The Convenient Marriage

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘I am quite sure he would,’ agreed Rule. ‘However, it is too late now. Don’t distress yourself, Pelham: at least you have the distinction of being the only man in England to have succeeded in provoking Crosby to fight. Where did you wound him?’

  ‘Shoulder,’ said the Viscount, his mouth full of beef. ‘Could have killed him half a dozen times.’

  ‘Could you?’ said Rule. ‘He must be a very bad swordsman.’

  ‘He is,’ replied the Viscount with a grin.

  Having visited both the principals in the late affair, the Earl dropped into White’s to look at the journals. His entry into one of the rooms seemed to interrupt a low-voiced conversation which was engaging the attention of several people gathered together in one corner. The talk ceased like a snapped thread, to be resumed again almost immediately, very audibly this time. But the Earl of Rule, giving no sign, did not really suppose that horse-flesh was the subject of the first debate.

  He lunched at the club, and shortly afterwards strolled home to Grosvenor Square. My lady, he was informed upon inquiry, was in her boudoir.

  This apartment, which had been decorated for Horatia in tints of blue, lay at the back of the house, up one pair of stairs. The Earl went up to it, the faintest of creases between his brows. He was checked halfway by Mr Gisborne’s voice hailing him from the hall below.

  ‘My lord,’ said Mr Gisborne. ‘I have been hoping you might come in.’

  The Earl paused, and looked down the stairway, one hand resting on the baluster rail. ‘But how charming of you, Arnold!’

  Mr Gisborne, who knew his lordship, heaved a despairing sigh. ‘My lord, if you would spare only a few moments to glance over some accounts I have here!’

  The Earl smiled disarmingly. ‘Dear Arnold, go to the devil!’ he said, and went on up the stairs.

  ‘But, sir, indeed I can’t act without your authority! A bill for a perch-phaeton, from a coach-maker’s! Is it to be paid?’

  ‘My dear boy, of course pay it. Why ask me?’

  ‘It is not one of your bills, sir,’ said Mr Gisborne, a stern look about his mouth.

  ‘I am aware,’ said his lordship, slightly amused. ‘One of Lord Winwood’s, I believe. Settle it, my dear fellow.’

  ‘Very well, sir. And Mr Drelincourt’s little affair?’

  At that the Earl, who had been absorbed in smoothing a crease from his sleeve, looked up. ‘Are you inquiring after the state of my cousin’s health, or what?’ he asked.

  Mr Gisborne looked rather puzzled. ‘No, sir, I was speaking of his monetary affairs. Mr Drelincourt wrote about a week ago, stating his embarrassments, but you would not attend.’

  ‘Do you find me a sore trial, Arnold? I am sure you must. It is time I made amends.’

  ‘Does that mean you will look over the accounts, sir?’ asked Mr Gisborne hopefully.

  ‘No, my dear boy, it does not. But you may – ah – use your own discretion in the matter of Mr Drelincourt’s embarrassments.’

  Mr Gisborne gave a short laugh. ‘If I were to use my own discretion, sir, Mr Drelincourt’s ceaseless demands on your generosity would find their way into the fire!’ he said roundly.

  ‘Precisely,’ nodded the Earl, and went on up the stairs.

  The boudoir smelt of roses. There were great bowls of them in the room, red and pink and white. In the middle of this bower, curled upon a couch with her cheek on her hand, Horatia was lying, fast asleep.

  The Earl shut the door soundlessly, and trod across the thick Aubusson carpet to the couch, and stood for a moment, looking down at his wife.

  She made a sufficiently pretty picture, her curls, free of powder, dressed loosely in the style the French called Grèque à boucles badines, and one white shoulder just peeping from the lace of her négligée. A beam of sunlight, stealing through one of the windows, lay across her cheek; and seeing it, the Earl went over to the window, and drew the curtain a little way to shut it out. As he turned Horatia stirred and opened drowsy eyes. They fell on him, and widened. Horatia sat up. ‘Is it you, my l-lord? I’ve been asleep. Did you w-want me?’

  ‘I did,’ said Rule. ‘But I did not mean to wake you, Horry.’

  ‘Oh, that d-doesn’t signify!’ She looked up at him rather anxiously. ‘Have you come to scold me for p-playing loo last night? I w-won, you know.’

