The Earl picked up the decanter, and poured out two glasses of wine. One of them he held out to Peregrine. “Madeira, but if you prefer it I can offer you sherry,” he said.
“Thank you, nothing for me,” said Peregrine, with what he hoped was a fair imitation of his lordship’s own cold dignity.
Apparently it was not. “Don’t be stupid, Peregrine,” said Worth.
Peregrine looked at him for a moment, and then, lowering his gaze, took the glass with a murmured word of thanks, and sat down.
The Earl moved towards a deep chair with earpieces. “And now what is it?” he asked. “I apprehend it to be a matter of some importance, since it sends you looking all over town for me.”
His guardian’s voice being for once free from its usual blighting iciness, Peregrine, who had quite determined to go away without mentioning the business which had brought him, changed his mind, shot a swift, shy look at the Earl, and blurted out: “I want to talk to you on a—on a very delicate subject. In fact, marriage!” He gulped down half the wine in his glass, and took another look at the Earl, this time tinged with defiance.
Worth, however, merely raised his brows. “Whose marriage?” he asked.
“Mine!” said Peregrine.
“Indeed!” Worth twisted the stem of his wineglass between his finger and thumb, idly watching the light on the tawny wine. “It seems a trifle sudden. Who is the lady?”
Peregrine, who had been quite prepared to be met at the outset with a flat refusal to listen to him, took heart at this calm way of receiving the news, and sat forward in his chair. “I daresay you will not know her, sir, though I think you must know her parents, at least by repute.”
The Earl was in the act of raising his glass to his lips, but he lowered it again. “She has parents, then?” he asked, an inflection of surprise in his voice.
Peregrine stared. “Of course she has parents! What can you be thinking of?”
“Evidently of something quite different,” murmured his lordship. “But continue: who are these parents who are known to me by repute?”
“Sir Geoffrey and Lady Fairford,” said Peregrine, watching very anxiously to see how this disclosure would be met. “Sir Geoffrey is a member of Brook’s, I believe. They live in Albemarle Street, and have a place near St. Albans. He is a Member of Parliament.”
“They sound most respectable,” said Worth. “Pour yourself out another glass of wine, and tell me how long you have known this family.”
“Oh, a full month!” Peregrine assured him, getting up and going over to the table.
“That is certainly a period,” said the Earl gravely.
“Oh, yes,” said Peregrine, “you need not be afraid that I have just fallen in love yesterday. I am quite sure of my mind in this. A month is fully long enough for that.”
“Or a day, or an hour,” said the Earl musingly.
“Well, to tell you the truth,” confided Peregrine, reddening, “I was sure the instant I set eyes on Miss Fairford, but I waited, because I knew you would only say something cut—” He broke off in some confusion. “I mean—”
“Something cutting,” supplied the Earl. “You were probably right.”
“Well, I daresay you would not have listened to me,” said Peregrine defensively. “But now you must realize that it is perfectly serious. Only, from the circumstances of my being under age, Sir Geoffrey would have it that nothing could be in a way to be settled until your consent was gained.”
“Very proper,” commented the Earl.
“Sir Geoffrey will have no scruple in agreeing to it if you are not against it,” urged Peregrine. “Lady Fairford, too, is all complaisance. There is no objection there.”
The Earl threw him a somewhat scornful but not unkindly glance. “It would surprise me very much if there were,” he said.
“Well, have I your permission to address Miss Fairford?” demanded Peregrine. “It cannot signify to you in the least, after all!”
The Earl did not immediately reply to this. He sat looking rather enigmatically at his ward for some moments, and then opened his snuff-box, and meditatively took a pinch.
Peregrine fidgeted about the room, and at last burst out with: “Hang it, why should you object?”
“I was not aware that I had objected,” said Worth. “In fact, I have little doubt that if you are of the same mind in six months’ time I shall quite willingly give my consent.”
“Six months!” ejaculated Peregrine, dismayed.
“Were you thinking of marrying Miss Fairford at once?” inquired Worth.
