A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Very good of you, Tony. No, of course I’d not forgotten. In fact,” added James, with a smile, “I’ve purchased a new coat for the occasion, and am to call for it at five o’clock.”

  Shaldon glanced quickly at the coat his friend was wearing at present, then looked away again.

  “I know what you’d say. I could scarcely go in this. But it would never do to walk the hospital in a good coat.”

  “I suppose not. What time shall I call at your lodging, then? The ball begins at eight. Shall we say twenty minutes to the hour? One usually arrives late as a matter of principle, but in this case I don’t think the usual rules apply. We would both wish to be prompt in our attentions to your sister — and the other young lady, of course.”

  James agreed to the hour, thanked him again, and they parted.

  It was a little after five when James arrived at his tailor’s, only to find that the coat was not quite ready, the pressing of it having been delayed to accommodate a more affluent and frequent customer. He waited as patiently as a young man might who was not only of a naturally active disposition but who was also feeling hungry, since his last meal had been several hours ago. When the garment was at last delivered into his hands, he raced from the shop with it so precipitately that the tailor began to entertain serious doubts as to whether or not the bank bills with which he had been paid were stolen.

  Having reached his lodging just after six o’clock, James laid the coat reverently on the bed together with the rest of his evening attire, then went downstairs to request from his landlady the favour of a quick meal. She pulled a face.

  “Having been h’informed, Mr. Somerby, sir,” she said loftily, “that you was to be out this evening, naturally I didn’t think to get in anything for dinner, Mr. Keats being to ’ave ’is at a tavern with some friends.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry. Could you manage any kind of sandwich, do you think, or” — seeing the adamant look on her face, he gave her one of his most charming smiles — “or even some bread and cheese? Anything will do.”

  Under the influence of those smiling, very blue eyes, even the unimpressionable landlady mellowed sufficiently to allow that bread and cheese might just be within the bounds of possibility.

  “Splendid. I’ll come and fetch it in a moment. You’re very good, ma’am.”

  He left her and went to knock upon his neighbour’s door. Upon being bidden to enter, he obeyed to find Mr. Keats engaged in tying a neckcloth before the mirror over the mantelshelf. He was a young man below middle height with very broad shoulders, which somewhat diminished the size of his face, the best feature of which was his intelligent, sensitive eyes.

  “This cursed neckcloth!” Keats declared. “On my word, I believe it’s invested with a life of its own!” He broke off, turning away from the mirror. “Is there anything I can do for you, my dear Somerby?”

  “Oblige me by lending me your notes of today’s osteology lecture, if you’ll be so good. Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend myself.”

  Mr. Keats picked up a notebook from the table and handed it to his fellow student with somewhat of a hangdog air. This was soon explained as James carefully turned over the pages until he came to the one he required,

  for the inner margin of it was embellished with small flower drawings.

  “A trifle out of place, perhaps?” James said, smiling.

  “No such thing. Can flowers ever be out of place anywhere? And are they not particularly suited to the subject of that lecture, which was on the bones of the nose?”

  James laughed. “Your logic confounds me, old fellow, but I heartily agree with the principle that we shouldn’t keep science and art in watertight compartments. Well, I shall leave you to your struggle with that cravat, which I’m sure will be resolved eventually. I’ll return your book as soon as I’ve copied the notes from it. Once again, many thanks. I hope you enjoy a pleasant evening.”

  This civil wish being echoed, James returned to his room to place the notebook on his own table before going down to the kitchen again in order to collect his hasty meal.

  When he had returned to his room with some bread and cheese which he had cut for himself, he consulted his watch. There was still three quarters of an hour before Shaldon was due to call for him, and he could be ready comfortably in almost half that time. He decided to begin on copying the notes.

  This was a mistake. It is always difficult to disengage the attention from academic matters at a set time. He was still working assiduously away when he heard a firm step on the stair; and after a perfunctory knock, Shaldon entered the room, looking extremely impressive in a dark, well-fitting coat, white satin waistcoat and black evening breeches.

