“I have been looking for you everywhere!” cried this latter gentleman, coming into the Reading Room and catching sight of his friend.
“I don’t know why—I told you I should be here at noon,” returned Lord Blandford, putting down his newspaper.
“Oh! Did you? I don’t recollect—I have been horribly ill all morning. Devonshire gave us lobster at midnight. It was dreadfully indigestible! I do not think it was properly cooked.”
“Well, a good hard ride ought to restore you then,” said Blandford, in his brusque way. “I despise illness. I hope you are not going to talk about it all morning.”
The Viscount looked taken aback, and seemed to simper. “Do forgive me! I know how illness bores you. Let us get away from these curious gapers. I am dying to know all about the ball—was it diverting?”
“Sufficiently so.”
“How I wish I had been there! It is all very well to serve one’s kingdom, but it seems to me there is a limit! Meetings at midnight!”
“Let us go,” said Blandford, apparently uninterested in the sacrifices of Members of the House of Lords.
Out into the thin gray light they walked, and calling for their grooms, mounted up.
“That is much too small a beast for you,” commented Lord Blandford, eyeing the small bay gelding upon which his companion rode. “You ought to have a stallion like Zephyr here.”
“I just bought him,” replied the Viscount, making a petulant face. “He cost me fifty guineas, and I shall not give him up.”
“You have been robbed, I am afraid.”
With the Viscount’s day thus spoiled—for he had still an abominable pain in his stomach, and had been quite pleased with his new mount, until it was abused, they rode on in silence for a while, until, nearly attaining the gates of Hyde Park, they were forced to draw up at the corner.
“I say—you were going to tell me about Almack’s, Blandford,” said the Viscount Rollins.
“Was I?”
Rollins saw his friend was out of temper, and felt a keen disappointment. He had been so flattered to have been shown any favor by this god of the fashionable world—into which, for all his title and his money, and even his seat in Parliament, he had never been welcomed—upon coming to town some days before, that he now relied upon him as a friend. Only the evening before, Blandford had quite taken him by the hand, introducing him to all his most ton-ish acquaintance, and making a great thing of their friendship. Rollins had gone so far as to confide in him some of his secrets, and to solicit the Marquis’s opinion of his house. He had even hinted at his intention of marrying as soon as possible. Blandford had listened, advised, and humored—only to grow irritable today. But Rollins had seen these changes of mood before, and as he feared his friend nearly as much as he admired him, he determined to be patient.
“Yes,” he returned firmly. “You said last night you should tell me all about it today.”
“There is not a great deal to tell,” countered Blandford, urging his mount toward the park gates. “It was the same business as usual—nothing extraordinary whatever. It is a pity the patronesses cannot encourage some little innovations in the drab assemblage. I saw in France that they varied their balls in most amusing ways, sometimes with entertainments, sometimes with decorations. In any case, it is much more amusingly done than in London.”
“I thought you did not like France,” commented Rollins.
“I thought it was generally inferior to England. But now I am back, I am amazed I did not stay longer.”
“Well, I am most awfully glad you did not,” said Rollins heartily. He saw, however, that his attempt at joviality had gone sour, for Blandford gave him a little frowning look, as if he had spoken much too loudly in a quiet room. Subsiding, he gave up for a while his attempt to discover any information about the previous evening’s entertainment.
Riding thus, they entered the park, and continued in silence for a while. Seeing that his companion’s face was still dark, Rollins bethought him of an idea which might serve to make his friend a little more companionable.
“Bye the bye,” said he amiably, “if you would like another loan, Blandford, you may have it any time. I have told my banker you may write a draft to him for any amount—within reason, of course”—this with a little simpering laugh—“for I am not made of money, you know!”
“That is very good of you, Rollins,” returned the Marquis, but without much of a show of gratitude, “I shall perhaps make use of your kindness in a day or two. I have not been well served by my father’s estate—it has left me nearly bankrupt.”
“Well, once you get things cleared up, I suppose you shall not have any need of loans. You ought to sell some timber.”
