“Formalities?” murmured Serena blankly. “Pray, of what are you speaking, sir?”
“Why! His approving you, of course! To be the next Countess, my dear Miss Powell!”
Serena blinked. She dearly wished she had attended more closely! Surely he was not really saying what she supposed? With a sinking heart, she contrived to look as stupid as possible, and inquired again what he was saying.
“I am most awfully distracted this evening, I’m afraid, Viscount. Perhaps you will tell me again what you mean?”
With the patience of Job, Rollins took a deep breath, and beginning to wonder if he were not proposing to bind himself for life to a dimwit, declared very slowly, “My father shall come to town, Miss Powell—to town, don’t you know? And, when he has approved you, as I am sure he will, we may be married with all speed!”
“I am afraid,” cried Serena, turning scarlet, “that I feel dreadfully unwell, Viscount! Do you think we could sit down?”
While a baffled Viscount led his intended toward a sofa, and while Serena, with all her might, contrived to think of some way of extricating herself from this clear case of misunderstanding, another scene—of nearly equal interest—was being enacted upon another sofa.
Antonia had languished since the end of dinner had separated her from Blandford. In the drawing room, to which the ladies had been conducted while the gentlemen partook of their cigars and port, she had sat sulkily listening to the gossip of an elderly dowager, her heart racing all the while, her eyes fastened upon the door. Blandford had said at dinner he had something particular to ask her—what it was, she supposed she could guess! Now was the moment she had been waiting for with baited breath all day, for surely he would offer for her hand? She must contrive a way that they could get a little farther from the others, and as soon as she saw his figure coming into the room, she stood up, and in the midst of the dowager’s astonished exclamation, moved toward another settee, set a little way from the company. Blandford saw her maneuver with a smile, and bearing two little cups delicately balanced in his hands, joined her a moment later.
“I am glad you undertook to let us be alone,” said he at once, with that smile, half ironical, half laughing, which she was learning to expect, nearly as much as love.
“Oh,” said she in reply, “I could not bear that gossiping old woman! As if I knew of whom she was talking, in any case!”
“It is true—Lady Satterthwaite has an unaccountable knowledge of the doings of everybody, for someone who never leaves her own drawing room. But I hope we are not going to talk of her all evening?”
Antonia met his eyes, and colored. “Oh, no!”
“Good. For I have got a piece of news for you that I think will please you.”
Antonia contrived to look curious—as if she didn’t know—ah, hope, what it would be!
“I have written to your cousin, the Earl of Cumberford, and had a reply this morning. I suggested in my letter that he meet to discuss some matters pertaining to a piece of property which runs between our estates, which has been the subject of some dispute in the past.”
Antonia could not hide her disappointment. Was this all? The matter of the Earl had been so little in her mind in these last days; far less than something else!
Evidently unconscious of his companion’s reaction, Blandford went on. “He has agreed to come to town before his usual time—unless I am able to go to Lancashire myself before.”
“Well,” said Antonia impatiently, “what does it all mean? How am I to meet him? Aunt Winifred won’t help me, I know—she has got some grudge against him.”
Blandford met her eyes with a strange, excited look. “You could meet him when I do,” said he. “Do you remember that I said my help might exact some demonstration of gratitude from you?”
“Yes—yes, of course. But I don’t see what good it will do, if we have to wait a great while!”
“We need not wait any time at all,” said Blandford, glancing about him. “If you will consent to marry me, we could leave at once for Scotland, and be married within the week. Then I shall present you to him, not as his cousin, but as my wife!”
Antonia felt a curious clutching sensation in her breast. So, this was it! And yet, how different from what she envisioned! Blandford’s manner was so matter-of-fact—save for that strange glimmer in his eyes, there was no hint, either in his face or his voice, of the passion which must accompany such a demand. Then, too—why, surely there ought to be a great wedding, with her father and her friends in attendance? And yet the idea of an elopement, so unexpected, so far from her thoughts, held a fascination, a danger and romance, which instantly appealed to her.
“Are you so eager to secure me to yourself?” she inquired trying with all her might to sound less eager than she felt. Evidently she succeeded, for the strange excited look in Blandford’s eyes grew into something quite like—could it be?—fear!
“More eager, my dear Antonia, than I suppose you could ever imagine. From the first moment of seeing you, I knew I must have you. I am not much good, I am afraid, at romantic speeches. Only believe in my fervent desire to be—your husband!”
“My dear Blandford,” said Antonia earnestly, but with still a trace of lightness in her voice—for she would not be like other girls, who would surely faint at such a suggestion, “I am flattered—and pleased! I should like it above all things. But surely we can wait a few months? My father will like to be a witness, and there is so much to do—”
“Surely,” exclaimed Blandford, almost angrily, “you are not going to behave like every common bit of muslin about, weeping for your papa, and holding out for a huge trousseau? Surely you will not shudder at the idea of something a little uncommon? I am not accustomed to being treated like—well,” he said, cutting himself off, “I shall not entreat you.”
Now Antonia, from one look at the Marquis’s face, and from the good deal that she had learned about his disposition in these last days, was perfectly sure of this. Had her attempt at levity offended him? It was the last thing she desired!
