"You are a schoolboy, and know nothing of the matter," responded Augusta coldly.
"Oh, don't I, by Gad?" Lord Harry gave a crack of laughter. "Don't be such a simpleton!"
Barbara interrupted this dialogue with a good deal of Impatience. "Do not expose yourselves more than you are obliged!" she begged. "Charles is as yet unacquainted with my family. If he must discover how devious we are, pray let him do so gradually!"
"Very true," said Augusta. "We are all of us grangers to him, and he to us. How odd it seems, to be sure!"
Her husband moved restlessly, and said something under his breath. Colonel Audley, however, replied without an instant's hesitation: "Odd, indeed, but you put me perfectly at my ease, ma'am. You are in a cross humour, and do not scruple to show it. I feel myself one of the family already."
Barbara's gurgle of laughter broke the astonished silence that followed these words. "Charles! Superb! Confess, Gussie, you are done up!"
Augusta's stiffened countenance relaxed into a reluctant smile. "I am certainly taken aback, and must accord Colonel Audley the honours of that bout. Come, let us go in to dinner!"
She led the way into the dining parlour, indicated to the Colonel that he should sit at her right hand, and behaved towards him throughout the meal, if not with cordiality, at least with civility.
There was no lack of conversation, the Colonel being too used to maintaining a flow of talk at Headquarters' parties ever to be at a loss, and Lord Harry having an inexhaustible supply of chitchat at his tongue's end. Barbara said little. An attempt by Lord Harry to twit her on her engagement brought the stormy look back into her face. The Colonel intervened swiftly, turning aside the shaft, but not before Barbara had snapped out a snub. Augusta said with a titter: "I have often thought the betrothed state to be wretchedly commonplace."
"Very true," agreed the Colonel. "Like birth and death."
She was silenced. Vidal seized the opportunity to advert to the political situation, inaugurating a discussion which lasted until the ladies rose from the table. The gentlemen did not linger for many minutes, and the whole party was soon on its way to Madame van de Capellan's house.
It was an evening of music and dancing, attended by the usual crowd of fashionables. More congratulations had to be endured, until Barbara said savagely under her breath that she felt like a performing animal. Lady Worth, arriving with the Earl and her brother and sister-in-law, was reminded of a captive panther, and though understanding only in part the fret and tangle of Barbara's nerves, felt a good deal of sympathy for her. She presently moved over to her side, saying with a smile: "I think you dislike all this, so I shall add nothing to what I wrote you this morning."
"Thank you," Barbara said. "The insipidity - the inanity! I could curse with vexation!"
"Indeed, an engagement does draw a disagreeably particular attention to one."
"Oh the devil! I don't care a fig for that! But this is a milk-and-water affair!" She broke off, as Worth strolled up to them, and extended a careless hand to him. "How do you do? If you have come to talk to me, let it be of horses, and by no means of my confounded engagement. I think of setting up a phaeton: will you sell me your bays?"
"No," said Worth. "I will not."
"Good! You don't mince matters. I like that. Your wife is a famous whip, I believe. For the sake of our approaching kinship, find me a pair such as you would drive yourself, and I will challenge her to a race."
"I have yet to see a pair in this town I would drive myself," replied the Earl.
"Ah! And if you had? I suppose you would not permit Lady Worth to accept my challenge?"
"I am sure he would not," said Judith. "I did once engage in something of that nature - in my wild salad days, you know - and fell under his gravest displeasure. I must decline therefore, for all I should like to accept your challenge."
"Conciliating!" Barbara said with a harsh little laugh. She saw Judith's eyes kindle, and said impulsively: "Now I've made you angry! I am glad! You look splendid just so! I could like you very well, I think."
"I hope you may," Judith replied formally.
"I will; but you must not be forbearing with me, if you please. There! I am behaving abominably, and I meant to be so good!"
She clasped Judith's hand briefly, allowed her a glimpse of her frank smile, and turned from her to greet Lavisse, who was coming towards her across the room.
He looked pale. He came stalking up to Barbara, and stood over her, not offering to take her hand, not even according her a bow. Their eyes were nearly on a level, hers full of mockery, his blazing with anger. He said under his breath: "Is it true, then?"