“I suppose I shall,” replied Blandford indifferently.
“It is amazing what timber goes for nowadays,” continued Rollins, in a helpful mode. “My own father sold some last year, and raised a small fortune! And, when you have done so, you might look into buying corn from the Colonies. They are selling it for fodder now.”
“I am not much addicted to buying and selling things, Rollins—as you know. I leave such matters in the hands of my steward.”
“Well, but really—!” spluttered the Viscount. “It seems your steward has not done very well by you, Blandford. If I were you, I should hire a new one, and take it into my own hands for a while.”
Blandford turned on his companion an amused look. “Well, but you are not I, are you?”
Much taken aback, Rollins subsided in confusion. He had really thought the fellow might show a little gratitude! After all, he had loaned him four hundred guineas not a week before, and with no term of repayment, nor any hint that he might be repaid at all. Blandford seemed to think he was a bottomless well of giving, when in fact the loan had left him rather short for the remainder of the quarter. And yet he was prepared to loan him more, in return for the favors he hoped to receive. Such favors were hardly negotiable in terms of pounds, being as they were entirely made of air—for they were an entree into the highest Society, and as much a guarantee of meeting a desirable wife as could be given. Still, they were owed him, he considered.
With these thoughts in his mind, Rollins glanced at his companion covertly, and saw his gaze directed across the way, toward the figure of a man and a woman.
“I say—is that not Lytton-Smythe?” demanded Rollins. “Yes, it is! And he is with that wonderful-looking creature we saw at the Opera. Did not you think it odd that he did not speak to us? He ought to have, you know! He is Freddy’s dearest friend; I wonder who she is.”
Blandford did not reply, but smiled equivocally.
“Perhaps we should go over and find out,” continued Rollins, “though I think Lytton-Smythe an awfully queer fellow.”
“I should not, if I were you—they look like lovers,” returned Blandford.
“Lovers! Tosh! I never heard such nonsense! Lytton-Smythe in a romantic mood! Why, even Freddy says he does not value women much. Still, she is a wonderfully handsome creature.”
“Then you ought to go and see her at closer range,” said his companion. “I shall wait here.”
But Rollins was not much enthused by this idea. Without the moral support of Lord Blandford, he did not know if he should have as much force of presence as he would like. He hesitated, therefore, between going and staying, and determined at last to stay. He continued to eye the couple with keen interest, however, and did not leave off conjecturing to himself how Lytton-Smythe could have attracted such a creature as the one by his side. The couple, however, were a great way off, and soon were farther. Most disobligingly, they disappeared from view behind a row of shrubbery, and Rollins, crane his neck though he might, could see no more.
There being a great crowd of people in the park, owing perhaps to the weather, which was as close to sunny as was possible at this time of year, and rather warmer than usual, the Marquis was soon assailed by a number of acquaintances. This always happened when he went abroad, and Rollin
s, watching his friend, was amazed anew by the popularity of the man. Hardly a soul drove by without stopping for a moment, and a great many stayed for longer periods, seeming, as it were, to be attracted to the Marquis like moths to a candle. Enjoying his place in all this commotion, Rollins stayed as close as he could, endeavoring to draw some of his friend’s admirers into conversation. But even those people he knew best—perhaps much better than Blandford did—seemed to show little interest in him. They waited, breath baited, for some bon-mot or other which they might repeat to their friends, mentioning quite lightly, “that they had heard it from Blandford in the park, as they were riding together.”
After some hours of this, even Rollins grew weary, however. He had not much to occupy him all the while save trying to hear what was being said by others, and endeavoring to get a word of his own in edgewise. The afternoon began to draw in, and the fog to thicken. The Viscount thought longingly of his fire and his sofa, and at length declared he was going home. So little notice was taken of his leaving that he might never had been there; nursing his resentment, he kicked the little bay gelding into a gallop, and turned his head in the direction of Mount Street.
