Contrary Cousins

by Judith Harkness

  “Did she?” demanded Freddy eagerly. “Well, that is something, at any rate. I hope so! It won’t make her like me any better, however. She was so scornful of me, when I suggested that she might sit out a dance with me, she nearly took my top off! Cheerful little vixen!”

  Cuffs said nothing for a while, smiling in the darkness at his friend’s vexation. How differently the evening had come out from what he had supposed! From everything Freddy had told him, he had expected to sit passively by and watch his friend and his friend’s beloved moon the hours happily away, while he wracked his brain for things to say that might entertain a drab pathetic creature! Instead, Freddy was in an agony of jealousy, and he himself in something as close to ecstasy as he had ever known.

  Seeming to read his thoughts, Freddy muttered, “Well, I shan’t bemoan my fate any longer, Cuffs. What an idiot you must have thought me when you set eyes upon Miss Powell! By God, I thought I was dreaming.”

  “Yes, Frederick. I meant to thank you for preparing me so well for my misery!”

  “Well,” declared Freddy somewhat defiantly, “I could have sworn it was a different creature from the one I knew! When last I saw Miss Serena Powell, she looked as much a sack as any that ever held fodder, but tonight—well, though I can’t say she holds a candle to her cousin, she outshone every other lady in the place!”

  “I beg to differ,” put in his friend quietly, “I rather think even her cousin was put to shame. Not only is she handsome, Freddy, but she is a lovely woman. I never hoped to be so enchanted by any female. You know I do not say that lightly.”

  Freddy knew his friend pretty well, and the tone with which he spoke, so combining gravity and respect, gave him pause. Never had he heard Cuffs speak so admiringly of a lady. Indeed, he had so seldom heard him speak at all of the Fair Sex, that it had become an unconscious habit to think of him as never noticing them. Cuffs was not one of those men whom he imagined falling in love. In some vague way, Freddy half took it for granted he was above such things. It was with a very wondering look, therefore, that he now stared through the darkness of the carriage, endeavoring to make out his friend’s features, and almost wishing to disbelieve his ears.

  “Beg pardon,” he muttered, with a soft and rather humble voice, “I shan’t speak of her like that again.”

  “Mind you don’t, old boy—or I shall flatten you!” This last was pronounced jovially enough to restore the interior of the carriage to a more normal state of cheer.

  The evening’s troubles were drowned out by Freddy in his rooms, while Cuffs, after a companionable glass, went home to dream of the fair one whose face seemed to haunt his thoughts. Left alone, Freddy endeavored to apply that reasonableness of intellect to his feelings which had several times before helped him over disappointments. Contrary to appearances, Freddy was a most reasonable young man, and not nearly so washed about by love as he often let on. So far in his life, love had been but another game, and one which, costing nothing, he could better afford than gambling. He delighted in the machinations of the female mind, and delighted in teasing it into its utmost ingenuity. Tonight he seemed to have gone rather too far, for Miss Powell had evidently been piqued not a little. To his own disappointment at losing so fair a partner for play—and she was that, little tease!—was added the further, and far more serious, dismay of having driven her into the arms of the worst man in England. To undo that, he would do much—and wondering how it could be achieved, he sat long into the small hours of the morning, watching the roofs of London grow pale in the gray light of dawn, and thinking that, perhaps, he would be sorry for that one mistake for the rest of his life!

  The ladies who had caused so much commotion in the hearts of our young men, however, did not stay up to discuss their triumphs. Antonia would have liked some kind of apostrophe to the evening, but Serena, pleading a headache and saying it was nearly dawn, would not consent. “Oh, I think it is more a fullness in your heart which troubles you, dear!” exclaimed Antonia merrily, kissing her cousin good night. She sought her room with her own thoughts, and having been unable to say all the things she would have liked about the ball, fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, the better to dream about a certain gentleman whom she had been prejudiced against from the first, but who had quickly dispelled her first impressions in the course of three sets of country dances.

