“Yes, dear, isn’t it queer?”
Chapter XXVIII
Whether from sheer exhaustion, or the knowledge, and relief springing from that knowledge, that her mission as chaperone to her two young Americans had just missed being a complete disgrace, Lady Pendleton slept well beyond her usual time on the following morning. It was nearly eleven by the time she rang for Celeste, and, having imbibed her chocolate and read her letters, all the while letting off a string of incomprehensible remarks to the furnishings at large, her ladyship tottered down the stairs. She was a little amazed to find that Bentley was stationed, as if at attention, before the morning-room door, and, when she tried to get past him, that he would not allow it.
“Good heavens, Bentley, have you lost your mind?” she demanded, when the butler commenced winking at her violently and shaking his dignified head. “I wish to get inside, don’t you know? I have got some letters to write!”
On hearing this, the old retainer lifted a finger to his lips, and whispered very loudly, “I have put your writing case in the dining room, my lady. Miss Powell is in the morning room.”
“Oh!” exclaimed her ladyship, rather taken aback. “Does that mean I can’t go in?”
“Mr. Lytton-Smythe is with her, my lady,” replied he, with an exaggerated dignity, even for him.
But the effect of his words were not lost upon Lady Pendleton, whose blue eyes grew round and questioning. “Is it goin’ well, then?” demanded she, suddenly growing conspiratorial, and lowering her voice to a stage-like whisper.
Bentley looked reproving, as who was to say he had actually been following the progress of the interveiw? “I am optimistic, my lady. They have been closeted together for an hour already.”
“Oh!” exclaimed her ladyship again, and her little hands made a fluttering motion about her mouth. “Oh! Well then, Bentley! I suppose it is all comin’ out right, then! Did not I tell you it should? Well!” she added, still hissing, “I suppose you do not need to stand there all day. You had better see to somethin’ or other. Now then, Bentley!”
The butler, looking as disappointed as his position would allow, made a slight bow and moved off reluctantly in the direction of the pantries. Her ladyship, however, hovered about the doorway for a moment longer, eyeing the keyhole longingly. At length, however, a raised voice from within becoming briefly audible, a smile spread across her face. “My darling!” said the voice, and then there was a muffled sound. “My darling!” echoed her ladyship, in thrilled tones, “only fancy! Well, well!” And with a flurry of silk flounces, she trotted happily across the marble cupids, in the direction of the dining room.
Within, as may be suspected, a scene of some little moment was being played out. Having ridden back to London in the small hours of the morning, and only stopping to change his dusty clothes for fresh ones, Cuffs had arrived at Cadogan Square as early as he hoped propriety would allow. Serena had let him know, in the few seconds they had had to converse upon the Great North Road, that her heart was his. This had been conveyed, not so much by words, as by glances, the sincerity of which he could not doubt. All the torment which, reasonably or no, had followed upon her intimacy with the Viscount Rollins, had been laid to rest in those few seconds. Whatever of redoubled mistrust he had entertained as to the integrity of womankind in general, had vanished in that moment, for what cared he for the wiles and disloyalties of all the rest of them, if only this one angel was pure? Angel was the word he used, more than once, in his first minutes with Serena, once she had let him know by clear and uncomplicated language that she loved him. It was a word she would not let him say again, for she could not hear it without such a swelling of joy and pride in her bosom that she feared she might expire from sheer happiness. But it was murmured again, and then again, until the only way to silence him was to lay her fingers across his smiling lips, and hold them there, until Cuffs drew them away, only to say it once again, and then to draw them back, and press kisses onto them.
Those who have lived through the first unfettered expressions of great love know that not much sense was to be gleaned from hearing such phrases and exclamations as issued from either of those two. At last, however, even Cuffs had depleted some of his rhapsodic feelings, and was capable of a little more coherence. It had already been settled, though how might well be wondered, that they could not wait above an instant to be married, and that the first business must be to publish the banns, secure the blessings of their relatives, and procure a minister in about a moment’s time. Afterward, they should not again be parted for one hour, much less one day. It now occurred to Cuffs, however, in a sudden burst of clarity, that the business might be a little more complicated than it ought.
