The Foundling

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “I have always thought her the most unfeeling woman I have ever met!” the Duke said.

  “Well, well, now you are in your high ropes again! She is an ambitious woman, but she has a great deal of common-sense, after all!”

  The Duke released the chairback, and took a turn about the room. He was evidently agitated, and his uncle allowed him to walk about for a few minutes before saying: “If you dislike it so very much, Gilly, you should have told me of it earlier. To draw back at this late date will be as bad as to declare off.”

  The Duke turned a startled face towards him. “Oh, no, surely not!”

  “It has been understood between the two families for some years, and from what I hear the announcement of your engagement is pretty widely expected.”

  The Duke looked quite horrified. “But it cannot be! I have never offered never said a word to Harriet, or given anyone the least reason to suppose that my affections had become fixed!”

  “My dear boy, in our world these affairs are generally known. Ampleforth has refused one offer for Harriet’s hand already, and I have little doubt that her ladyship will have dropped a hint or two abroad. It would be a great piece of folly to pretend that you are not a splendid matrimonial prize, Gilly, so we will not indulge ourselves with any humbug about that. In fact, except for Devonshire, who must be nearing thirty by now and seems to be a settled bachelor—besides he is extremely deaf—I do not know of one to equal you. Depend upon it, Augusta Ampleforth will not have been able to resist the temptation of telling her friends—in the strictest confidence, of course!—that she has such large expectations for her daughter. She must be the envy of her acquaintance!”

  The Duke passed a hand through his fair locks. “I had no idea of this! Do you tell me that the Ampleforths—Harriet—have been expecting me to declare myself?”

  “Oh, well, no, I do not say that,” replied Lord Lionel. “In fact, I told Ampleforth I would not have you established too early in life. Your health was too uncertain, and I wished you to have time to look about you before making your choice.”

  “My choice!” Gilly ejaculated. “It seems I have none at all, sir!”

  “Yon have certainly made none,” said his uncle dryly.

  There was a defeated silence. After a few moments, Gilly said: “I do not know what to say. I must see Ampleforth, and—and Harriet too. Until I am persuaded that she does indeed expect me to offer—Well, I must see her!”

  “Not before you have spoken with her father!” exclaimed Lord Lionel.

  “Oh, no!” Gilly said wearily.

  “There is no need for you to be in a hurry,” said Lord Lionel. “I believe the Ampleforths are in London at present, but they will be removing into the country at any moment now, I should suppose. Ampleforth is bound to invite you to one of his battues, and you may then—”

  “No, no, I would rather by far visit him in town!” Gilly said. “I had been thinking that I would go up to see my cousin. If you do not object, sir, I will do so.”

  “Object! Pray, why should you always be supposing that I may object to what you wish to do, Gilly,” demanded Lord Lionel. “But you will find London very thin of company at this season, and I own I do not like the fogs for you, and they will soon be starting, you know. However, if you like to go for a few days it can very well be arranged. I will send an express to Scriven, to warn him to have Sale House in readiness for you. Romsey may accompany you, and—”

  “I should like to go alone—and to an hotel!” said the Duke desperately.

  “Alone and to an hotel!” repeated his uncle, thunderstruck. “Next I shall be told that you would like to travel to town on the stage-coach!”

  “No, I don’t wish to travel on a stage-coach, but I do not want Romsey!”

  Lord Lionel eyed him speculatively. “Now, what mischief are you up to, Gilly?” he asked, not displeased. “Do you mean to go raking in town?”

  The Duke smiled rather perfunctorily. “No, sir, but I find Romsey very tedious, and I am very sure he will find me a dead bore, for I mean to see a good deal of Gideon, and you know that they could never agree! And I thought I might shoot at Manton’s, and look in at Tatt’s besides, and that sort of thing is not in Romsey’s line at all.”

  “No, very true,” agreed Lord Lionel. “So you mean to buy another horse, do you? What is it you want? Something showy to lionize a bit, eh? You had best find out Belper, and desire him to go with you. Not that I mean to say you are not able to judge a horse for yourself, but Belper can advise you.”