  Lady Pendleton, who had been in bed for some hours already, was sound asleep, and thus she continued until nearly nine o’clock, which was her unfashionable hour of breakfasting. Feeling too drowsy to get up, however—for the Prince had entertained his guests quite royally—she rang for her chocolate. Celeste brought it in upon a silver tray, together with her mistress’s letters, and lingered by the door.

  “Well, Celeste,” chirped her ladyship, making quite a cozy picture in her lace nightcap and pink bed cloak, “what’s it you wish? I was wonderin’ if Miss Serena looked the thing last evenin’? Did you get her up to your satisfaction?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady!” exclaimed the little maid, smiling all over her face. “She was a sight to break your heart! You would not have believed how lovely she looked, descending the stairs, her head up so high, like so!”

  Lady Pendleton nodded approvingly. “ ’Tis a wonder what a good dress will do for one—and the hair, of course.”

  Gratified, the girl dipped a curtsey.

  “Did you do it quite up in the back, or à la grecque? Oh, I am glad! Right up is so very harsh, it seems to me. I was thinkin’ the ringlets would suit her nice long neck.”

  “Oh, they did, my lady, of a certainty! You would not have believed it, had you seen her. Her eyes so bright! I think, really, my lady—I think she had some fire in her heart, is that what you call it? She was like a—comment dit-on? Un papillon!”

  “A butterfly? Yes, Celeste, I expect you’re right! How titivatin’! I should so have loved seein’ her. Well, now! Run along and fetch my hot water, there’s a dear girl. I do want a bath so. His Highness has dogs, you know. All over one. Most provokin’!”

  Having had her bath, and perused her letters, which included, as she had expected, about a dozen propitious invitations for every night of the coming week, Lady Pendleton descended the stairs. Setting up in her morning domain, which was the conservatory, she rang for Bentley.

  The butler found her seated at her writing table, “doin’ notes,” as she called it.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Ah, Bentley! Any news?”

  The butler pretended, or simply exhumed, innocence. “My lady?”

  “News, Bentley. How are my young ladies?”

  “Quite tired, I expect, my lady. They were not in till five o’clock.”

  “Five o’clock! Good Heaven! Ah well, they are young, are they not, Bentley? I was once, too, you know. I expect even you once felt the urge to dance till five!”

  “I do not recollect it, my lady.”

  “No doubt. Well, then! Did you gather any idea of what they were up to?”

  “They saw Madame Oscuri, my lady, in the new Italian opera. They went on to Almack’s.”

  “Hah!”

  “My lady?”

  “Well, what did they do at Almack’s, Bentley?”

  “I believe they disported themselves in dancing, my lady. I was not told.”

  Lady Pendleton clucked, and tapped her fingers against her chin. “No, I expect not. How provokin’! You did not hear ’em talk of it as they went upstairs?”

  Now Bentley could not in all fairness claim that he had done so, without revealing some secrets of his trade which ought not, by rights, to be imparted to any mistress of a house. He was torn, however, between pride in his profession—as an expert gatherer of information—and a desire to show himself ignorant of everything which was not meant for his ears.

  Begrudgingly, seeing her ladyship’s piercing look, he gave in. “I believe Miss Serena received a generous degree of attention, my lady. Miss Antonia was speaking of it as they came in. I do not know
what Miss Antonia did—though she seemed more flushed than Miss Powell, which leads me to believe she partook of more dancing.”

  “No more?” cried Lady Pendleton. “Bentley, I am disappointed in you! I expected at least some news!”

  “Perhaps,” pointed out the butler, with a dignified mien, “there was none.”

  “Pooh! There is always news when two young ladies go to a ball! Well, never mind. So you don’t know if Viscount Rollins was there?”

  “I believe he was not, your ladyship. This I deduce from the fact that his valet was here earlier, inquiring if you were to be in to dinner. It seems his lordship attended a late supper at the Duke of Devonshire’s and is unwell. His own cook is apparently not capable of preparing digestible meals, and he wonders if he might dine with your ladyship.”

  This news seemed to have a sort of congesting effect upon Lady Pendleton, for she commenced wheezing and coughing in a most immoderate fashion.