“Where shall we live?” he demanded suddenly, giving his beloved a bewildered look.
Serena, whose head was resting gently upon the broad slim shoulder of her lover, and whose fingers were intertwined with his, gazed up at him dreamily.
“Live?” she murmured. “Why, here, of course! Wherever you like.”
“You shan’t mind leaving America?”
Serena, who had never even considered the possibility of living anywhere but Maryland, shook her head blithely. “Of course not, so long as we can go back once in a great while.”
“Once a year!” cried Cuffs. “As often as you like!”
“That will be very expensive, dear,” murmured Serena, with a little indulgent smile.
A sudden look of panic came over the gentleman’s face, unseen by Serena, who only felt him shift slightly.
“That reminds me, my darling,” he remarked, as offhandedly as he could, “that I ought to tell you something.”
“Oh, dear!” Serena looked up at him in a sudden fright.
Cuffs sighed, and looked rueful. “Do you remember my telling you that I was left an orphan when I was a child, and had been raised by my uncle?”
Serena nodded, wondering if she could bear to hear anything that might destroy her present ecstasy.
“Well, the thing is, my angel, that he never married, and, consequently, I am his heir.”
“Oh!” murmured a relieved Serena, laying her head against his shoulder once again. “Well, that’s all right, then.”
“But you see—he is a duke,” muttered Cuffs, as if it were an apology.
Serena did not seem to take this in perfectly. “That’s all right, then, dear,” she murmured, patting his shoulder gently.
“But you see,” exclaimed Cuffs, in an agonized voice, “that means I shall be a duke, and you shall be a duchess. Do you think you shall mind awfully?”
Serena, whether she had heard or not, made no reply to this. Instead, she lifted her head slightly toward his, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Do you think you might kiss me again, darling?”
“Darling!” cried Cuffs, and obliged.
In another part of the house, several hours later, a scene of nearly as much moment, if not as sublime in its tone, went forward. Having called at Cuffs’s rooms to discover the outcome of the Blandford business which he had been forced to leave before it was completed, Freddy was told that his friend had left word he could be found at Cadogan Place, and followed him there. On coming into his aunt’s hall, he had been greeted by a strangely transformed Bentley, who had informed him that Mr. Lytton-Smythe was not to be disturbed, and put him into the dining room. Here he had discovered the figure of his aunt, fluttering over some letters, and, much to his chagrin, that of Miss Antonia Powell, evidently bearing her company. Freddy had hoped to avoid an interview with this latter lady, for he could scarcely contrive to hide his feelings from her, and desired no further humiliation at her hands. The previous evening luckily had been too full of excitement to permit of any private interchange between them, but a night had passed, and for some hours of that night, Freddy had lain sleepless, puzzling over the queer state of his heart.
Never before had it occurred to him that one single female, however bewitching in her person, or delightful in her manner, could w
holly conquer him. Much of his life had been passed in the pursuit of charming young ladies, and part of the fun, precisely, was in seeing how long the rapture could last. Hitherto it had never endured beyond three months, and this Freddy had considered very grave. He had expected, and quite reasonably, he thought, that when Miss Powell quit England, he should forget her. The events of the preceding days had certainly done much to confuse his mind and his heart, for so interlocked were his sentiments against Blandford with his admiration for Antonia, that it was impossible to judge which was the greater. Certainly Freddy had been incensed by the idea that he could lose her to a man of Blandford’s baseness. It had outraged his vanity, as much as his sense of what could do her harm, and that, in some measure, had increased his desire for her—or so he had thought. But when the threat of Blandford was over, as it clearly was now, he could not impute his strengthened desire for her to jealousy. On the contrary, when he ought to have felt derision for her behavior, he felt only pity for her.
