“Good gracious, did she?” Frederica exclaimed, quite astonished, “She must have been funning! Only think of her success! The bouquets that are sent her! The way our knocker is never quiet! Oh, you must be mistaken, cousin!”
He saw she was looking distressed, and replied lightly: “Very possibly. In any event, I see no reason why you should fall into dejection.”
“But if she doesn’t care for those things — doesn’t wish to make a creditable marriage — I shall have done it all for nothing!” she pointed out.
“Nonsense! You at least are enjoying London life.”
“That doesn’t signify!” she said impatiently. “As though I should have dreamt of dragging the boys to London to gratify my own wishes!”
“I daresay Jessamy would have preferred to have remained at home, but it won’t hurt him to see something of the world. As for Felix, he’s as happy as a grig! I’m a little curious, however, to know what it was that made you think that Charis shares your own tastes.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think that. Only that it was shameful to keep her hidden away, or to allow her to marry young Rushbury, or any of the other men of our acquaintance, before she had had a season.” She hesitated, and then said rather shyly: “The thing is, you see, that she is so very persuadable! She is much inclined to agree to whatever is suggested to her, and although her principles are firm, her disposition is so yielding that I own it does sometimes sink my spirits!”
“I imagine it might — if she yields to the importunities of every callow youth who dangles after her! Does she fall in love with them?”
“I don’t think she falls in love with anyone,” replied Frederica candidly. “I mean, not more with one than with another! She is a most affectionate girl, and so kind-hearted that it is enough to cast anyone into high fidgets!”
“Universally benevolent, eh? Poor Frederica!”
“You may well say so! It is such a responsibility, you see. She is bound to marry someone, and only think how shocking it would be if I allowed her to be snapped up by a callow youth, as you phrase it, who wouldn’t know how to make her happy, or by some — some basket-scrambler!”
His lips twitched, but he replied gravely: “Shocking indeed! But — er — basket-scramblers are, in general, on the catch for heiresses.”
“Well, I didn’t mean that precisely,” she conceded. “And perhaps I ought not to say that Charis doesn’t fall in love with people. I’ve never done so myself, so I can’t judge. It doesn’t seem to me that she does.”
He had been listening to her with idly appreciative amusement, but this startled him. “Never fallen in love?” he repeated incredulously. “Never, Frederica?”
“No — that is, I don’t think so! I did once feel a tendre, but that was when I was young, and I recovered from it so quickly that I shouldn’t think I was truly in love. In fact, I am much disposed to think that if I hadn’t met him at a ball, when he was wearing regimentals, I shouldn’t have looked twice at him.” She added earnestly: “Do you know, cousin, I am strongly of the opinion that gentlemen should not be permitted to attend balls and assemblies rigged out in smart dress-uniforms? There is something about regimentals which is very deceiving. Fortunately, since I believe he was quite ineligible, I chanced to meet him the very next week, when he was not wearing regimentals, so I never had time to fall in love with him. It was the most disillusioning thing imaginable!”
“Who was this unfortunate?” he asked, his eyes warm with laughter.
“I don’t recall his name: it was so long ago!”
“Ah, yes!” he said sympathetically. “Before you became so old cattish!”
“Old cattish —!” She checked herself, and then said, with a rueful smile: “Oh, dear! I suppose that is what I am!”
“Do you indeed? Then let me tell you, my child, that when you talk of when you were young you are being foolish beyond permission!”
“No, I’m not! I’m four-and-twenty, and have been on the shelf for years!” she retorted.
“Alas!” he mocked.
“Nothing of the sort! Pray, what do you think would have become of them all if I were not on the shelf?”
“I neither know nor care.”
“Well, I do know, and I care very much! What’s more, I find it very agreeable to be an old maid, and rid of tiresome restrictions! If I were of marriageable. age, I couldn’t, for instance, be sitting here at this moment, talking to you without the vestige of a chaperon! Everyone would suppose me to be setting my cap at you, besides being fast! But if the Countess Lieven, or even Mrs Burrell, were to pass by at this moment they wouldn’t lift one of their detestably haughty eyebrows, any more than they would if I were Miss Berry!”