  The Duke was too thankful to have escaped the company of his clerical tutor to jeopardize his position by demurring at having his other bear-leader thrust upon him. Captain Belper might override him in the matter of choosing a horse, but he was not likely to moralize, and he would not be staying under the same roof as his erstwhile pupil, and so would not be able to keep his movements under strict surveillance.

  “You will tell Scriven to draw on Child’s for whatever money you may require,” said Lord Lionel. “No need to trouble yourself about that. But as for staying in an hotel, certainly not, Gilly! I would not vouch for the way they air the sheets even at the Clarendon, and when yon have a very good house of your own it would be the height of absurdity not to use it. Borrowdale may go to London ahead of you—”

  “I do not mean to entertain largely. Should Borrowdale not remain with you, sir?” said the Duke.

  “We shall do very well with the under-butler. Naturally Borrowdale and Chigwell go with you. You must not blame me for keeping only a skeleton-staff at Sale House, Gilly. While you were under age I should not have considered it proper to squander your fortune in keeping up several establishments as they of course must be kept up when you are married. And you have lived so little in London that it hardly seemed worth while—But that must all be looked into presently. And that puts me in mind of something else! You need not discuss the marriage settlements with Ampleforth, you know. He will not expect it of you. You are of age, but you will do very much better to leave all such matters in my hands.”

  “Yes,” said the Duke.

  “I have nothing to say against your being with your cousin: indeed, I hope you will see as much of him as you may, but do not let yourself be drawn into that military set, boy! Gideon is older than you, and can be trusted to keep the line, but there are some fast fellows amongst them, such as I would not wish to see you associating with too freely. And you never know where that kind of society may lead you! Park-saunterers, and half-pay officers, hanging out for invitations: toad-eaters of that style! It will not do for you by any means.”

  “No,” said the Duke.

  “And if you take my advice, Gilly, you will be a little on your guard with Gaywood!” further admonished his lordship. “I hear that he is being very wild, and if once he gets it into his head that you are to marry his sister I should own myself very much astonished if he did not try to borrow money from you, or some such thing. I do not mean to be dictating to you, mind! But if he tries to introduce you to one of these pernicious gaming-houses, do not go with him!”

  “No,” said the Duke.

  “Well,” said his lordship, glancing at the clock, “I do not think there is anything more I wish to say to you at present, and I see that Borrowdale will be bringing in the tea-tray in a few minutes. We had better go back to join your aunt.” He nodded graciously at his nephew, and added, a little inaccurately, but in great good-humour: “We have had a comfortable prose together, have we not?”

  Chapter III

  Four days later, the Duke of Sale set out from Sale Park, in the Midlands, for London, driving in his own chaise, with liveried postilions, and outriders to protect his person and his chattels from possible highwaymen. He was followed by his valet, in a second coach piled high with baggage; and preceded by his steward, his butler, his head groom, and several underlings, all of whom were considered by his uncle and his steward to be absolutely necessary to his comfort. Upon the day following his decis
ion to visit the Metropolis, a servant had been sent post to London, to warn his agent of his approaching arrival. The man had carried with him a letter addressed by Lord Lionel to one Captain Horace Belper, half-pay officer, desiring this gentleman to render his Grace all the advice and assistance of which he might be thought to stand in need, so that whatever plans the Duke might have entertained of escaping a visit from the Captain were foiled at the outset. He had been seen off by his uncle, his aunt, his Chaplain, and his old nurse. His aunt and his nurse had confined their parting counsel to reminders to him to take James’s Powders on the least suspicion of internal disorder; to beware of damp socks, and over-rich foods; and not to hesitate to call in that eminent physician, Dr. Baillie of Grosvenor Street, if he should chance to take a chill. His Chaplain recommended him not to miss the opportunity of attending a forthcoming lecture at the Royal Society on Developments of the Nebular Hypothesis, recently advanced by the Marquis de Laplace. His uncle, having testily informed his other well wishers that no young man setting forth for London on a visit of pleasure wished to receive a clutter of such foolish advice, said that he was to beware of French hazard, not to play billiards except in select company, or roulette in any company at all, and to make a point of visiting his dentist.