  “To dine! Provokin’! How stupid! There is no possibility of it!”

  “Shall I send word round to that effect, my lady?” inquired Bentley calmly. The question, however, met with a sudden cessation of coughing, and a long silence.

  “No, Bentley.” Lady Pendleton’s voice was firm, resolute even. “We shan’t cower before the enemy! So! He was not at Almack’s? Then he has not seen my young ladies. Let him come! In any event, we are goin’ out afterward to my Lord Southington’s. He shan’t be able to stay long.”

  “Very good, my lady. Shall I send word?”

  “I’ll write a note, Bentley.”

  This her ladyship commenced to do upon the spot, having materials at hand. Having dashed off a line or two, she sealed the paper with wax, and handed it to the butler.

  “Send James, Bentley, if you will. I need you and Cook to help me about Tuesday. We are to be fifty, now.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  There was a gratifying hint of curiosity in the butler’s voice, which made her ladyship relent a little. Having obtained so little news from him, she did not feel she needed to impart any of her own—which was fairly bursting at her seams—but having noticed the butler’s nostrils twitching slightly, she gave in.

  “I had a most entrancin’ time last evenin’, Bentley. I believe we shall have three Royal Dukes with us next week to dinner. The Prince himself has declared he is dyin’ to see my Americans!”

  “Most gratifying, my lady—if I may say so,” declared the butler, bowing out the door.

  Chapter XV

  If Lady Pendleton had some difficulty in getting any news about her young guests on the previous evening, she was probably the only soul in London so unfortunate. From Regent Street to Hyde Park Corner, the name of Powell was on the tip of everybody’s tongue. “The beautiful Misses Powell,” “the stylish American ladies,” “the very rich Americans,” were talked of, as if they were a whole army of handsome females, instead of two.

  As this was in large part due to the exertions of Bentley, at the behest of his mistress, Lady Pendleton ought to have been gratified. The word had gone out only two days before, to various well-placed ears on that great grapevine of service which inhabits the downstairs of the English Aristocracy, and those half-dozen valets, major-domos, and housekeepers had done their work exceedingly well. No more than two hours after Bentley’s little round of calls on Wednesday, the Misses Powell were famous. By Thursday they were mentioned at least a thousand times by a thousand wags, and looked for everywhere. They were spotted at last in a box at the Italian Opera, and gratified everyone by appearing shortly thereafter at the Assembly Rooms of Almack’s. Here, as we already know, they were much perused, and Antonia, at least, made much of. Serena, so unaware of everyone save Mr. Lytton-Smythe, had scarcely noticed the interest she had stirred, and, by her attention to that gentleman, raised a good many eyebrows.

  It was said they were both as rich as Croesus, and, in that way in which gossip tends to be the arbiter of truth, their fortunes were supposed to have been made in the tea trade in the French Indies. Tobacco was sometimes held accountable for their great wealth, but this was generally denied. Tea it had most certainly been; and their fathers were great nabobs, with several mansions apiece, and hundreds of slaves. It was even suggested that one of them was one quarter redskin, her mother having been the daughter of an Indian chieftain, who gave his children the shrunken heads of the enemies he killed in battle. Such was the quality of information being passed about before the ball. Afterward, of course, it grew a little closer to the truth, for the young ladies were quickly judged to be quite fair-skinned, and had nothing of the savage in their look. Antonia was generally accounted the prettiest, and had endeared half the Horse Guards by dancing with them, but Serena was thought more elegant, and the most perfectly handsome of the two.