  ‘My dear Horry, what a very unpleasant husband I must be!’ said the Earl. ‘Do I only seek you out to scold you?’

  ‘No-no, of course not, but I thought it m-might be that. Is it n-nothing disagreeable?’

  ‘I should hardly call it disagreeable,’ Rule said. ‘Something a little tiresome.’

  ‘Oh, d-dear!’ sighed Horatia. She shot a mischievous look at him. ‘You are g-going to be an unpleasant husband, sir. I know you are.’

  ‘No,’ said Rule, ‘but I am afraid I am going to annoy you, Horry. My lamentable cousin has been coupling your name with Lethbridge’s.’

  ‘C-coupling my name!’ echoed Horatia. ‘W-well, I do think Crosby is the m-most odious little toad alive! What did he say?’

  ‘Something very rude,’ replied the Earl. ‘I won’t distress you by repeating it.’

  ‘I suppose he thinks I’m in l-love with Robert,’ said Horatia bluntly. ‘But I’m n-not, and I don’t c-care what he says!’

  ‘Certainly not: no one cares what Crosby says. Unfortunately, however, he said it in Pelham’s hearing, and Pelham most unwisely called him out.’

  Horatia clapped her hands together. ‘A d-duel? Oh, how f-famous!’ A thought occurred to her. ‘M-Marcus, Pelham isn’t hurt?’

  ‘Not in the least; it is Crosby who is hurt.’

  ‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said Horatia. ‘He d-deserves to be hurt. Surely you d-did not think that would annoy me?’

  He smiled. ‘No. It is the sequel that I fear may annoy you. It becomes necessary for you to hold Lethbridge at arm’s length. Do you understand at all, Horry?’

  ‘No,’ said Horatia flatly. ‘I d-don’t!’

  ‘Then I will try to explain. You have made Lethbridge your friend – or shall I say that you have chosen to become his friend?’

  ‘It’s all the same, sir.’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear, there is a vast difference. But however it is, you are, I believe, often in his company.’

  ‘There is n-nothing in that, sir,’ Horatia said, brows beginning to lower.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ replied his lordship placidly. ‘But – you will have to forgive me for speaking plain, Horry – since Pelham has apparently considered the matter to be enough moment to fight a duel over, there are a very few people who will believe that there is nothing in it.’

  Horatia flushed, but answered roundly: ‘I d-don’t care what people believe! You’ve said yourself you kn-know there’s n-nothing in it, so if you don’t mind I am sure no one else n-need!’

  He raised his brows slightly. ‘My dear Horry, I thought I had made it abundantly clear to you at the outset that I do mind.’

  Horatia sniffed, and looked more mutinous than ever. He watched her for a moment, then bent, and taking her hands drew her to her feet. ‘Don’t frown at me, Horry,’ he said whimsically. ‘Will you, to oblige me, give up this friendship with Lethbridge?’

  She stared up at him, hovering between two feelings. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. He was smiling, half in amusement, half in tenderness. ‘My sweet, I know that I am quite old, and only your husband, but you and I could deal better together than this.’

  The image of Caroline Massey rose up clear before her. She whisked herself away, and said, a sob in her throat: ‘My l-lord, it was agreed we should not interfere with each other. You’ll allow I d-don’t interfere with you. Indeed, I’ve n-no desire to, I assure you. I won’t cast R-Robert off just b-because you are afraid of what vulgar people may say.’


  The smile had left his eyes. ‘I see. Ah – Horry, has a husband any right to command, since he may not request?’

  ‘If p-people talk it is all your fault!’ Horatia said, disregarding this. ‘If only you would be civil to R-Robert too, and – and f-friendly, no one would say a word!’

  ‘That, I am afraid, is quite impossible,’ replied the Earl dryly.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Horatia.

  He seemed to deliberate. ‘For a reason that has become – er – ancient history, my dear.’

  ‘Very well, sir, and what is this reason? Do you m-mean to tell me?’

  His mouth quivered responsively. ‘I admit you have me there, Horry. I don’t mean to tell you.’

  She said stormily: ‘Indeed, my lord? You won’t tell me w-why, and yet you expect me to cast off R-Robert!’

