable.”
“But you do not? Well, then, that is sufficient for me,” returned Serena. “I shall not speak to him again.”
Mr. Lytton-Smythe smiled. “But perhaps you must, Miss Powell. You will meet him at a great many houses—the best of them, in fact. Blandford is much in demand amongst the hostesses of London. His affairs are followed with the keenest interest, and they are so complex and varied, that they are subject for much discussion. You will hear him spoken of as a kind of demigod of the fashionable world, and you will find yourself wondering if you ought to listen to me, or to the more numerous numbers of his admirers. In which case, I am afraid you had better trust your own judgment, for I cannot tell you anything worse than that he is well-connected, highly thought of, and ungentlemanlike.”
Now Serena’s curiosity was really aroused. She had no more reason to think ill of the Marquis than she had reason to think well of him, and on so much evidence she could not really justify ignoring an individual. But her inclination was to trust Mr. Lytton-Smythe, and her instinct told her that, although he would not tell her anything outright, he had some reason for judging the man severely. On such a level, she would have left it, had not her companion gone on.
“I do not doubt but that you will—if you cannot avoid him—at least deal with him with caution. But your cousin has evidently already taken a liking to him.”
Mr. Lytton-Smythe’s eye wandered to the dance floor, and Serena following it, caught sight of Antonia’s slender figure, executing an intricate series of steps, her hand resting lightly upon that of Lord Blandford! The two were conversing very evidently with complete enjoyment, and it was clear from one glance at the young lady, that she, at least, had never been so happy.
“Oh, dear!” murmured Serena.
Lytton-Smythe gave a wry smile. “Oh, dear!” echoed he. “And poor Freddy!”
Serena looked pained by the mention of that name. That had not occurred to her!
“If you have any influence with your cousin, Miss Powell, I urge you to use it. Blandford is not a fellow to be taken lightly.”
Serena was still gazing at her younger cousin, who, with every movement of her limbs, every smile, nod, and arching of her neck, seemed to spell “liberty.”
“I am afraid I cannot promise anything for Antonia,” she confessed with a sigh. “It is true I am older than she—but in fact she seems the elder. She has always dominated me, and I am not her equal in confidence or spirit.”
“Spirit is sometimes called willfulness, Miss Powell—and independence, put to the wrong use, easily becomes self-indulgence. I think to have a cousin of your good sense and fine understanding would be a real blessing for a young lady of her tendencies; and, if she will sometimes listen to your considering opinions, and forfeit her own rash ones, I predict she will come out much better in the end.”
“You do not know her, sir,” replied Serena, torn between respect for this gentleman and loyalty to her cousin, “Antonia is a perfectly generous and unspoiled creature. She may be rash, sometimes, in the eyes of the world, but her actions are never selfish, unless by some sudden change of heart, she is drawn unthinking into it. But repent she always does at last—and with such a heartfelt plea for forgiveness as you cannot imagine.”
Mr. Lytton-Smythe smiled. “Oh, I can imagine very well, Miss Powell! I can perfectly envisage what she is like at such a moment, and how impossible it might appear, for a devoted friend like you, to deny it! But I am fixed in my opinion: your cousin may do well sometimes to listen to her older, wiser, relative.”
Serena was really flattered by these words. She felt them to be a true compliment to herself, as they were a judgment upon Antonia. And she could not deny the truth of his instincts, for she had sometimes observed traits in her young relation which really alarmed her, and felt, though very seldom, that some curbs might not be amiss, even upon so beautifully free a spirit.
“I have seen her dance three times with Blandford already,” Lytton-Smythe went on, “which will be sufficient to set some tongues wagging gleefully upon the morrow. Let her know as subtly as you can, that he is not a man to trifle with. Your cousin must not be allowed to play the coquette. What she may consider an evening’s flirtation, may be accounted much more by others. London is a town where little goes unnoticed, particularly where one of its most fashionable figures is concerned. If she wishes to be well thought of, she won’t risk its disapprobation.”
Much subdued by this idea, Serena determined in her mind to say something very plainly to her cousin as soon as they were alone. She could not let any kind of embarrassment fall upon her, and was beginning to sense that what might be taken very lightly at home could be thought a grave offense to propriety here. How different were England and America! All the similarities she had first seen were beginning to look quite different. It was not possible to assume one could go along in one’s usual style, simply because the same language was shared by the two nations! She glanced covertly at the gentleman beside her, and wondered if all this amiability could conceal a trace of contempt. But Lytton-Smythe was staring at his hands, as if he were embarrassed by what he had just said, and in all his features, she could detect nothing but a real desire to help her.
“I shall not let that happen, Mr. Lytton-Smythe!” she declared very warmly. “Antonia will be thought as well of here, as she is in Philadelphia. I promise I shall speak to her.”
The gentleman seemed relieved, and in an effort to shake off the seriousness of their previous conversation, engaged her in pointing out some illustrious figures in the room, and diverting her with anecdotes about them. Thus passed a much happier half hour than what had gone before, and save for a slight worry in the back of Serena’s mind, the end of the ball came, as marking one of the pleasantest evenings of her memory.
Chapter XIV
Freddy, we may conjecture, left the Assembly Rooms with very different feelings. Of the four young people in the carriage on the ride to Cadogan Place, his was the only sullen one among them. Antonia was brilliant, and brilliantly merry, recounting first one and then another comical incident she had overheard or witnessed, and declaring at least five times that she had never been so thoroughly amused in all her life. What a lot of handsome people there were in England! How well they all danced, how well they knew how to enjoy themselves! Serena heard all this with a sinking heart, for very soon she knew she ought to advise her cousin to be a little less happy, and to enjoy herself only so much as was suitable. Mr. Lytton-Smythe said nothing; if he glanced sympathetically at his friend once or twice, no one noticed, for his features were
hidden in shadow. The ladies having been discharged at Pendleton House, with many adieux and promises of visits on the morrow, the gentlemen rode on alone.
“Well, Freddy,” said Lytton-Smythe after a few minutes of silence, “you look very glum. She is only a woman, you know.”
“Hell and damnation!” was Freddy’s reply to this. “After the first five minutes I could scarcely beat a path through the oglers. What an idiot I was to think I should have her to myself the whole evening.”
“At least your brother was not one of ’em,” put in Cuffs. “I was amazed not to see him there. It was, if you recollect, your chief objection to going at all.”
Freddy snorted. “Well, I wish he had been! I heard he was called off by Lord Devonshire at the last second. But Blandford more than made up for his absence. Did not you observe that he led her out three times? Three times! By Jove, I nearly flattened him!”
“It is no crime, old man,” put in Lytton-Smythe, “though I admit it was a little forward.”
“A little forward! Damned inappropriate, is what I call it! Even if I loved the man, I should have been appalled. Three times, and he had never laid eyes upon her before! And did you see the way she smiled at him? As if the sun had burst through the clouds! Well, all I can say, is that someone ought to warn her about him. I cannot—she’d only think me jealous.”
“Which, of course, you are not,” remarked Cuffs ironically. “However, I think she shall be warned nevertheless. I put a word into her cousin’s ear. I think Miss Powell took it much to heart.”
Contrary Cousins Page 13
