“Oh, I am glad you came in!” Judith said, holding out her hand to him. “It was kind in you to remember the book. Is this it? Thank you, cousin.”
She picked it up from the table, and began to turn the leaves. Her cousin’s hand laid compellingly over hers made her look up. He was regarding her intently. “What is it, Judith?” he asked in his quiet way.
She gave a little, angry laugh. “Oh, it is nothing—it should be nothing. I am stupid, that is all.”
“No, you are not stupid. Something has occurred to put you out.”
She tried to draw her hand away, but he did not slacken his hold. “Tell me,” he said.
She looked significantly down at his hand. “If you please, cousin.”
“I beg your pardon.” He stepped back with a slight bow.
She put the book aside, and moved towards a. three-backed settee of lacquered wood and cane, and sat down. “You need not. I know you only wish to be kind.” She smiled up at him. “I am not offended with you, for all I may look to be in one of my sad passions.”
He followed her to the settee, and at a sign from her seated himself beside her. “It is Worth?” he asked directly.
“Oh, yes, it is, as usual, my noble guardian,” she replied, with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Mrs. Scattergood informed me that he was with you. What has he been doing or must I not ask?”
“I brought it upon myself,” said Judith, incurably honest. “But he behaves in such a way—oh, cousin, if my father had but known! We are in Lord Worth’s hands. Nothing could be worse! I thought at first that he was amusing himself at my expense. Now I am afraid—I suspect him of a set purpose, and though it cannot succeed it can make this year uncomfortable for me.”
“A set purpose,” he repeated. “I may guess it, I suppose.”
“I think so. It was you who put me a little on my guard.”
He nodded; he was slightly frowning. “You are very wealthy,” he said. “And he is expensive. I do not know what his fortune is; I imagined it had been considerable, but he is a gamester, and a friend of the Regent. He is in the front of fashion; his clothes are made by the first tailors; his stables are second to none; he belongs to I dare not say how many clubs—White’s, Watier’s, the Alfred (or, as I have heard it called, the Half-Read), the Je ne sais quoi, the Jockey Club, the Four Horse, the Bensington—perhaps more.”
“In a word, cousin, he is a dandy,” Judith said.
“More than that. He is of the Bow-window set, I grant, but not of the Unique Four. That is composed, as you know, of only your complete Dandies—Brummell, Alvanley, Mildmay, and Pierrepoint. Worth has other interests, even more expensive.”
“So has Lord Alvanley,” she interposed.
“Very true. Lord Alvanley hunts, for instance, but he does not, I believe, aspire to be first in so many fields as Worth. You may hardly go to a race-meeting but you are sure to find Worth has a horse running, while his curricle-races, the teams he drives, are notorious.”
“It is the only thing I know of to his advantage,” Judith said. “I will admit him to be an excellent whip. But for the rest I find him a mere fop, a creature of affectations, tricked out in modish clothes, thinking snuff to be of more moment than events of real importance. He is proud, he can be insolent. There is a reserve, a lack of openness—I must not say any more: I shall put myself in a rage, and that will not do.”
He smiled. “You’ve no love for the dandies, Judith?”
“Oh, as to that—Mr. Brummell is of all people the most charming companion. Lord Alvanley too must always please. But in general, no, I do not like them. I like a man to be a man, and not a mask of fashion.”
He agreed to it, but said seriously: “I collect there is more than you have said. These faults, though you may despise them, are not enough to anger you as I think you were angered this evening, cousin.”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes smouldering again at the recollection of her interview with the Earl. Mr. Taverner laid his hand over hers, and clasped it. “Do not tell me unless you choose,” he said gently, “but believe that I only wish to serve you, to be, if I may be no more, merely your friend.”