She chuckled. "This is in the style of a hero of romance, Etienne. It is true!"
"You have engaged yourself to this Colonel Audley? I would not believe!"
"Felicitate me!"
"Never! I do not wish you happy, I! I wish you only regret."
"That's refreshing, at all events."
He saw several pairs of eyes fixed upon him, and with a muttered exclamation clasped Barbara round the waist and swept her into the waltz. His left hand gripped her right one; his arm was hard about her, holding her too close for decorum. "Je't'aime; entends tu, je't'aime!"
"You are out of time," she replied.
"Ah, qu'importe?" he exclaimed. He moderated his steps, however, and said in a quieter tone: "You knew I loved you! This Colonel, what can he be to you?"
"Why, don't you know? A husband!"
"And it is I who love you - yes, en desespere!"
"But I do not remember that you ever offered for this hand of mine, Etienne." She tilted her head back to look at him under the sweep of her lashes. "That gives you to think, eh, my friend? Terrible, that word marriage!"
"Effroyant! Yet I offer it!"
"Too late!"
"I do not believe! What has he, this colonel, that I have not? It is not money! A great position?"
"No!
"Expectations, perhaps?"
"Not even expectations!"
"In the name of God, what then?"
"Nothing!" she answered.
"You do it to tease me! You are not serious, in fact. Listen, little angel, little fool! I will give you a proud name, I will give you wealth, everything that you desire! I will adore you - ah, but worship you!"
She said judicially: "A proud name Charles will give me - if I cared for such stuff! Wealth?Yes, I should like that. Worship! So boring, Etienne, so damnably boring!"
"I could break your neck!" he said.
"Fustian!"
He drew in his breath, but did not speak for several turns. When he unclosed his lips again it was to say in a tone of careful nonchalance: "One becomes dramatic: a pity! Essayons encore! When is it to be, this marriage?"
"Oh, confound you, is not a betrothal enough for one day? Are we not agreed that there is something terrible about that word marriage?"
His brows rose. "So! I am well content. Play the game out, amuse yourself with this so gallant colonel; in the end you will marry me."
A gleam shot into her eyes. "A bet! What will you stake - gamester?"
"Nothing! It is sure, and there is no sport in it, therefore."
The music came to an end; Barbara stood free, smiling and dangerous. "I thank you, Etienne! If you knew the cross humour I was in! Now! Oh, it is entirely finished!" She turned upon her heel; her gaze swept the room, and found Colonel Audley. She crossed the floor towards him, her draperies hushing about her feet as she walked.
"That's a grand creature!" suddenly remarked Wellington, his attention caught. "Who is she, Duchess?"
The Duchess of Richmond glanced over her shoulder. "Barbara Childe," she answered. "She is a granddaughter of the Duke of Avon."
"Barbara Childe, is she? So that's the prize that lucky young dog of mine has won! I must be off to offer my congratulations!" He left her side as he spoke, and made his wayy to where Colonel Audley and Barbara were standing.
His congratulations, deli
vered with blunt heartiness, were perfectly well received by the lady. She shook hands, and met that piercing eagle stare with a look of candour, and her most enchanting smile. The Duke stayed talking to her until the quadrille was forming, but as soon as he saw the couples taking up their positions, he said briskly: "You must take your places, or you will be too late. No need to ask whether you dance the quadrille, Lady Barbara! As for this fellow, Audley, I'll engage for it he won't disgrace you."
He waved them on to the floor, called a chaffing word to young Lennox on the subject of his celebrated pas de zephyr, and stood back to watch the dance for a few minutes. Lady Worth, only a few paces distant, thought it must surely be impossible for anyone to look more carefree than his lordship. He was smiling, nodding to acquaintances, evidently enjoying himself. She watched him, wondering at him a little, and presently, as though aware of her gaze, he turned his head, recognised her, and said: "Oh, how d'ye do? A pretty sight, isn't it?"
She agreed to it. "Yes, indeed. Do all your staff officers perform so creditably, Duke? They put the rest quite in the shade."