Even from those few glimpses of her face he had caught last evening, he had read misery in her countenance. He had not suspected how deep her feelings for Blandford were, and, wounded to the quick, he had yet found room in his heart to pity her. Poor girl! And yet here was not another Theonia, a limpid, lovely girl, who would sit back and wait for a man to walk over her. No, Antonia was made of quite different stuff, for a prouder little spirit, however misguided at times, he thought he had never met. Antonia ought to have been furious, but instead she was unhappy, and Freddy could not hate her for that.
It was some comfort, therefore, that he was spared at least the humiliation of being closeted in a room with her alone. When he walked in, Antonia looked as stricken as he felt, and whether that was any comfort, Freddy could not tell. He addressed himself, therefore, almost entirely to his aunt, who, thank heaven, could be relied upon to so monopolize the proceedings with her non sequiturs that no one else could get a word in edgewise. But when Lady Pendleton had told them, in four or five exclamatory speeches, that she guessed Serena and Cuffs were that moment getting engaged, she got up and abruptly quit the room without any warning, and with only a violent wink at Freddy.
His heart sank: he guessed what she supposed he had come about, but nothing could be farther from the truth! The last thing he desired was to conduct a tête-à-tête with his American cousin, and from one glance at her face, it was evident she felt the same. There was nothing to be done, however, but make the best of it.
Freddy coughed, and feeling very awkward, made some remark about his aunt’s news. “I wonder if it is true?” he muttered, and then added, quickly, “Of course Aunt Winifred cannot know. Still, she has wonderful instincts.”
“Yes, wonderful!” echoed Antonia, and a horribly awkward silence ensued.
“Have you seen Serena this morning?” inquired Freddy at last, pacing to the window and gazing out over the alley toward the next mansion’s walls.
“Oh!” exclaimed Antonia, as if she had been frightened. “Yes—yes, I saw her for a moment. Only for a moment.”
“Is she quite recovered, then?” demanded Freddy, turning away from the window. “It must have been a dreadful experience!”
Antonia looked suddenly stricken, as if she had been accused of murder, and nodded. “Horrible! And—and it was all my doing!”
Freddy, amazed, wondered if his eyes did not deceive him. Was this a pentinent pallor that clung about her cheeks and throat? And was it for that she avoided his eyes so scrupulously?
“Oh, you mustn’t think that,” he murmured softly. “Blandford—that is—Blandford—”
“Is a perfect beast!” Antonia finished for him, with a vehemence much more like herself. Freddy glanced up to see her dark eyes blazing, and a spot of red in either cheek. He smiled despite himself, to see this young Diana with her bow raised again.
But Antonia had evidently resolved to unburden her soul, and did not see the smile.
“I ought,” she commenced, with a great deal of passionate eagerness, “to have listened to you, Freddy! You were absolutely right about him, and I was such a dunce! Will you ever be able to forgive me for being so horrid to you?”
Freddy had barely time to recover his wits sufficiently to nod, when she ran on. “I can only suppose it was my own ignorance that made me think he was so—so—well, whatever it was I thought! You know, I never was in England before, and your ways are really quite strange to me! Fancy setting himself up as a rich and respected gentleman, and passing himself off as honorable, when he was actually—when he was actually—”
“A complete lout?” suggested Freddy, smiling very broadly.
Antonia gave him a glance, and nodded vehemently. “Yes, that’s it, a complete lout! But I ought to have seen through him, you know, I really ought! I was a fool to be so bamboozled. And, to make matters worse, when I ought to have been taking care of Serena, I let her get abducted! All on account of my own stupidity, and for that, I shall never be able to forgive myself! It was bad enough to have been rude to you, but that was really inexcusable!”