This comparison of herself with a lady who had some six-and-fifty years in her dish almost overset his lordship. He contrived to keep his countenance, but there was a distinct tremor in his voice when he said: “Very true! I wonder that that shouldn’t have occurred to me.”
“I daresay you never gave it a thought,” said Frederica kindly.
“No,” he acknowledged. “I didn’t!”
“Why should you? Gentlemen aren’t troubled with chaperons,” she said, somewhat wistfully contemplating this happy state.
“I assure you, I have frequently been troubled by them! Very irksome I have found them!”
The wistful look vanished in a twinkle. “What a shocking creature you are, cousin!” she said affably.
“Yes, an ugly customer! Didn’t I warn you of it?”
“Very likely, but you tell so many whiskers about yourself that I daresay I wasn’t attending.” She turned her head towards him, and said, with a smile in her frank eyes: “A great many people have warned me that you are excessively dangerous! You have a sad reputation, cousin! But to us you have been more than kind — in spite of not in the least wishing to befriend us! So I don’t give a button for what anyone says of you.”
He met her clear gaze, an expression hard to read in his own eyes. “Don’t you? But that puts me on my mettle!”
“I wish you will rid your mind of the notion that I am a wet-goose!” she said severely. “Instead of talking nonsense, tell me what you know of Sir Mark Lyneham!”
“What, is he another of Charis’s suitors? My dear child, he won’t see thirty again!”
“No, but — something she said to me the other day made me wonder if perhaps she wouldn’t be happier with an older man. Someone she could depend upon for guidance, and who would take care of her, and not come to cuffs with her if he chanced to be out of temper. From what I have seen, young husbands often fly into miffs, and that would never do for Charis! She has so much sensibility that even when the boys fall into a quarrel she is made miserable. And the mildest scold utterly sinks her spirits! Well — well, I think Sir Mark would be very gentle, don’t you?”
“Since I’ve no more than a nodding acquaintance with him, I can’t say. Judging him by myself, I should think he would murder her — or seek consolation elsewhere! I can think of few worse fates than to be married to a watering-pot.”
“She is not a watering-pot! And Sir Mark would not seek consolation elsewhere! His reputation is — is spotless!”
“Ah! Well, I always did think he was a dull dog,” said his lordship.
“A man need not be dull merely because he is respectable!” she retorted.
“No, he need not, but he too often is.”
“I am informed, on good authority, that Sir Mark suffered a disappointment in his youth, and he never, until now, looked at another female!” said Frederica frostily.
“Oh, my God!” ejaculated his lordship, in accents of acute nausea. “No, no, don’t tell me more! I haven’t a strong enough stomach!”
“I shan’t,” said Frederica, eyeing him with hostility.
“You don’t seem to me to have any sense of propriety at all!”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, it’s nothing to be proud of!”
“
Oh, I’m not proud! Tell me, Frederica, is that the kind of milkiness you admire?”
“Certainly!” she replied. “Respectability must always command admiration!”
“Humbug!” he remarked. “Trying it on rather too rare and thick, my child! I’m considerably more than seven, you know.”
“Well, one ought to admire it, at any rate,” she said defensively.
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was beginning to think you had a tendre for this paragon yourself, and that would never do: you wouldn’t suit, believe me!”
“Readily!” she said, laughing. “So perhaps I won’t, after all, try to cut Charis out! As if I could!”
“I can think of more unlikely contingencies,” he said.
“Can you indeed? Then either you must be all about in your head, or a bigger humbug than I am!” she said roundly.