“I shall come with you, then,” she replied, with an arch look. “When do you wish to go?”
“Ah!”
To say that Blandford looked gratified, would be an understatement. His expression combined relief, gratification, satisfaction, and even delight. “I knew you should not disappoint me! My dear Antonia, we are well matched indeed. Could you manage to arrange your affairs in time to go away tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow!” exclaimed Antonia. “Why—why, I suppose so! But whatever shall they say of us? What shall Aunt Winifred think?”
“Say? Why, what do we care? Aunt Winifred may think what she likes, but if she has any sense at all, she will be delighted. Pack your trunks, and have them delivered to the stage post at Rippling. If there is no one you can trust—”
“I shall manage. Rippling? And where shall we meet?”
Blandford thought for an instant. “At Hyde Park corner, before the gates. Dress for riding.”
Antonia, even through the tumult of sensation in her breast, could not help smiling. “Mind you don’t forget this time! Oh, my dear Blandford!”
The Marquis pressed her fingers, rather cold, and smiled into her eyes. “Believe me—I shall not. Now I must go. Mind you don’t give us away. Not a hint to anyone!”
Antonia nodded eagerly. The Marquis rose to his feet, and she whispered, “Are you not going to say you love me?”
Blandford smiled down at the vivid face, with only a trace of disappointment in the dark eyes. “Time enough for that tomorrow, my darling!”
Those two last words, spoken so quickly, so quietly, sufficed Antonia for all that she longed in the way of passionate address. To those words she clung, watching the Marquis’s splendid shoulders turn to get through the crowd, and, without a backward glance, disappear into the animated scene. On her isolated sofa, Antonia continued to sit for some time longer, unable to calm the excitement in her heart, and the tumult of thoughts in her min
d. She dared not face anyone who knew her—particularly Serena or Lady Pendleton, until she had composed herself. And, in truth, having so longed for amusement a few days before, at that moment she would have given much to be able to creep into the quiet of her own chamber to contemplate the astonishing change which was about to take place in her life.
From that isolated sofa, so convenient for the hiding of herself from curious eyes, so convenient for a proposal, it was impossible to see the place where Blandford had stopped to wish his hostess good night, or to glimpse the comical sight of Lady Pendleton endeavoring to draw the reluctant Marquis into conversation. From that sofa, Antonia could not observe the expression of her lover’s face, irritable at first, for being delayed so long in his departure; then growing suddenly intent, pale, frowning. Lady Pendleton was chattering away in her usual fashion, combining every subject upon earth into one incomprehensible stream. Blandford, however, seemed to have seized upon some phrase, some not quite incoherent idea, for he asked her two or three sharp questions. His eyes darted about, his face grew nearly black with anger, and then deadly pale. Lady Pentleton, apparently unmindful, moved off through her guests, twittering still, and Blandford struck his brow. Seeming almost at once to remember where he was, his countenance regained something of its usual composure. Still very pale, however, he looked about him as if to see who had witnessed his momentary loss of control. His eye lighting by chance upon the figure of Serena, sitting quietly in her chair, rather white from the effort of listening to the Viscount Rollins, his gaze rested upon her for some moments. At last a mirthless laugh escaped his lips, and turning abruptly away, he strode out of the room.
Antonia had seen none of this. Her mind was in too much of a swirl to see anything for some minutes, even had she not been hidden from a good part of the company by the position of the sofa. When she was capable of looking anywhere, and absorbing what she looked upon, she was taken aback by the sight of Freddy Howard coming toward her. No person on earth was there whom she less wished to see, none to whom she could think of less to say at this moment! And yet he was bearing down upon her, and there was no possible way to escape. For a moment she thought of trying to slip through the door, or of pleading a headache. But he was already nearly at her side, and something in his look made her defiant. Why should she run away? She had nothing to be ashamed of!
Freddy’s face was indeed full of feelings and thoughts, and of such kinds as might not be calculated to please her. Having stood back and watched, for five days now—ever since the opening ball at Almack’s, the machinations of Lord Blandford, and the eagerness with which they were received by the younger Miss Powell, he had been of two minds. On the one hand, he was sorry to see Blandford succeeding with any female, no matter which, nor what she meant to him. His nature was sufficiently disgusted by the sight to wish to interfere. For who could know better than he what effect Blandford could have upon the feminine heart? He had not listened to Theonia’s unhappy recitations, nor watched her miserable face, without beginning to see how thoroughly shattered a woman could be made by such a man.
Had Miss Powell been nothing more to him than a passing acquaintance, he should not have hesitated to try to dissuade her from such an attachment. Had she been his cousin, and nothing more, he should have done so twice as quickly, and with twice the determination. But Antonia was neither simply an acquaintance, nor a cousin, but a woman he might easily have fallen in love with, had she not so clearly scorned him. Freddy was a man of the world enough to be incapable of an unrequited love, and his pride was too great to allow him to suffer overlong for a woman who would clearly never return his affections. And yet Antonia had been from the first moment of seeing her, so much what he wanted, and so much what delighted him, that he had known at once he could love her, if only she would let him. A part of him rebelled at the loss of so ingenious a partner, of a woman who could amuse him unendingly, and bore him never, even as his pride told him that he would not be humiliated by a woman who evidently cared so little for his feelings.