"Yes, I often wonder where would Society be without my boys?" he replied. "Your brother acquits himself very well, but I believe that young scamp, Lennox, is the best of them. There he goes - but his partner is too heavy on her feet! Audley has the advantage of him in that respect."
"Yes," she acknowledged. "Lady Barbara dances very well."
"Audley's a fortunate fellow," said the Duke decidedly. "Won't thank me for taking him away from Brussels, I daresay. Don't blame him! But it can't be helped."
"You are leaving us, then?"
"Oh yes - yes! for a few days. No secret about it: I have to visit the Army."
"Of course. We shall await your return with impatience, I assure you, praying the Ogre may not descend upon us while you are absent!"
He gave one of his sudden whoops of laughter. "No fear of that! It's all nonsense, this talk about Bonaparte! Ogre! Pooh! Jonathan Wild, that's my name for him!" He saw her look of astonishment, and laughed again, apparently much amused, either by her surprise or by his own words.
She was conscious of disappointment. He had been described to her as unaffected: he seemed to her almost inane.
Chapter Eight
Upon the following day was published a General Order, directing officers in future to make their reports to the Duke of Wellington. Upon the same day, a noble-browed gentleman with a suave address and treat tact, was sent from Brussels to the Prussian Headquarters, there to assume the somewhat arduous duties of military commissioner to the Prussian Army. Sir Henry Hardinge had lately been employed by the Duke in watching Napoleon's movements in France. He accepted his new role with his usual equanimity, and commiserated with by his friends on the particularly trying nature of his commission, merely smiled, and said that General von Gneisenau was not likely to be as tiresome as he was painted.
The Moniteur of this 11th day of April published loomy tidings. In the south of France, the Duc D'Angouleme's enterprise had failed. Angouleme had led his mixed force on Lyons, but the arrival from Paris of a competent person of the name of Grouchy had ennded Royalist hopes in the south. Angouleme and his masterful wife had both set sail from France, and his army was fast dwindling away.
It was not known what King Louis, in Ghent, made of these tidings, but those who were acquainted with his character doubted whether his nephew's failure would much perturb him. Never was there so lethargic a monarch: one could hardly blame France for welcoming Napoleon back.
The news disturbed others, however. It seemed as though it were all going to start again: victory upon victory for Napoleon; France overrunning Europe. Shocking to think of the Emperor's progress through France, of the men who flocked to join his little force, of the crowds who welcomed him, hysterical with joy! Shocking to think of Marshal Ney, with his oath to King Louis on his conscience, deserting with his whole force to the Emperor's side! There must be some wizardry in the man, for in all France there had not been found sufficient loyal men to stand by the King and make it possible for him to hold his capital in Napoleon's teeth. He had fled, with his little Court, and his few troops, and if ever he found himself on his throne again it would be once more because foreign soldiers had placed him there.
But how unlikely it seemed that he would find himself there! With Napoleon at large, summoning his Champ de Mai assemblies, issuing his dramatic proclamations, gathering together his colossal armies, only the very optimistic could feel that there was any hope for King Louis.
Even Wellington doubted the ability of the Allies to put King Louis back on the throne, but this doubt sprang more from a just appreciation of the King's character than from any fear of Napoleon. Sceptical people might ascribe the Duke's attitude to the fact of his never having met Napoleon in the field, but the fact remained that his lordship was one of the few generals in Europe who did not prepare to meet Napoleon in a mood of spiritual defeat.
He accorded the news of Angouleme's failure a sardonic laugh, and laid the Moniteur aside. He was too busy to waste time over that.
He kept his staff busy too, a circumstance which displeased Barbara Childe. To be loved by a man who sent her brief notes announcing his inability to accompany her on expeditions of her planning was a new experience. When she saw him at the end of a :firing day, she rallied him on his choice of profession. "For the future I shall be betrothed only to civilians."
He laughed. He had been all the way to Oudenarde and back, with a message for General Colville, commanding the 4th Division, but he had found time to buy a ring of emeralds and diamonds for Barbara, end although there was a suggestion of weariness about his eyelids, he seemed to desire nothing as much as to dance with her the night through.