  ‘I confess it does sound a trifle arbitrary,’ admitted his lordship ruefully. ‘The story, you see, is not entirely mine. But even though I am unable to divulge it the reason is a sufficient one.’

  ‘V-vastly interesting,’ said Horatia. ‘It is a p-pity I can’t judge for myself, for I must tell you, sir, that I have no n-notion of deserting my friends only b-because a creature like your horrid c-cousin says odious things about me!’

  ‘Then I very much fear that I shall have to take steps to enforce this particular command,’ said the Earl imperturbably.

  She rejoined hotly: ‘You c-can’t c-coerce me into obeying you, my lord!’

  ‘What a very ugly word, my dear!’ remarked the Earl. ‘I am sure I have never coerced anyone.’

  She felt a little baffled. ‘Pray, what do you m-mean to do, sir?’

  ‘Dear Horry, surely I told you? I mean to put an end to the intimacy between you and Robert Lethbridge.’

  ‘W-well, you c-can’t!’ declared Horatia.

  The Earl opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch in a leisurely fashion. ‘No?’ he said, politely interested.

  ‘No!’

  The Earl shut the snuff-box, and dusted his sleeve with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  ‘W-well, have you n-nothing else to say?’ demanded Horatia, goaded.

  ‘Nothing at all, my dear,’ said his lordship with unruffled good-humour.

  Horatia made a sound rather like that of an infuriated kitten, and flounced out of the room.

  Eleven

  No lady of spirit, of course, could resist the temptation of pushing matters further, and Horatia was a lady of considerable spirit. The knowledge that the eyes of the Polite World were on her invested her behaviour with certain defiance. That anyone should dare to suppose that she, Horry Winwood, had fallen in love with Lethbridge was a ludicrous presumption to be treated only with scorn. Attracted by Lethbridge she might be, but there was a very cogent reason why she should not be in the least in love with him. The reason stood well over six foot in height, and was going to be shown, in vulgar parlance, that what was sauce for the goose could be sauce for the gander as well. And if the Earl of Rule could be roused to take action, so much the better. Horatia, her first annoyance having evaporated, was all agog to see what he would do. But he must be made to realize that his wife had no intention of sharing his favours with his mistress.

  So with the laudable object of making his lordship jealous Horatia sought in her mind for some outrageous thing to do.

  It did not take her long to hit upon the very thing. There was to be a ridotto held at Ranelagh, which, to tell the truth, she had given up all idea of attending, Rule having refused quite unmistakably to escort her. There had been a slight argument over the matter, but Rule had ended it by saying pleasantly: ‘I don’t think you would care for it, my dear. It won’t be a very genteel affair, you know.’

  Horatia was aware that public ridottos were looked upon by the select as very vulgar masquerades, and she accepted the Earl’s decision with a good grace. She had heard all sorts of scandalous tales of the excesses committed at such affairs, and had really no wish, beyond a certain curiosity, to be present at one.

  But now that battle was joined with the Earl a different complexion was put on the matter and it seemed all at once eminently desirable that she should attend the Ranelagh ridotto, with Lethbridge, of course, as her escort. There could be no fear of scandal, since both would be masked, and the only person who should know of the prank was my Lord of Rule. And if that did not rouse him, nothing would.

  The next step was to enlist Lord Lethbridge. She had feared that this might prove a little difficult (since he was so anxious not to cast a slur on her good name), but it turned out to be quite easy.

  ‘Take you to the ridotto at Ranelagh, Horry,’ he said. ‘Now, why?’

  ‘B-because I want to go, and Rule wo-can’t t-take me,’ said Horatia, correcting herself hurriedly.

  His oddly brilliant eyes held a laugh. ‘But how churlish of him!’

  ‘N-never mind that,’ said Horatia. ‘W-will you take me?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ replied Lethbridge, bowing over her hand.

  So five evenings later Lord Lethbridge’s coach drew up in Grosvenor Square, and my Lady Rule, in full ball dress, a grey domino over her arm, and a loo-mask dangling by its strings from her fingers, came out of the house, tripped down the steps, and got into the coach. She had thoughtfully left a message with the porter for Lord Rule. ‘If his lordship should inquire for me, inform him that I am gone to Ranelagh,’ she said airily.