  It was said one of them was very likely to become the next Countess of Cumberford, hence their visit to Lady Pendleton. But no one could see the Viscount Rollins anywhere about them; indeed, it looked as if he had not come to Almack’s at all. As his younger brother—whom it was well-known had no great love for his elder sibling—hung about looking forlornly at the smaller and more vivacious Miss Powell all evening, it was generally thought that this must be a mistake on somebody’s part. Rollins was evidently not the chief actor in the comedy, but his brother, and even this looked dubious now, for the object of Freddy Howard’s attention had clearly no interest in him. Why should she, in any case? It was well known that Freddy had only a fraction of his brother’s income, though he was certainly the more amiable of the two. No, it looked as if Miss Antonia Powell had come to England to suit her fancy, and that she should not settle upon a husband till she did so. It was remarked that Lord Blandford—only just returned from the Continent himself, following that strange business with Miss Ulridge—had led her out quite three times. Might it be that she would succeed in catching that most eligible of bachelors?

  Such was the idea put forth by one aristocratic matron, on the morning after the assembly. “I should not put it past him,” sniffed she, for her daughter had once been enamored of the Marquis, and snubbed.

  “Tut,” said her friend, “I won’t believe it. He shall marry Theonia Ulridge yet, mark my words.”

  “Why should he?” retorted the other, “he did not marry my Isabella!”

  A different sort of argument went forward in the reading room at White’s, where half a dozen dandies had gathered to disturb the quiet of their friends.

  “Did you see the Americans last evening?” demanded one, holding a snuff box to his nose.

  “See them! I danced with the prettiest!” exclaimed another, brushing a fleck of dust from his boot. “And I intend to dance with her again as soon as possible. Such lively manners, and eyes to set your heart afire!”

  “You shan’t get the chance,” put in a third, in a drawling voice. “Blandford has come back.”

  “What! Is not he to marry Theonia Ulridge?”

  “That was broken off long ago. Did not you know? ’Twas the reason he left England.”

  “I thought it was because her papa told him to be off. But now he’s back, he shan’t be put off.”

  “A great deal you know,” drawled the first, who was the wit of the company, “she is too dull for him. And not rich enough by half. Poor little angel! And now she has chucked Freddy, who was her consolation prize. I must confess, I feel some pity for him.”

  “But did you clap eyes upon the other one?” demanded one of his friends. “I thought she was the most famous of the pair! And Lytton-Smythe hovering about her all the evening—it seemed a shabby thing to do, when we were all dying to dance with her!”

  “Bosh! Lytton-Smythe never hovered over any female!”

  “A great deal you know, Wadsworth—you were not there.”

  “Well,” said the second one, “I’m off to inspect my new cattle. You may all envy me as much as you like. If you play your hands well, I shall introduce you to Miss Powell.”

  Th
e fellow went off to the tune of scornful noises, and the company broke up. But one or two, staying to read the papers, saw Blandford walk in shortly thereafter, and taking up the Daily Courier, peruse it. His manner was perfectly composed, for a man who had had such a decided victory the previous evening. His manner, however, was nearly always composed, for the Marquis held a low opinion of those who allowed their emotions to show. So little did he ever exhibit them, that his actions were a continual source of astonishment to his admirers—of which, we should hint, there were a great many.

  To the members of White’s, Boodles, the Hotch-Potch and the Coffee House, to name but a few of those establishments frequented by fashionable young men, Blandford had become a sort of demigod. His sphere of influence was not so wide as Beau Brummell’s had once been, but then neither did he solicit admiration. On the contrary, he quite often expressed contempt for those weak-minded enough to be influenced by another, and it is very likely that this contempt, more than any other quality, was what had won him so great a following. It was his manner of cold indifference which seemed to be most emulated by his public, and resulted in so many singular instances of rudeness being accounted elegant.

  Blandford himself did not try to be rude, it simply was his nature to be brusque, when he was not interested in someone; but try as they might, his admirers could not emulate this second attribute, although they could be sometimes rude, and say they were “like Blandford.” It was a singular combination of powers in a man whom no one really understood, and who cared so little for their understanding that he went out of his way not one step to explain himself. Even his closest friends, of whom there were not many, could not have said they knew him. They were by turns flattered by his interest, and offended by his criticisms. The Viscount Rollins, who shortly joined the Marquis, never knew quite what to make of him. He had sometimes been so rudely treated by his friend that he did not know where to look; but in a flash the full force of Blandford’s charm would be turned on him, and the Viscount was again his slave.