“No, but we—I had hoped at least to be betrothed at once.”
“Certainly. Why not?” said the Earl.
Peregrine brightened. “Well, that is something, but I don’t see that we need wait all that time to be married. Surely if we were betrothed for three months, say—”
“At the end of six months,” said Worth, “we will talk about marriage. I am not in the mood today.”
Peregrine could not be satisfied, but having expected worse, he accepted it with a good grace, and merely asked whether the betrothal might be formally announced.
“It can make very little difference,” said the Earl, who seemed to be fast losing interest in the affair. “Do as you please about it: your prospective mother-in-law will no doubt inform all her acquaintance of it, so it may as well be as formal as you like.”
“Lady Fairford,” said Peregrine severely, “is a very superior woman, sir, quite above that sort of thing.”
“If she is above trying to secure a husband with an estate of twelve thousand pounds a year for her daughter she is unique,” said the Earl with a certain tartness.
Chapter IX
The betrothal was announced in the columns of the Morning Post, and its most immediate effect was to bring Admiral Taverner to Brook Street with a copy of the paper under his arm, and an expression of strong indignation on his face. He wasted no time in civilities, and not even the presence of Mrs. Scattergood had the power to prevent him making known his mind. He demanded to know what they were all about to let Peregrine make such wretched work of his future.
“Miss Harriet Fairford!” he said. “Who is Miss Harriet Fairford? I thought it had not been possible when I read it. ‘Depend upon it,’ I said (for Bernard was with me), ‘Depend upon it, it is all a damned hum! The lad will not be throwing himself away on the first pretty face he sees.’ But you don’t speak; you say nothing! Is it true then?”
Miss Taverner begged him to be seated. “Yes, sir, it is quite true.”
The Admiral muttered something under his breath that sounded like an oath, and crumpling up the paper threw it into a corner of the room. “It does not signify talking!” he said. “Was there ever such an ill-managed business? D—n me, the boy’s no more than nineteen! He is not to be getting married at his age. Upon my soul, I wonder at Worth! But I daresay this is done without his knowledge?”
Miss Taverner was obliged to banish the gleam of hope in her uncle’s eyes by replying quietly that the betrothal had been announced with the Earl’s full consent.
The Admiral seemed to find this difficult to believe. He exclaimed at it, blessed himself, and ended by saying that he could not understand it. “Worth has some devilish deep game on hand!” he said. “I wish I knew what it may be! Married before he is twenty! Ay, that will mean the devil to pay and no pitch hot!”
Mrs. Scattergood, at no time disposed in the Admiral’s favour, shut up her netting-box at this, and said in a tone of decided reproof: “I am sure I do not know what you can mean, sir. Pray, what game should my cousin be playing? It is no bad thing, I can tell you, for a young man inclined to wildness to be betrothed to a respectable female such as Miss Fairford. It will steady him, and for my part I have not the least doubt She will make him a charming wife.”
The Admiral recollected himself. “Mean! Oh, d—n it, I don’t mean anything! I had forgot you were related to the fellow. But Perry with his fortune to be throwing hi
mself away on a paltry baronet’s daughter! It is a pitiful piece of work indeed!”
He was evidently much put out, and Miss Taverner, guessing as she must the real reason behind his annoyance, could only be sorry to see him expose himself so plainly. She had no means of knowing what else he might have said, for the footman opening the door to announce another caller the conversation had to be abandoned.
This second visitor was none other than the Duke of Clarence, who came in with a smile on his good-humoured face, and a bluff greeting for both ladies.