  Fortified by this send-off, and aware that he had at least one person in his train who would do what lay in his power to persuade him to follow out all the more disagreeable orders laid upon him, the Duke left Sale Park, a prey to dejection, and a great many rebellious thoughts.

  For the first half of the journey, he indulged his fancy by forming several impossible schemes for shocking and confounding his relatives, but as soon as the absurdity of these struck him he began to be amused at himself, and his ill-humour, never very durable, lifted. He might chafe at his uncle’s domineering ways, but he could not be angry with him. He thought it must indeed have been a wearing task to have reared such an unpromising specimen as himself, and for perhaps the hundredth time resolved that it should not be a thankless task as well. Lord Lionel might have been, in the past, a severe guardian; he might cling to strict, old-fashioned ideas, and insist on having these conformed to; he might often have been over-anxious, and have irked his ward with restrictions and prohibitions; but the Duke knew well that he had acted throughout on the highest principles, and had for him an affection perhaps as deep as for his own son. He had certainly taken far greater care of him, and shown him more partiality. It was Gideon who had received the blame for any boyish escapade—with a certain amount of justice, reflected the Duke, smiling to himself, as he recalled various instances of his elder and more enterprising cousin’s exploits. Gideon was sent to Eton, but Lord Lionel dared not expose his sickly nephew to the rigours of public school life, and engaged for him a resident tutor, and any number of visiting instructors, from a French dancing-master to a Professor in the Art of Self-Defence. It had been solicitude, not mistrust, which had prompted him to send Gilly up to Oxford under the aegis of Mr. Romsey, and Gilly had most unfortunately taken a chill which (owing, his lordship was convinced, to neglect) had developed into an inflammation of the lungs which had nearly carried him off. There could be no question after that of sending him up to Oxford alone.

  Only his obstinate conviction that no gentleman who had not spent a few years on the Continent could be considered to be more than half-educated had prevailed upon Lord Lionel to take the hazardous risk of exposing his nephew, upon his coming down from Oxford, to the dangers of travel. But the long war with France having terminated in the glorious battle of Waterloo (in which action Gideon had sustained a wound that caused his father no particular anxiety), the Continent was once more open to English travellers, and Lord Lionel steeled himself to send Gilly on a tour which should conform as nearly as possible to the Grand Tours of his own young days. With this end in view, he engaged Captain Belper to share with Mr. Romsey the duties and responsibilities of bear-leading the Duke through France, Italy, and such parts of Germany as had not been ravaged by war.

  The Duke was well aware that in choosing Captain Belper to instruct him in all manly exercises Lord Lionel had meant to place him in the charge of one who, while old enough to hold authority over him, should not be too old or to staid to be a companion to him. Unfortunately, the quiet young nobleman found that he had little in common with the bluff soldier, sometimes came near to disliking him, and never accorded him more than the gentle courtesy he used towards Mr. Romsey. He had spent two years abroad, and although these had not been altogether enjoyable they had certainly done much to improve the state of his health. He wondered sometimes how any two persons could have been prevailed upon to undertake the task of following out the conflicting orders laid upon Mr. Romsey and Captain Belper by Lord Lionel. He commanded them to indulge any reasonable wish their charge might express; he warned them to teach my lord Duke to study Economy, and on no account to keep him short of money; he forbade them to coddle him, but instructed them to discover the name and direction of the best doctor in any town they might chance to visit, never to allow my lord to play tennis or to ride after dinner, or to neglect to change his clothes after taking exercise. They were to encourage him to mingle freely in society, but they were to remove instantly from any town in which he seemed to be in danger of forming acquaintances not of the highest ton. He was to be initiated into the mysteries of gambling, but kept away from the Palais Royale. They were to remember that he was not a schoolboy but a young man; and they were to keep his lordship informed of every detail of their tour.