Chapter XVI
“That is a very pretty walkin’ costume, Serena dear,” said Lady Pendleton that same afternoon. “Such a charmin’ shade of jonquil. It is by far my favorite color, save yellow. And what nice color you have in your cheeks! Did you have a pleasant walk?”
“Yes, Auntie,” murmured Serena, “it was most pleasant, I had no idea Hyde Park was so immense—it seems to stretch for miles!”
“Yes, my dear—don’t it? So perplexin’!”
Serena, having just come in from her walk with Mr. Lytton-Smythe, had put her head in to say she was back. Now she would have gone on up to her room, had not Lady Pendleton stopped her.
“Do come in, dear! I have not had any news about your evenin’. Antonia was in such a state when she got up, she flew off without a word! Did you amuse yourselves?”
“Oh, yes! It was a delightful evening. Madame Oscuri sang wonderfully—I never heard anything like it! And it was so kind of you to get us tickets to Almack’s—”
“Tut! Nothin’ to it! They are forever after me to go, but I think there is nothin’ worse than bein’ an old hen by the wall. Cluckin’ and pluckin’, don’t you know! Balls are for young people. Bentley said you were not in till five—had fun?”
“Yes, ma’am—very much!”
Lady Pendleton, stretched out upon a chaise with a novel opened at her side, changed her posture minutely, in such a way as to denote coziness, and a desire to listen.
“Tell me all about it, dear. I shall ring for our tea.”
Having done so, she rearranged herself into the same cozy posture, and patted a chair nearby. Serena took it, a little regretfully—she had rather longed for a moment’s solitude in which to contemplate her new joy; but, feeling it her duty to give her hostess some amusement—the little lady looked so eager to hear everything about their evening—she resigned herself.
“Did you dance a great deal? I love dancin’!”
“No—not very much, at least, I did not. Antonia seemed to be dancing all evening. She was always with a new partner.”
Lady Pendleton nodded. “Men will flock to her like bees to a honeycomb—she is that sort. Such a pet! But how did Freddy take it?”
“Not very well, I am afraid,” replied Serena. “He looked quite unhappy when we went away. I was rather cross with her for not paying him more heed. Mr. Lytton-Smythe thinks he is really smitten by her.”
“Poor boy! But she shall come round, I expect, when she has had her fill of English good-for-naughts. Freddy is an angel, though sometimes a provokin’ one. But perhaps this shall do him good. He has been rather spoiled by the ladies, I’m afraid. What else did Mr. Lytton-Smythe say?”
Serena, not noticing the slightly sly look accompanying the question, replied ingeniously, “That Theonia Ulridge was not good enough for him. She was heartbroken over another gentleman, and took him up to comfort herself.”
“That so? I shouldn’t put it past her! Though she is as lovely as a doll—I don’t trust that sort, they are usually more selfish than they seem. Poor Freddy!”
“Yes—particularly when Antonia danced for the third time with Lord Blandford. Mr. Lytton-Smythe said she ought not to have.”
“Three times! My word, that is somethin’!” exclaimed her ladyship, thinking that Mr. Lytton-Smythe seemed to have a good deal of wisdom at his disposal. “Did she look glassy-eyed?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you think she is smitten?”
“I hope not!”
“So do I—it would be dreadful for poor Freddy.”
Serena kept silent while the tea things were brought in, but when the servant left the room, and she had accepted her cup, she ventured carefully, “Aunt Winifred, what do you think of Lord Blandford?”
Lady Pendleton tried to raise one eyebrow, which she never was able to do. “Don’t know that I ever have, my dear! He is a nice-lookin’ young man. Quite a devil with ladies, I have no doubt. I have heard he’s all the rage with the young Fashionables—but of course, I shouldn’t know. I have been neither young nor fashionable for a great while! Why?—you look as if you don’t like him!”
“It’s not that,” murmured Serena, “for I have scarcely even spoken to him. He seemed civil enough—”
“Don’t tell me it is Lytton-Smythe again, dear. What a lot he has to say!”
Now Serena blushed beneath the kind scrutiny of her hostess.