“You are all consideration,” she said. “All kindness.” She smiled, but with a quivering lip. “Indeed, I count you very much my friend. There is no one I can open my mind to, saving Perry, and he is young, taken up with his new acquaintances, and amusements. Mrs. Scattergood is very amiable, but she is related to Worth—a circumstance I cannot forget. I have been thinking how very much alone I am. There is only Perry—but I am falling into a mood of pitying myself, which is nonsensical. While I have Perry I cannot want for protection.” She gave her head a little shake. “You see how stupid Lord Worth makes me! We cannot meet but I find myself picking a quarrel with him, and then I become as odious as he is himself. To-night in particular—he informs me, if you please, that he shall not consent to my marriage with anyone but himself while he is my guardian! It has put me in such a rage that I declare I could almost elope to Gretna Green just to spite him.”
He started. “My dear cousin!”
“Oh, I shall not, of course! Do not look so shocked!”
“Not that—certainly not that, but—I have no right to ask you—you have met someone? There is some man with whom you could contemplate—?”
“No one, upon my honour!” she said, laughing. Her eyes met his for an instant, and then fell. She coloured, became aware of her hand under his and gently drew it away. “Where can Mrs. Scattergood be gone to, I wonder?”
He rose. “I must go. It is growing late.” He paused, looking earnestly down at her. “You have Peregrine to turn to, I know. Let me say just this, that you have also a cousin who would do all in his power to serve you.”
“Thank you,” she said, almost inaudibly. She got up. “It—it is late. It was good of you to call, to bring me the book.”
He took her hand, held out to him in farewell, and kissed it. “Dear Judith!” he said.
Mrs. Scattergood, coming back into the room at that moment, looked very sharply at him, and made not the smallest attempt to persuade him into staying any longer. He took his leave of both ladies, and bowed himself out.
“You are getting to be excessively intimate with that young gentleman, my love,” observed Mrs. Scattergood.
“He is my cousin, ma’am,” replied Judith tranquilly.
“H’m, yes! I daresay he might be. I have very little notion of cousins, I can tell you. Not that I have anything against Mr. Taverner, my dear. He seems an agreeable creature. But that is how it is always! The less eligible a man is the more delightful he is bound to be! You may depend upon it.”
Judith began to put away her embroidery. “My dear ma’am, what can that signify? There is no thought of marriage between us.”
“No Bath-miss airs with me, child, I implore you!” said Mrs. Scattergood, throwing up her hands. “That is very pretty talking, to be sure, but you have something more of quickness than most girls, and you know very well, my love, that there is always a thought of marriage between a single female and a personable gentleman, if not in his mind, quite certainly in hers. Now this cousin may do very well for a young lady of no particular consequence, but you are an heiress and should be looking a great deal higher for a husband. I don’t say you must not show him the observance that is due to a relative, but you know, my dear, you do not owe him any extraordinary civility, and to let him kiss your hand and be calling you dear Judith, is the outside of enough!”
Judith turned. “Let me understand you, ma’am. How much higher must I look for a husband?”
“Oh, my dear, when a female is as wealthy as you, as high as you choose! I did think of Clarence, but there’s that horrid Marriage Act to be got over, and I daresay the Regent would never give his consent.”
“There is Mrs. Jordan to be got over too,” said Judith dryly.
“Nonsense, my love, I have it for a fact he has quite broken with her. I daresa
y she will keep all the children of the connection—I believe there are ten, but I might be mistaken.”
“You informed me yourself, ma’am, that the Duke was a devoted father,” said Judith.
Mrs. Scattergood sighed. “Well, and have I not said that I believe he won’t do? Though I must say, my dear, if you had the chance of becoming his wife it would be a very odd thing in you to be objecting to it merely because of a few Fitz-Clarences. But I have been thinking of it, and I am persuaded it won’t answer. We must look elsewhere.”
“Where shall we look, ma’am?” inquired Judith, with a hint of steel in her voice. “A mere commoner is too low for me, and a Royal Duke too high. I understand his Grace of Devonshire is unmarried. Shall I set my cap at him, ma’am, or should I look about me for a husband amongst—for instance—the Earls?”
Mrs. Scattergood glanced up sharply. “What do you mean, my love?”