  On the whole, reflected the Duke, they had not managed so very ill. Mr. Romsey had been the more zealous to conform to my lord’s instructions, but Captain Belper had been the better guide for a young gentleman setting foot on a foreign shore for the first time. And since they were mutually antagonistic, and very jealous of each other besides, their charge had not experienced much difficulty in winning the support of one of them when he wished to run counter to the other’s judgment.

  Upon his return from his travels, the Duke had been a good deal taken aback by his uncle’s proposal to install Mr. Romsey as Chaplain at Sale. He did not dislike his tutor, but he had certainly hoped to be rid of him at last, and had supposed that one of the many livings in his gift would be bestowed on him. But Lord Lionel said that none of these was vacant, and that when old Mr. Gunnerside, who had been Chaplain for so many years, had died, he had purposely kept the post free, so that Romsey might fill it in reward for the years of his faithful services. “You would not wish to be ungrateful, Gilly,” had said his lordship.

  No, Gilly had not wished to be ungrateful, and Mr. Romsey had got his Chaplaincy, and perhaps, in the course of a few more years, he might forget that his patron had once been his pupil. “For God’s sake, Adolphus, give that prosy old fool a set-down!” had begged his cousin Gideon.

  But the Duke did not like giving set-downs to persons who wished him nothing but good, and had too much sensibility to be anything but courteous to those whose situation in life obliged them to accept without retort the snubs of their patrons.

  “Adolphus, you cannot continue to employ such an antiquated valet as Nettlebed!” expostulated Gideon. “Pension him off, child, pension him off!”

  “I cannot!” said the Duke despairingly. “It would break his heart!”

  “Can you never bring yourself to hurt anyone’s feelings, my little one?” asked Gideon, with his crooked smile.

  “Not the feelings of people who are attached to me,” answered Gilly simply.

  “Then there is no hope for you!” said his cousin.

  Gilly was unhappily inclined to believe him.

  And now it appeared that there was another person to be added to the list of those whose feelings the Duke could not bring himself to wound. He did not know whether his intended bride was fond of him, but she was gentle, and shy, and, if his uncle were to be believed, she was depending upon him to make her a Duchess. The Duke had not been made a member of various clubs, and parti
cipated in a London season, without assimilating certain social facts. He had very little doubt that Lady Harriet’s chances of securing him for a husband were being freely betted upon at White’s, and to blast all her hopes, to set her up to be the butt of every ill-natured wit in town, would, he realized, be conduct wholly unbefitting a gentleman.

  His mood of dejection deepened. Lying back in one corner of his chaise, his eyes on the bobbing forms of the postilions, he tried to think about Lady Harriet, and found it difficult. She had been so very correctly brought-up, had been of late years so zealously chaperoned, that he could not feel that he knew very much about her. There had been a great deal of intercourse between his family and hers; she had very often stayed at Sale Park, or at Cheyney, his house near Bath; and when they had been children he had liked her very well—better, in fact, than the more assertive children of his acquaintance. He still liked her very well, but the easy intercourse they had once enjoyed had latterly dwindled, perhaps from his own consciousness of the future laid down for them both, perhaps from the lady’s increasing shyness. He had squired her to the Opera, and danced with her at Almack’s; he found it easier to talk to her than to any other lady of his acquaintance; but she was not the bride of his independent choice, and although he had no very clear idea of what this imaginary damsel might be like, he felt sure that she did not resemble poor little Harriet.

  But since he knew, naturally, that he must marry a lady of impeccable lineage, he was forced to own that Harriet would suit him decidedly better than any other marriageable young female of his set. Only it was all very dull; and without having the least ambition to many to disoblige his family, as the saying was, he did wish that he could have found a wife for himself, and that not a lady whom he had known from his cradle.