XIV
To the surprise of all, and the embarrassment of several, the Marquis, his wayward memory retaining a scrap of information let fall by Frederica, presented himself in Upper Wimpole Street on the following Sunday evening. Remembering also that these weekly at home days had been described to him as informal, he came in morning-dress: a blue coat of exquisite cut, a waistcoat of striped toilinette, pale buff pantaloons which appeared to have been moulded to his legs, and tasselled Hessians whose incomparable gloss was one of his valet’s main preoccupations. His nephew, Lord Buxted, was very correctly attired in the white waistcoat, the black pantaloons, and the striped stockings of ordinary evening-dress; and two very young gentlemen wore sporting ruffled shirts, highly starched collar-points projecting to their cheek-bones, neckcloths of awe-inspiring dimensions, and a nice array of fobs, seals, and rings. These budding dandies had expended much time and thought on their raiment, and, until the Marquis was ushered into the drawing-room, they had been satisfied with the results of their labours. But when that tall, well-made figure appeared upon the threshold horrid doubts assailed them. His lordship, being blessed with fine shoulders, had no need of buckram wadding for his coats, nor did he favour a nip-waisted style. His collar-points were moderate; his neckcloth beautifully but discreetly tied; his jewelry consisted of a single fob, and his heavy gold signet-ring; and he was unquestionably the most elegant man in the room.
He entered upon a babel of conversation, but when Buddle sonorously announced him a startled silence fell, to be broken by Felix, who bounded up, exclaiming: “Oh, famous! Cousin Alverstoke! How do you do, sir? I am glad you came! I am so very much obliged to you! Mr Trevor says you have arranged it all just as I knew you would, and we are going to the New Mint this very week! Are you sure you don’t wish to come too?”
It struck Mr Darcy Moreton, curiously watching his friend, that he had rarely seen so softened an expression in his face, as he responded to this greeting. Then Frederica went towards him, holding out her hand, and he raised his eyes from Felix’s eager countenance, and smiled at her, causing Mr Moreton to suffer a shock. It was not at all the sort of smile with which his lordship beguiled his flirts, but something warmer and more intimate. Good God! mentally ejaculated Mr Moreton. Sits the wind in that quarter?
Meanwhile, Frederica, shaking hands with the unexpected guest, said politely: “How do you do?” and, in a lowered tone: “What in the world brings you here, cousin?”
“A sense of duty,” he responded, quizzing her. He added, in a softly provocative tone: “In case you should be getting into the wrong company!”
She choked, but contented herself with a speaking glance before turning, and saying, with a bright smile: “I fancy, cousin, that you are acquainted with most of our guests, but I should introduce you, perhaps, to Miss Upcott, and Miss Pensby.” She waited, while he bowed slightly to these damsels, and then presented the two young aspirants to fashion. He favoured them with a nod, and, as he took in their magnificence, a lifted eyebrow, and a faint, disintegrating smile, before withdrawing his attention from them, and surveying the rest of the assembled guests. Besides Darcy Moreton, and a quiet man whom he identified as Sir Mark Lyneham, there were only four other guests, all very well-known to him, and all regarding him in varying degrees of embarrassment. They were his nephew, Lord Buxted; his cousins, Endymion and Chloë Dauntry; and his secretary, Charles Trevor. Chloë might be ill-at-ease from mere nervousness of one whom she had been taught from her cradle to regard as an omnipotent being who must on no account be offended; but the three gentlemen bore the appearance of persons detected in wrongdoing. Mr Trevor offered no explanation of his presence; but Endymion, eyeing him with misgiving, said that Chloë had asked him to escort her; and Lord Buxted said that he had dropped in to enquire how the ladies did. His lordship, however, showed no signs of disapproval, but smiled upon them all with perfect amiability, before making his way into the back-drawing-room, where Miss Winsham sat, knotting a fringe, and occasionally directing a forbidding stare at the company. This, when she saw the Marquis bearing down upon her, became a glare; and she responded to his graceful salutation with unnerving brusqueness. Quite undaunted, he sat down beside her, and engaged her in a somewhat one-sided conversation, exerting himself so adroitly to please her that she afterwards admitted to Frederica that at least he had good manners, and talked like a sensible man.