Waltzing with him, she said abruptly: "Are you tired?"
"Tired! Do I dance as though I were tired?"
"No, but you've been in the saddle nearly all day."
"Oh, that's nothing! In Spain I have been used to ride fifteen or twenty miles to a ball, and be at work again by ten o'clock the next day."
"Wellington trains admirable suitors," she remarked. "How fortunate it is that you dance so well, Charles!"
"I know. You would not otherwise have accepted me."
"Yes, I think perhaps I should. But I should not dance with you so much. I wish you need not leave Brussels just now."
"So do I. What will you do while I am away? Flirt with your Belgian admirer?"
She looked up at him. "Don't go!" He smiled, but shook his head.
"Apply to the Duke for leave, Charles!"
He looked started. As his imagination played with the scene her words evoked, his eyes began to dance.
"Unthinkable!"
"Why? You might well ask the Duke!"
"Believe me, I might not!"
She jerked up a shoulder. "Perhaps you don't wish for leave?"
"I don't," he said frankly. "Why, what a fellow I should be if I did!"
"Don't I come first with you?"
He glanced down at her. "You don't understand, Bab."
"Oh, you mean to talk to me of your duty!" she said impatiently. "Tedious stuff!"
"Very. Tell me what you will do while I am away."
"Flirt with Etienne. You have already said so. Have I your permission?"
"If you need it. It's very lucky: I leave Brussels on the 16th, and Lavisse will surely arrive on the 15th for the dinner in honour of the Prince of Orange. I daresay he'll remain a day or two, and so be at your disposal."
"Not jealous, Charles?"
"How should I be? You wear my ring, not his."
His guess was correct. The Comte de Lavisse appeared in Brussels four days later to attend the Belgian dinner at the Hotel d'Angleterre. He lost no time in calling in the Rue Ducale, and on learning that Lady Barbara was out, betook himself to the Park, and very soon came upon her ladyship, in company with Colonel Audley, Lady Worth and her offspring, Sir Peregrine Taverner, and Miss Devenish.
&nb
sp; The party seemed to be a merry one, Judith being in spirits and Barbara in a melting mood. It was she who held Lord Temperley's leading strings, and directed his attention to a bed of flowers. "Pretty lady!" Lord Temperley called her, with weighty approval.
"Famous!" she said. She glanced up at Judith, and said with a touch of archness: "I count your son one of my admirers, you see!"
"You are so kind to him I am sure it is no wonder," Judith responded, liking her in this humour.
"Thank you! Charles, set him on your shoulder, and let us take him to see the swans on the water. Lady worth, you permit?"
"Yes indeed, but I don't wish you to be teased by him!"
"No such thing!" She swooped upon the child, and lifted him up in her arms. "There! I declare I could carry you myself!"
"He's too heavy for you!"
"He will crush your pelisse!"
She shrugged as these objections were uttered, and relinquished the child. Colonel Audley tossed him up on to his shoulder, and the whole party was about to walk in the direction of the pavilion when Lavisse, who had been watching from a little distance, came forward, and clicked his heels together in one of his flourishing salutes.
Lady Worth bowed with distant civility; Barbara looked as though she did not care to be discovered in such a situation; only the Colonel said with easy good humour: "Hallo! You know my sister, I believe. And Miss Devenish - Sir Peregrine Taverner?"
"Ah, I have not previously had the honour! Mademoiselle! Monsieur!" Two bows were executed; the Count looked slyly towards Barbara, and waved a hand to include the whole group. "You must permit me to compliment you upon the pretty tableau you make; I am perhaps de trop, but shall beg leave to join the party."
"By all means," said the Colonel. "We are taking my nephew to see the swans."
"You cannot want to carry him, Charles," said Judith in a low voice.
"Fiddle!" he replied. "Why should I not want to carry him?"
She thought that the picture he made with the child on his shoulder was too domestic to be romantic, but could scarcely say so. He set off towards the pavilion with Miss Devenish beside him; Barbara imperiously demanded Sir Peregrine's arm; and as the path was not broad enough to allow of four persons walking abreast, Judith was left to bring up the rear with Lavisse.
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