Miss Taverner was distressed that he should have come when her uncle was sitting with her, but the Admiral’s manners when confronted by Royalty underwent a distinct change. If he did not, with his red face and rather bloodshot eyes, present a very creditable appearance, at least he said nothing during the Duke’s visit to mortify his niece. His civilities were too obsequious to please the nice tone of her mind, but the Duke seemed to find nothing amiss, so that she supposed him to be too much in the way of encountering such flattery to think it extraordinary. He stayed only half an hour, but his partiality for Miss Taverner, which he made no attempt to conceal, did not escape the Admiral’s notice. No sooner had the Duke made his bow, and gone off, than the Admiral said: “You did not tell me you was on such easy terms with Clarence, my dear niece. This is flying high indeed! But you will be very ill-advised to encourage his attentions, you know. Ay, you may colour up, but you won’t deny he is in a way to make you the object of his gallantry. But there is nothing to be hoped for in that quarter. These morganatic marriages are not for you. Nothing could be worse! Think of Mrs. Fitz-Herbert, gone off to live at Golders Green! Think of that poor creature Sussex married in Rome—and she was of better birth than you, my dear, but it was all annulled, and there she is, I don’t know where, with two children, and a beggarly allowance, quite cast-off!”
“Your warning, sir, is quite unnecessary,” said Miss Taverner coldly. “I have no intention of marrying the Duke of Clarence even if he should ask me—an event which I do not at all anticipate.”
The Admiral evidently felt that he had said enough. He begged pardon, and presently took himself off.
“Well, my love,” remarked Mrs. Scattergood, “I should not wish to be severe on a relative of yours, but I must say that I do not think the Admiral quite the thing.”
“I know it,” replied Miss Taverner.
“It is quite plain to me that he does not like to think of Perry with a nursery-full of stout children standing between him and the title. You must forgive me, my dear, but I do not perfectly know how things are left.”
“My uncle would inherit the title if Perry died without a son to succeed him, and also a part—only what is entailed, and it is very little—of the estate,” Judith answered. “It is I who would inherit the bulk of the fortune.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Scattergood thoughtfully. She seemed to be on the point of making some further remark, but changing her mind merely proposed their ordering the carriage and driving to a shop in Bond Street, where she fancied she would be able to match a particularly fine netting cotton.
Miss Taverner, having a book to change at Hookham’s Library, was quite agreeable, and in a short time both ladies set forth in an open barouche, the day (though it was November) being so extremely mild that even Mrs. Scattergood could not fear an inflammation of the lungs, or an injury to the complexion.
They arrived in Bond Street soon after two o’clock and found it as usual at that hour very full of carriages and smart company. Several tilburies and saddle-horses were waiting outside Stephen’s Hotel, and as Miss Taverner’s barouche passed the door of Jackson’s Boxing Saloon she saw her brother going in on Mr. Fitzjohn’s arm. She waved to him, but did not stop, and the carriage drawing up presently outside a haberdasher’s shop she set Mrs. Scattergood down and drove on to the library.
She had just handed in Tales of Fashionable Life, and was glancing through the volumes of one of the new publications when she felt a touch on her sleeve and turned to find her cousin at her elbow.
She gave him her hand, gloved in lemon kid. “How do you do? I believe one is sure of meeting everyone at Hookham’s, soon or late. Tell me, have you read this novel? I have just picked it at random from the shelf. I don’t know who wrote it, but do, my dear cousin, read where I have quite by accident opened the volume!”
He looked over her shoulder. Her finger pointed to a line. While he read she watched him, smiling, to see what effect the words must produce on him.
“I am glad of it. He seems a most gentleman-like man; and I think, Elinor, I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable establishment in life,”
“Me, brother! What do you mean?”
“He likes you. I observed him narrowly, and am convinced of it. What is the amount of his fortune?”
“I believe about two thousand a year.”
“Two thousand a year?”and then working himself up to a pitch of enthusiastic generosity, he added: “Elinor, I wish with all my heart it were twice as much for your sake.”
A laugh assured Miss Taverner that this passage had struck her cousin just as she believed it must. She said, closing the volume: “Surely the writer of that must possess a most lively mind? I am determined to take this book. It seems all to be written about ordinary people, and, do you know, I am quite tired of Sicilians and Italian Counts who behave in such a very odd way. Sense and Sensibility! Well, after Midnight Bells and Horrid Mysteries that has a pleasant ring, don’t you agree?”