  Her first view of Ranelagh made her delighted to have come, quite apart from the original object of the exploit. Thousands of golden lamps arranged in tasteful designs lit the gardens. Strains of music floated on the air; and crowds of gay dominoes thronged the gravel walks. In the various rotundas and lodges that were scattered about the ground refreshments could be had, while in the pavilion itself dancing was going forward.

  Horatia, observing the scene through the slits of her mask, turned impulsively to Lethbridge, standing beside her with a scarlet domino hanging open from his shoulders, and cried: ‘I am so g-glad we came! Only see how pretty! Are you not charmed with it, R-Robert?’

  ‘In your company, yes,’ he replied. ‘Do you care to dance, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ said Horatia enthusiastically.

  There was nothing to shock the primmest-minded person in the demeanours of those in the ballroom, but Horatia opened her eyes a little at the sight of a scuffle for the possession of a lady’s mask taking place later beside the lily-pond under the terrace. The lady fled with most ungenteel shrieks of laughter, hotly pursued by her cavalier. Horatia said nothing, but thought privately that Rule might have reason for not wishing his wife to attend public ridottos.

  However, to do him justice, Lord Lethbridge steered his fair charge carefully clear of any low-bred romping, and she continued to be very well pleased with the night’s entertainment. In fact, as she said over supper in one of the boxes, it was the most delightful adventure imaginable, and only wanted one thing to make it perfect. ‘Good God, Horry, what have I left undone?’ asked Lethbridge, in mock dismay.

  She dimpled. ‘Well, R-Robert, I do think it would be quite the n-nicest party I have ever been to if only we c-could play cards together!’

  ‘Oh, rogue!’ Lethbridge said softly. ‘You will shock the solitary gentleman in the next box, my dear.’

  Horatia paid no heed to this, beyond remarking that it was ten to one the gentleman was a stranger.

  ‘You don’t like d-dancing, Robert, you know you d-don’t! And I do want to try my skill against you.’

  ‘Too ambitious, Horry,’ he teased. ‘I was playing cards when you were sewing samplers. And I’ll wager I was playing better than you sewed.’

  ‘L-Lizzie used to finish all my samplers for me,’ admitted Horatia. ‘But I p-play cards much better than I sew, I assure you. R-Robert, why won’t you?’

  ‘Do you think I would fleece
so little a lamb?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t the heart!’

  She tilted her chin. ‘P-perhaps I should fleece you, sir!’ she said.

  ‘Yes – if I let you,’ he smiled. ‘And of course I undoubtedly should.’

  ‘L-let me win?’ said Horatia indignantly. ‘I am n-not a baby, sir! If I play, I play in earnest.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Lethbridge. ‘I will play you – in earnest.’

  She clapped her hands together, causing the man in the next box to glance round at her. ‘You w-will?’

  ‘At piquet – for a certain stake,’ Lethbridge said.

  ‘W-well, of course. I d-don’t mind playing high, you know.’

  ‘We are not going to play for guineas, my dear,’ Lethbridge told her, finishing the champagne in his glass.

  She frowned. ‘R-Rule does not like me to stake my jewels,’ she said.

  ‘Heaven forbid! We will play higher than that.’

  ‘G-good gracious!’ exclaimed Horatia. ‘For what then?’

  ‘For a lock – one precious lock – of your hair, Horry,’ said Lethbridge.

  She drew back instinctively. ‘That is silly,’ she said. ‘Besides – I c-couldn’t.’

  ‘I thought not,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, my dear, but you see you are not really a gamester.’

  She reddened. ‘I am!’ she declared. ‘I am! Only I c-can’t play you for a lock of hair! It’s stupid, and I ought not. B-besides what would you stake against it?’

  He put his hand to the Mechlin cravat about his throat and drew out the curious pin he nearly always wore. It was an intaglio of the goddess Athene with her shield and owl and looked to be very old. He held it in the palm of his hand for Horatia to see. ‘That has come down in my family through very many years,’ he said. ‘I will stake it against a lock of your hair.’

  ‘Is it an heirloom?’ she inquired, touching it with the tip of her finger.

  ‘Almost,’ he said. ‘It has a charming legend attached to it, and no Lethbridge would ever let it out of his possession.’