“Would not Lord Worth make me a suitable husband?” said Miss Taverner evenly.
“Oh, my dearest child, the best!” cried Mrs. Scattergood. “It has been in my mind ever since I clapped eyes on you!”
“I thought so,” said Judith. “Perhaps that was why his lordship was so determined you should live with me?”
“Worth has not said a word to me, not one, I promise you!” replied Mrs. Scattergood, an expression of ludicrous dismay in her face.
Miss Taverner raised her brows in polite incredulity. “No, ma’am?”
“Indeed he has not! Lord, I wish I had not spoken! I had not the least notion of uttering a word, but then you spoke of earls, and it popped out before I could recollect. Now I have put you in a rage!”
Judith laughed. “No, you have not, dear ma’am. I am sure you would not try to force me into a marriage, the very thought of which is repugnant to me.”
“No,” agreed Mrs. Scattergood. “I would not, of course, but I must confess, my love, I am sorry to hear you talk of Worth like that.”
“Do not let us talk of him at all,” said Judith lightly. “I for one am going to bed.”
She went to bed, and presently to sleep, but was awakened some time after midnight by a tapping on her door. She sat up, and called out: “Who is there?”
“Are you awake? Can I come in?” demanded Peregrine’s voice.
She gave permission, wondering what disaster had befallen him. He came in carrying a branch of candles, which he set down on the table beside her bed to the imminent danger of the rose-silk curtains. He was dressed for an evening party, in satin knee-breeches, and a velvet coat, and he seemed to be suffering from suppressed excitement. Judith looked anxiously up at him. “Is anything wrong, Perry?” she asked.
“Wrong? No, how should it be? You weren’t asleep, were you? I didn’t think you had been asleep yet. It is quite early, you know.”
“Well, I am not asleep now,” she said, smiling. “Do move the candles a little, my dear! You will have me burned in my bed.”
He complied with this request, and sat himself down on the edge of the bed, hugging one knee. Judith waited patiently for him to tell her why he had come, but he seemed to have fallen into a pleasant sort of dream, and sat staring at the candle flames as though he saw a picture in them.
“Perry, have you or have you not something you wish to tell me?” demanded his sister between amusement and exasperation.
He brought his gaze round to dwell on her face. “Eh? Oh no, nothing in particular. Do you know Lady Fairford, Ju?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I do. Ought I to?”
“No—that is—I believe—I am nearly sure she is going to call on you.”
“I am very much obliged to her. Shall I like her?”
“Oh yes, excessively! She is a most agreeable woman. I was presented to her at Covent Garden tonight. I was dining with Fitz, you know, and we thought we might as well go to the play, and they were there, in a box. Fitz is a little acquainted with the family, and he took me up, and the long and the short of it was we joined them afterwards at the ball, and Lady Fairford asked very particularly after my sister, and said she had had it in mind to call on you, but from the circumstance of her having been out of London just lately—they have a place in Hertfordshire, I believe—it had not so far been in her power. But she said she should certainly come.” He gave her a fleeting glance, and began to study his finger-nails. “She may—I do not know—but she may bring her daughter,” he added, rather too off-handedly.
“Oh!” said Judith. “I hope she will. Has she only the one daughter?”
“Oh no, I believe she has a numerous family, but Miss Fairford is the only one out. Her name,” said Peregrine rapturously, “is Harriet.”
Miss Taverner knew her duty, and immediately replied: “What a pretty name, to be sure!”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said Peregrine. “She—I think she is very pretty too. I do not know how she may strike you, but I certainly consider her uncommonly handsome.”
“Is she dark or fair?” inquired his sister.
But to this question he could not give any very certain answer. He rather thought Miss Fairford’s eyes were blue, but they might be grey: he could not be sure. She was not tall, quite the reverse, yet Judith must not be imagining a dab of a girl. It was no such thing: but she would see for herself.
After a good deal in this strain he took himself off to bed, leaving his sister to her reflections.