  James stared at him for a moment before giving a guilty start and jumping to his feet.

  “Good God! Is it time already?”

  Shaldon pulled out his watch to glance at it.

  “It certainly is, you young jackanapes. In fact, a few minutes after the time we agreed. Don’t tell me; I can hazard a guess. You’ve been so caught up in your work, you’ve forgotten all about your sister’s ball.”

  “Not precisely.” James pulled out a chair for his guest. “Events seemed to go against me. But I’ll be ready in a trice. Make yourself easy.”

  He retired to the adjoining bedchamber and could be heard casting off his shoes and generally bustling about. Shortly after eight had chimed by the clock on the mantelshelf, he appeared in the doorway.

  “Will I do?” he asked.

  Shaldon looked him over critically.

  “No,” he replied, with the bluntness of an old friend. “One of your stockings is twisted. And pray what do you call that manner of tying your cravat — the Medico?”

  James reddened a trifle. “Oh, damn it all, I’d no time to stand on points, Tony! If you can do any better, tie the confounded thing yourself.”

  “If I couldn’t do any better, I’d wear a made-up stock, old fellow. But I’ll allow something for the fact that you were short of time. All the same, we can’t grace Miss Somerby’s ball looking less than our best. Owe it to her, don’t you agree? Come here, and we’ll see what can be done. How do you fancy an à la Byron?”

  “Not at all — can’t stand the fellow.”

  “Oh, very well, we’ll make it an Orientale,” said Shaldon, accommodatingly, as he deftly arranged the folds of the neckcloth. “Stand still, damn you, if you want the thing done respectably.”

  “Sorry. Oh, Helen, what I’m prepared to suffer for your sake!”

  “Yes, indeed. But I rather fancy the lady’s worth it, you know.”

  CHAPTER XXV

  A gratifying number of gilt-edged invitation cards had lately been arriving at the Chetwodes’ house in Cavendish Square, among them one from Baron Lydney and his lady for the coming out ball of their daughter Cynthia.

  “And it’s to be a few days later than ours!” exclaimed Melissa, gleefully. “I’m monstrous glad of that, Helen, for Cynthia has a way of being first with everything and making everyone else’s concerns appear insipid by contrast. And see, here is one from Catherine, too, in the following week,” she added, skimming through the pile of correspondence which lay on her mother’s escritoire. “Gracious, we are bidden to rout parties, musical parties, a masquerade — oh, Helen, a water party! I must say, that does sound the most delightful thing! But, Mama, how in the world shall we contrive to attend them all?”

  “You may well ask, my dear, and I can only feel thankful for my health’s sake that your two sisters are safely married. But what pleases me most is that your vouchers for Almack’s are promised. Once you have both been presented, you can begin to attend the balls there.”

  The Royal Drawing Room had loomed large in the girls’ minds; but in the end it proved to be, as eagerly awaited events often are, something of an anti-climax. The room was so crowded with young ladies waiting to be presented and their attendant sponsors, that the actual ceremony was for each no more than the matter of a few momen
ts. The old Queen seemed stiff, and her heavily accented voice came as quite a surprise. The Prince Regent, his ample figure swelling beneath the blue coat adorned with orders, spoke a gracious word to everyone, and pressed the hands of all the prettiest young ladies with a winning smile. Helen, casting up her hazel eyes timidly to his face, thought that she could detect in it some lingering trace of the gentleman who had in his youth been called Prince Florizel. It was true that nowadays he had run to fat, that his extravagance and loose living, had alienated him from the London populace; but in spite of this, some of that early charm and graciousness remained. She remembered, too, how her father had often said that literature and the arts owed much to the Prince, whose excellent cultural taste had prompted him to extend his patronage wherever possible in this direction.