His visit was not of long duration, nor did he take part in a noisy game of Speculation which was got up by the younger members, devoting himself largely to Miss Winsham. He paid little apparent heed to his relations, and none at all to the two dandies; but when he took his leave he had satisfied himself on several points. Endymion was besotted with Charis; Buxted seemed to be trying to fix his interest with Frederica; and Charles Trevor, for all his reserve, could not conceal from knowledgeable eyes the signs betokening a young man in love. Obviously his sentiments were reciprocated; equally obviously, he was afraid that his noble employer would nip his pretensions in the bud. So, too, to judge by the wary expression in his eyes, was Endymion, very much on the defensive. Buxted’s uneasiness was probably due merely to a fear that Alverstoke might betray him to his mother: he was his own master, and (to give the pompous young slow-top his due) had never showed any disposition to stand in his uncle’s good graces. Had they but known it, neither he nor Endymion need have been alarmed: his lordship took only a tepid interest in the future of his heir, and none at all in that of his nephew. He preferred his secretary to either of them; and, while he had no intention of thrusting a spoke into his affairs, he did disapprove of his evident desire to marry Miss Dauntry. He thought it would be an improvident match. Charles was a young man of parts but no fortune; his ambitions were political; and a marriage with a girl possessed of a modest dowry and no influence would scarcely advance him in his career. Maintaining a conversation with Miss Win-sham, Alverstoke watched Chloë, under his lazy eyelids. Pretty enough, he thought dispassionately, but too newly emerged from the schoolroom to have unfurled her petals. Her ready blushes betrayed both her youth and her love, but she had a thoughtful brow, and an air of gravity which was oddly taking. His lordship began to see what Charles, a serious young man, had found in her to attract him. Well, if this infatuation lasted, he supposed that he would be obliged to lend the boy his support. Failing a rich and influential wife, he needed a patron: someone of sufficient standing to foster his early progress, not by monetary assistance (which Charles would certainly refuse), but by securing employment for him in government circles, where his zeal and his talents would win recognition and swift advancement. There would be no difficulty about that: the difficulty would be to find a secretary whom his lordship liked as well to take his place. But the matter did not seem to him to be pressing: he suspected that Chloë was Charles’s first serious love; he was very sure that he was hers; and in all probability the affair would come to nothing.
It was harder to decide whether or not Charis felt a stronger partiality for Endymion than for any other of her suitors. She seemed to look upon them all with kindness; and if her eyes held warm admiration when they rested on him t
here was nothing to be surprised at in that: a very handsome fellow, Endymion.
As for Frederica’s paragon, his lordship, who was impatient of melancholy romantics, thought him very milky indeed, with no more intention of offering for Charis’s hand than if she had been a statue. He made no attempt to engage her attention, but seemed to be content to sit dreamily regarding her, a faint smile, which his lordship thought singularly fatuous, lingering about his mouth. He excused himself from joining the party bent on Speculation, and was still sitting rapt in contemplation when Alverstoke, taking leave of Miss Winsham, strolled over to him, and said, in a drawl that held a hint of derision: “Lost in admiration of my ward, Lyneham?”
Sir Mark started, and looked up; and, seeing who had roused him from his reverie, rose to his feet, and bowed, saying simply: “Yes, my lord. She is a Botticelli, is she not? One is tempted to fancy that in another incarnation she must have sat for him when he painted his Birth of Venus. Alas, that one cannot set her in a frame, to be a constant refreshment to one’s eyes! One would wish that countenance to remain for ever as it is today, pure and perfect!” He sighed. “It cannot be, of course. The lovely innocence we see now, as she stands at the dawn of womanhood, will vanish all too soon; age and experience will set their stamp upon her, carving furrows in her beauty; and — ”
“And her chin will be doubled!” interpolated his lordship, who had no taste for whimsy.
He left Sir Mark abruptly, and went to take his leave of Frederica. She was distributing fishes and counters amongst the players seated round the card-table, but when she saw him coming towards her she gave the box into her sister’s hands, and went with him to the head of the stairs. “I shan’t beg you not to go away so soon,” she said. “I am persuaded you were never more bored. But I do trust you are satisfied that we are not got into the wrong company?”
“Oh, yes! Quite innocuous!” he returned. “None more so than your paragon, whose only desire appears to be to set your sister in a frame, and hang her on the wall to provide his eyes with eternal refreshment.”
Frederica Page 19