She had not been used to see him in the toils of a young woman, and could hardly be blamed for feeling a certain jealousy. She did her best to banish it, and succeeded very fairly. When Lady Fairford, who turned out to be a kindly sensible woman in the early forties, came to pay her promised call, she did bring her eldest daughter with her, and Judith had leisure to observe Peregrine’s charmer.
Miss Fairford was not long out of the schoolroom, and had all the natural shyness of her seventeen years. She regarded Judith out of a pair of large dove-like eyes with a great deal of awe, coloured a little when directly addressed, and allowed her soft mouth to tremble into a fugitive, appealing smile. She had pretty brown curls, and a neat figure, but to Judith, who was built on Junoesque lines, she could not seem other than short.
When Peregrine came in, which he presently did, Lady Fairford greeted him with marked complaisance, and took the opportunity to beg the company both of him and his sister to dinner on the following Tuesday. The invitation was accepted: Peregrine had in fact accepted it before Judith could recollect her own engagements. On the pretext of showing Miss Fairford a book of views which Judith had previously been looking at, he contrived to draw her a little apart, a manoeuvre which was observed by the lady’s mama without provoking her to any other sign than a faint smile. Miss Taverner concluded that her visitor would be inclined to look favourably upon a possible match. She was not surprised. Peregrine was well-born, handsome, and possessed of a large fortune. No mother with five daughters to see suitably established, could be blamed for giving so eligible a suitor just a little encouragement.
Upon inquiry, the Fairfords were found to be a very respectable family living in good style in Albemarle Street. They moved in the best circles, without aspiring to belong to the Carlton House set; had one son in the army, one at present at Oxford, and a third at Eton.
When Tuesday came the company invited to dinner was found to be not numerous, but extremely select, and the party went off without any other hitch than that occasioned by Lord Dudley and Ward, who, from the circumstance of his being excessively absent-minded and fancying himself in his own house, apologized very audibly to Miss Taverner for the badness of one of the entrees. He said that the cook was ill.
The gentlemen soon joined the ladies after dinner; a whist-table was formed, and the rest of the party sat down, some to play a few rubbers of Casino, and the rest to a game of lottery tickets. Miss Fairford having placed herself at the lottery-table, Judith was amused but not surprised to see Peregrine taking a chair beside her. She reflected with an inward smile that this was j
ust such an evening as a week ago he would have voted very poor sport.
Chapter VIII
Contrary to his sister’s expectations, Peregrine’s infatuation for Miss Fairford showed no sign of abating. He continued to go about town a great deal, but whenever opportunity offered he was to be found, if not on the Fairford doorstep, certainly at any party where they were likely to be present. Miss Taverner informed her cousin that she did not know whether to be cross or glad. A love-lorn Peregrine was tiresome, but if Miss Fairford’s attractions could keep him out of gaming clubs and taverns she must certainly be glad. When she found his thoughts to be dwelling on marriage she was a little dubious. He seemed to her to be too young to be thinking of such a thing.
However that might be, within one month of having met Miss Fairford he had come to such a good understanding with her that he took his courage in both hands, and sought an interview with her parents.
Lady Fairford, who besides wishing to see her daughter so triumphantly bestowed, was in a fair way to loving Peregrine quite for his own sake, showed a marked inclination to accept him into her family without any more ado, but Sir Geoffrey, with greater common sense, thought the young couple would do well to wait. He was by no means anxious to lose his daughter, and might conceivably feel some doubt of her suitor’s stability, but even he must feel that the match would be a better one than he had ever hoped to see his Harriet make. He would not forbid the engagement, but his notions of propriety, which were very nice, made him refuse to listen to any offer that was made without Lord Worth’s knowledge or approval.
This pronouncement had the effect of sending Peregrine off hot-foot to his guardian. Worth, however, proved to be somewhat elusive. Three consecutive calls at his house failed to discover him, and after an abortive attempt to compose a letter which should explain everything to his lordship, Peregrine hit upon the notion of looking for him at his clubs.
Regency Buck Page 11