“Undoubtedly. I think it has not yet come in my way, but if you report well of it I shall certainly bespeak it. Are you walking? May I be your escort?”
“My carriage is waiting outside. I have to call at Jones’s for Mrs. Scattergood. I wish you may accompany me.”
He was all compliance, and having handed her into the carriage, took his seat beside her, and said with a grave look: “I believe my father has been to call on you this morning.”
She inclined her head. “Yes, my uncle was with us for about an hour.”
“I can guess his errand. I am sorry for it.”
“There is no need. He considers that Perry is too young to be thinking of marriage, and in part I agree with him.”
“Perry’s friends must all feel the truth of that. It is a pity. He has seen very little of the world, and at nineteen, you know, one’s taste is not fixed. My father has never been a believer in early marriages. But it may yet come to nothing, I daresay.”
“I do not think it,” Judith said decidedly. “Perry is young, but he knows his own mind, and once that is made up there is generally no changing it. I believe the attachment to be deep; it is certainly mutual. And, you know, however much I may regret an engagement entered into so soon I could not wish to see it broken.”
He assented. “It would be very bad. We can only wish him happy. I am not acquainted with Miss Fairford. You like her?”
“She is a very amiable, good sort of girl,” responded Judith.
“I am glad. The wedding, I conclude, will not be long put off?”
“I am not perfectly sure. Lord Worth spoke of six months, but Perry hopes to be able to induce him to consent to its taking place sooner. I don’t know how he will succeed.”
“I imagine Lord Worth will be more likely to find the means of postponing it.”
She turned an inquiring look upon him. He shook his head. “We shall see, but I own myself a little worried. I don’t understand Worth’s consenting to this marriage. But it is possible that I misjudge him.”
The barouche drew up outside the haberdasher’s, and Mrs. Scattergood coming out of the shop directly Judith could not pursue the subject further. Her cousin stepped down to help Mrs. Scattergood into the carriage. He declined getting in again; he had business to transact in the neighborhood; they left him on the pavement, and drove slowly on down the street. Coming opposite to Jackson’s again some little press of traffic obliged the coachman to pull his horses i
n to a standstill, and before they could move on two gentlemen came out of the Saloon, and stood for a moment on the pavement immediately beside the barouche. One was the Earl of Worth; the other Colonel Armstrong, a close friend of the Duke of York, with whom Miss Taverner was only slightly acquainted. Both gentlemen bowed to her; Colonel Armstrong walked away up the street, and Worth stepped forward to the barouche.
“Well, my ward?” he said. “How do you do, cousin?”
“Do you go our way?” inquired Mrs. Scattergood. “May we take you up?”
“To the bottom of the street, if you will,” he answered, getting into the carriage.
Miss Taverner was gazing at a milliner’s window on the opposite side of the road, apparently rapt in admiration of a yellow satin bonnet embossed with orange leopard-spots, and bound with a green figured ribbon, but at Mrs. Scattergood’s next words she turned her head and unwillingly paid attention to what was being said.
“I am excessively glad to have fallen in with you, Julian,” Mrs. Scattergood declared. “I have been wanting to ask you these three days what you were about to let Perry tie himself up in this fashion. Not that I have a word to say against Miss Fairford: I am sure she is perfectly amiable, a delightful girl! But you know he might do much better for himself. How came you to be giving your consent so readily?”
He said lazily: “I must have been in an uncommonly good temper, I suppose. Don’t you like the match?”
“It is respectable, but not brilliant, and I must say, Worth, I think Perry much too young.”
He made no reply. Miss Taverner raised her eyes to his face. “Do you think it wise to let him be married?” she asked.
“I think he is not married yet, Miss Taverner,” replied Worth.
The carriage began to move forward. Judith said: “Now that it has been so publicly announced it must be a settled thing.”
“Oh, by no means,” said Worth. “A dozen things might happen to prevent it.”
Regency Buck Page 13