  The Court presentation did nothing to diminish the excitement attendant upon Helen and Melissa’s first and most important ball of the season. There had been anxious conferences in Alvington Rectory between Amanda Somerby and her daughter as to the kind of gown to be worn on this occasion; the final decision had rested on one of white silk, low necked and with puff sleeves, embroidered round the flared hem with a pretty motif of pink rosebuds. Helen’s honey coloured hair was dressed high with a cluster of curls at the back, secured by a pink ribbon, and her only jewellery was a gold locket set with pearls. Melissa’s pale yellow gown, trimmed at the hem with gold ruched ribbon, set off admirably her chestnut hair dressed in small ringlets framing her face. As Sir George Chetwode was quick to comment, they made a very charming picture as they stood beside himself and his wife to receive their guests; and, judging by the look on Philip’s countenance as the remark was made, it seemed that his son agreed with this point of view.

  The ballroom began to fill up quickly, much to Lady Chetwode’s relief; for with so many other engagements now that the season was in full swing, one could never be certain of a full attendance. Among the early arrivals were the Lydneys, Cynthia looking ravishing in a very décolleté gown of aquamarine silk under silver spangled gauze. Henry Lydney at once attached himself firmly to Helen’s side, soliciting her hand for the first dance.

  “I fear you are come too late,” she replied, smiling. “Mr. Chetwode bespoke that yesterday.”

  “Now I must say that’s a great deal too bad,” he complained. “And he’s not nearly such an old friend of yours as I am — but there, he possesses an unfair advantage in living under the same roof, lucky fellow! I wish I had his chances. Dear lady, I implore you to grant me at least the favour of the succeeding dance. If you are so hard-hearted as to refuse, I assure you I shall do something quite desperate!”

  Helen gave him a quizzical glance. “I’m almost tempted to refuse in order to see what manner of desperate deed you intend, sir. You pique my curiosity.”

  “Ah, fair cruelty!” he exclaimed, striking an attitude. “But I’ll willingly gratify your lightest whim, so your curiosity shall be satisfied. What would you have me do? Go out into the grounds and shoot myself?”

  “No, indeed,” she protested, laughing. “Or at least, not until my brother James arrives, for he’s the only person present who could render medical assistance, I daresay. But since you ask,” she went on, in a severe tone, “I must tell you that the only thing I’d have you do is to behave in a less extravagant way.”

  “Your word is law, and henceforth I’ll be a model of propriety, if only you will consent to stand up with me for the second dance.”

  “I’m not at all sure that I’d recognise you if you were a model of propriety, Mr. Lydney.”

  “Unkind! And you look such an angel in that white dress, too. But tell me, do you prefer men who are? Models of propriety, I would say?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds prodigiously dull, don’t you think?” Her laughing eyes clouded for a moment, as a sober thought intruded on the nonsense they were both talking. “And yet one would not care for a friend to go to the other extreme,” she added, slowly.

  He sensed her change of mood, though without understanding its cause, and swiftly adjusted his own manner to it.

  “Never fear, I shan’t do that, ma’am. And may I consider myself accepted as your partner for the second dance?”

  She bowed assent as she turned away to play her part in welcoming some newcomers. By now, most of the invited guests had already arrived, and she noticed that Melissa was giving a strained attention to the names announced by the footman at the door. It was not difficult for Helen to guess the reason that lay behind this.

  “I fear James may be a little late,” she said. “He sometimes finds it difficult to get away, as you’ll readily understand. But I know he’ll come if it’s at all possible, for he’s never yet failed me in anything important, and he quite realises that it is important to me for him to be present here tonight.”

  Melissa wanted to say that it was important to her, also; but remembering her talk with Helen a few weeks since, she restrained herself, although she continued to listen carefully as the later guests were announced. Presently the last of them seemed to have arrived, as there had been a hiatus during the past ten minutes or so. Lady Chetwode and Sir George pronounced that the dancing could now begin. Helen was led on to the floor by Philip Chetwode, while Melissa, her face a trifle downcast for such a memorable occasion, was partnered by one of her brothers-in-law, Lord Calcot.

  Helen herself felt unaccountably subdued as she and her partner took their places in the set that was forming. It was disappointing that James had so far not put in an appearance, although perhaps she need not quite give up hope that he would eventually arrive. There was someone else, too, who had certainly received an invitation, yet was missing. But what did it matter to her whether Viscount Shaldon attended her ball or not? Doubtless he had other, more interesting, engagements to keep with his companions of that evening at the Opera.