There were certainly aspects of Miss Powell’s character, as witnessed by her recent conduct, which did not show a great deal of wisdom. And yet her eye was so lively, her voice so musical, her wit so charming! And in all of that, he suspected there lay a deeper something, which, if it were only rescued and nurtured, would be very like a true and fiery spirit. A true and fiery spirit to match his own, was what Freddy had always dreamed of, even as he had fallen in and out of love with a dozen females who, neither true nor fiery, had undermined something of his own best qualities. For, hidden beneath that disarming and engaging manner was a soul that longed for what was real, and true, and disingenuous.
Freddy had not watched the flagrant ministrations of Blandford, nor the flirtations of Antonia without disgust, nor endured the humiliation of being passed by without beginning to perceive that this dream would not come true. For five days he had watched, hoping it might come to naught, and thinking there might still be a chance that she would come to her senses without interference. At last he had been forced to realize that there could be no such hope, and that Antonia, though she would never love him for it, must somehow be made to see the Marquis for what he really was. That such interference, coming from him, would certainly shatter any chance there still remained of her liking him, made it all the harder. But Freddy could not stand by and watch a lamb be led to slaughter, though she was a very infuriating lamb. Nor would he let his aunt, with her strange schemes, risk complicating the matter further. Having seen Blandford’s departure, therefore, and having searched out the young lady, he determined to try to speak to her. His approach was tentative, for he did not know how to begin, and when he saw her face, full of obvious revulsion for him, he grew more tentative still. But his determination was greater than his pride, and he sat down next her.
“Well, Miss Powell,” he commenced, “what do you think of my aunt’s dinners? Do they equal what you have at home?”
Antonia, not fit for conversation of any sort, was hard-pressed to compose her face and voice sufficiently for the ardors of chitchat. “Oh! It is a very grand dinner, Mr. Howard! Much better than anything at home.”
“Did you manage to speak to the Duke of Clarence?”
“I met him once before—at Lord Southington’s.”
“Ah! He is a very amiable man.”
“Yes! Yes, very amiable.”
“I see Blandford has gone away.”
“I think so, yes.”
“You do not know?”
Antonia turned upon her companion an impatient look.
“Am I expected to?”
“Heavens, no!” Freddy saw the coldness of her look, and wished he could avoid what must come next. “It is only,” he went on, trying very hard to sound casual, “that you seem interested in everything he does.”
“Lord Blandford is an interesting gentleman.”
“More so than you know!” muttered Freddy, almost beneath his breath.
If she had heard him, Antonia pretended that she had not, for she turned on him a quite supercilious smile. “I am amazed, cousin, that you should interest yourself so keenly in Lord Blandford’s actions. You do not seem like friends.”
“No,” replied Freddy slowly, “we are not friends.”
“It is too bad, for everyone else seems to wish to be his friend.”
“I suppose that is because they do not know so much about him as I do,” returned Freddy, waiting for the angry retort.
It came, in fact, instantly, accompanied by a blush, and a sudden flash of dark eyes. “What exactly is it you wish to say, Mr. Howard? I suppose you have not come over here to make idle gossip. I wish you would have done, and leave me alone!”
“I came to tell you something, Miss Powell, it is true: and I shall just do as you say, for it is perfectly clear nothing could please you less than my company. Very well, then. It is my unhappy duty to inform you that Lord Blandford, whom you think so charming, and so interesting, and over wh
om you have been making a complete idiot of yourself, is nothing more than a despicable rascal. Let me finish, please: he will make you miserable, if you let him, as sure as anything, for he has already injured several ladies whom I know, and perhaps a good many more that I do not. He is not a gentleman, Miss Powell, and it would only be letting yourself in for the most awful pain to encourage him any further.”
Antonia had drawn herself up very straight, and added to the excitement which had been burning in her eyes and on her cheeks, there was now a furious blaze. “How dare you say such things, Mr. Howard! How dare you insult Lord Blandford, who is worth eight of you, and call me an idiot, into the bargain! You are only jealous of him!”
Freddy smiled as best he could. “Oh, yes, cousin, that is exactly what I thought you would say. I am thoroughly jealous, because he is a marquis, and I am not, and because you are besotted by him. Is that what you think?”
“Ye—yes!” exclaimed Antonia. “And probably because he is rich, and well liked, and you have nothing!”
Now Freddy’s smile was more genuine. “Is that what you think, Miss Powell? That he is rich? Well, I am rather poor, but I am richer than he is! Which is precisely what he hopes to help himself with, by marrying you! I suppose he has said something about marriage, has he not? And the quicker the better, if I know him!”
Antonia was too thoroughly taken aback to say anything for a minute. For the briefest instant doubt crossed her mind, doubt as to everything she thought she knew about Lord Blandford. But in a moment she saw what Freddy was about. Vile man! He was trying to make her think ill of him, out of some jealous conviction or other! Well, she would let him see how far it would get him!
Contrary Cousins Page 22