“Ah—I have it!” muttered the latter. “So provokin’! Must you fall in love with the first man you see, dear?”
Left speechless, Serena opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“Never mind! I always liked him a great deal—so unlike the common run of young dandy. His uncle was an old beau of mine. Such a perplexin’ man! As silent as the grave, and nearly as gray. Still, I liked him quite a lot at one time. But I got over it when I saw that great windy castle he was to inherit. You ought to see it before you make up your mind.”
Luckily for Serena, who might have been left quite witless had this second reference to her marrying that gentleman been pursued, Lady Pendleton floated—or rather lapsed—to something else.
“We are to have quite a frantic week, my dear. I had a dozen invitations already this mornin’, and the same number have come this afternoon. I shall give a little dinner myself next Tuesday, to introduce you—but meantime there are breakfasts and routs for us to attend. Tonight there is a card party at Lord Southington’s. Not really cards, of course—it is only a manner of speakin’. He likes to have musicians play, and sometimes there is a spectacle. I hope you have got somethin’ pretty to wear? Celeste said you looked a dream last evenin’!”
From one point of embarrassment to the next, Serena seemed destined to be swept. Madame Violet had found it within her powers to make up the evening gown, cloak, and riding habit—and this “pretty jonquil” which she now wore, for the sum of two hundred pounds. But nothing more had been ordered, or collected from the little shop. Serena had just managed to keep Antonia in ignorance of her change of heart this long, for she had gone by herself to her last fitting, and had injoined the dressmaker to silence, when Antonia should see her next. This had been aided by another check—for fifty pounds—to cover the remainder of her cousin’s purchases. But that had been three days before, and now Serena had very different sentiments. Since meeting Mr. Lytton-Smythe, her vanity had been aroused more keenly than it had been since the time of her engagement to Mr. Fairfax. She had never dreamed that she might now look upon that time as a mere dim second to what she now felt—certainly three days before, she had not suspected that today she might be miserable for want of pretty clothes. Had not Mr. Lytton-Smythe been so vociferous in his admiration of her beauty (which she thought a lovely instance of blind prejudice) she would not have worried so. But to disappoint him, to shame h
im in front of his friends, she could not bear. So little belief did she have in her powers of physical attraction, that without proper clothing she thought she would have none. And yet Madame Violet had treated her most scornfully on her last visit; she dared not order anything else from the little Frenchwoman. It was with a most miserable feeling in her heart that she now replied to her ladyship’s innocent question with—
“I have nothing save my ballgown from last evening, Aunt Winifred!”
“What! Did Madame Violet so let you down? I shall have a word with her! So provokin’! When shall your other things be ready?”
“Not—not for some days, Auntie.”
“Well! That is certainly most irritatin’! Whatever shall we do?”
But there was no time to ponder this question, since just then the door swung open, and Antonia, with perfectly crimson cheeks burst in. “Rena!” cried she, evidently highly excited, “Rena, how could you do such a thing?”
“Why, Antonia, whatever are you talkin’ of?” demanded Lady Pendleton.
Antonia granted her hostess only one brief look, and a perfunctory greeting. “Hello, Auntie! Serena has done the most awful thing! She has gone quite behind my back, and canceled her order with Madame Violet!”
Serena, shamefaced, put in in her own defense. “Why, Antonia, I did not do it behind your back! I simply thought it foolish to spend so very much upon a few dresses. At home, you know, I do not spend half so much in five years!”
“But this is not Baltimore, my love!” cried Antonia, falling down upon her knees beside her cousin’s chair, and striking her forehead with her hand. “Don’t you see? You mustn’t go about as you do at home! What will they all think of us? Aunt Winifred, do not you agree? Do tell Serena that she must not think it an extravagance to dress herself! Why, it would be an extravagance not to!”
“Quite right, my dear,” clucked her ladyship somewhat bewildered. “Men know nothin’ of these things. It is extravagant to buy a new carriage, or to keep too many servants, but there is no extravagance in buyin’ a pretty frock. It is an investment in youth!”
Contrary Cousins Page 15