  She reminded herself that this was an occasion for enjoyment rather than the indulgence of gloomy thoughts, and proceeded to devote all her attention to her partner and the dance. When it was over and she returned to Lady Chetwode’s side, she found several prospective partners already lined up for her. Henry Lydney again insinuated himself close enough to remind her that she was promised to him for the next dance.

  “I warn you,” he said in a confidential tone which nevertheless reached the ears of several bystanders, “if you break faith with me, Miss Somerby, I shall feel myself obliged to challenge the usurper.”

  She saw that the other gentlemen exchanged amused glances at this remark, and she felt a trifle foolish. It was all very well for Mr. Lydney to talk nonsense to her in private, but she did not intend to permit it in public. That was going beyond the line of what was pleasing; she determined to give him a sharp setdown.

  She delivered this when they were dancing together. He pretended to be most contrite, but there was a contradictory twinkle in his eye.

  “It’s too bad of you,” she concluded, in tones of reproach. “You will have people saying I am fast.”

  “Only let them say it to me!”

  “That’s all very well, but of course they wouldn’t do so. Nevertheless, you must know that I should soon feel the effects of acquiring such a reputation.”

  “You mean it might scare off your other admirers?” he asked audaciously. “I can’t pretend I’d be sorry for that, ma’am!”

  She gave him a half-laughing, half-exasperated look. “Oh, you’re incorrigible, sir! What is to be done with you, I wonder?”

  Her hand was resting lightly on his as they danced. He pressed it and looked into her eyes.

  “Do you wish me to answer that?” he asked softly.

  Their shared glance held some kind of magnetism; Helen quickly averted her eyes. She looked towards the door and espied James, who had that minute entered the room. Forgetting immediately both her partner and their share in the dance, she quitted his side to make her way towards her brother. One or two of the dancers and several onlookers stared at this lack of decorum,
but Helen was quite oblivious of them.

  “James!” she cried, flinging her arms about him. “Oh, so you have come! I had almost given you up, you’re so late!”

  “Steady on, Nell,” he replied, kissing her warmly but detaching himself gently from her grasp. “We must take care of this coat, y’know, for I’m not likely to be able to afford another of this quality for some time.”

  She stood back, appraising him lovingly. The dark blue tail coat he was wearing looked, even to her inexperienced eye, to be both elegant and expensive. It fitted snugly over his broad shoulders and enhanced his deep blue eyes and blond hair. His knee breeches and snowy, intricately tied cravat completed the picture of a well turned-out gentleman in evening attire. Her sisterly heart swelled with pride.

  “Oh, Jamie! I’ve never seen you look so well!” she exclaimed.

  “Had to do you credit, didn’t I? Must say, love, you look as fine as fivepence yourself. I’m sorry to be late — would have been later still had it not been for Tony here, who was good enough to call for me and bring me in his carriage.”

  He stepped aside to reveal Shaldon, who had been standing behind him and had altogether escaped Helen’s notice in her delight at seeing her brother.

  “I daresay I may scarcely hope for such a rapturous welcome,” remarked Shaldon, smiling as he extended his hand. “May I say, ma’am, how very charmingly you look?”

  She put her hand in his and he carried it briefly to his lips. Unaccountably, she suddenly felt shy.

  “Thank you. I am so glad you could manage to come,” she said, awkwardly.

  “Perhaps we should present ourselves to our hostess to make our apologies, James,” suggested Shaldon. “Ah, yes, there is Lady Chetwode.”

  Sir George and his wife had now noticed the latecomers and were approaching them, but before they arrived on the scene Henry Lydney had joined the group. He had remained at his place in the set for a few moments after his partner’s abrupt desertion of him; then, seeing the cause of this, he had neatly extricated himself from the other dancers. He greeted the newcomers affably, in particular James Somerby, whom he had seen only rarely since Alvington days.