Freddy chuckled slightly. He was not sure whether he ought to look penitent or offer sympathy, to join in the chastisement, or to refute it. He settled for silence, and let her go on in the same vein for some little while, heaping abuse upon herself, all the while her face growing brighter and more cheerful-looking, and her eyes regaining their old fire. Amazed at the speed with which a woman could regain her composure after the most abject misery had befallen her, Freddy stood back and admired the transformation. After a while, however, he grew a little weary of all this pentinence, and took the liberty of breaking in.
“Do you mind,” he interrupted her, “do you mind staying just as you are for a moment?”
Antonia broke off in midsentence, and looked taken aback. “What, just like this?” she demanded.
“Yes, yes—just like that. Now stay very still.”
“Why, what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to kiss you,” said Freddy, and he did.
Antonia was much amazed. She stood back a little, and stared up at him. “Nobody has ever done that to me before!” she exclaimed a little breathlessly.
“Well, they ought to have done,” muttered Freddy.
“It was very nice,” said Antonia thoughtfully, looking at him dispassionately. “Do you know, I always thought you had a lovely chin?”
“Did you, now?” inquired Freddy. “Well, I always rather liked yours, too. Now, then.”
Antonia closed her eyes obediently, and tilted up her chin with a dreamy smile playing about her lips. The sight was so entrancing that Freddy stood back and stared for a little.
Antonia’s eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me again?” she demanded.
Freddy smiled. “Not just now,” he said.
“What do you mean?” demanded Antonia irritably.
“I shall come back tomorrow and kiss you again,” returned Freddy, heading for the door. “I shall kiss you once a day for a week, and then, if you behave yourself—”
“If I behave myself!” cried Antonia, perfectly crimson.
“If you behave yourself,” said Freddy, firmly, “then I shall do it rather more often.”
So saying, he turned the handle and walked out, leaving behind him a stupefied Antonia. That young lady, having opened her mouth several times, as if to cry out in a rage, turned slowly away, biting her lip. But after a moment, a tiny smile began to grow, and when Lady Pendleton came in some minutes later, she found her young guest humming happily to herself, and very usefully employed in folding up her note paper into the shape of small birds.
Afterward
“Well,” said Cuffs, some days later, “it is all out, in any case. Too bad, in a way—”
“I don’t think so!”
Cuffs smiled down at the face of his beloved, so soon to be his wife, and saw her return the smile with an arch, confident look. He had not seen her i
n nearly a week, for it had been determined at their last interview that he should come straightaway to Leicestershire to seek the blessing of his uncle, while Serena and her cousin should follow after a discreet interval. The blessing, as Cuffs had hoped, had been most happily and easily granted, for the Duke had grown rather impatient, of recent years, for the perpetuation of the title by a grandnephew. He was very old, and the temper which had made him remain a bachelor all his life was mellowing with the approach of death. When he had finally met Serena, he had been as taken with her as even Cuffs could have wished, only adjuring her to get about the business of having babies as soon as possible.
“What,” demanded Cuffs, “shan’t you mind being a duchess? Lord! And with all those high-minded arguments I have heard in these last weeks against the English Aristocracy!”
“I was not thinking of that,” returned Serena, glancing off into the distance . . .
A flight of geese were talking their way southward, over the mossy green of the down. How she loved their language! It was a universal one, as understood in Leicestershire as Baltimore, and far more memorable, at this moment, than she had ever known it! The distant turrets of the castle loomed dark and huge against the monotone sky. It was really so exciting!
“Well, my love? What were you speaking of?”
“I shall love being a duchess, of course, so long as you are the duke. But I think it is wonderful that Blandford’s true character has been brought out. Now he shan’t be able to ply his trade anymore. I think he is a professional fortune-hunter, and a real devil, too. I shudder whenever I think about him being married to Antonia!”
“Or to you, my love!” muttered Cuffs, with a dark look. “By the way, whatever did happen with Cumberford?”
Serena cast her luminous eyes up to her fiancé’s, and smiled. “He is a perfect lout!” she said.
Contrary Cousins Page 26
