“I know just what you mean,” said Susan with a twinkle, following his glance.
“You do?” He gave her a quick smile. “Yes, Georgy said you were a right one, always kicking up larks. But still,” he added, quickly, seeing the look on Mrs. Fyfield’s face, and afraid that he might be getting Susan into trouble — “a girl’s notion of a scrape don’t amount to much, especially when it’s Georgy, who exaggerates beyond all bounds — so I expect it’s all a hum.”
He broke off in some embarrassment, and looked across the room to where his mother and sister were waiting to greet two new arrivals.
“Oh, look, here’s Hugh at last!” he exclaimed, in satisfaction.
Susan’s heart missed a beat, and she felt her colour rising as her glance followed the boy’s across the room.
“But who the deuce has he got with him?” asked Freddy, puzzled. “Well, if that don’t beat all! It’s Prinney himself!”
The orchestra stopped dead for a moment, played a single reverberating chord, then was silent. Everyone in the room rose in deference to the Royal visitor.
“Prinney?” queried Susan, as she stood up in obedience to her aunt’s signal.
“The Prince of Wales, my love!” whispered Mrs. Fyfield, excitedly. “What a prodigious honour for your friend, to be sure!”
This information made Susan transfer her gaze for a moment from Beau Eversley to his companion.
The Prince of Wales was some years older than the Beau, and not so tall. He was elegantly dressed in a blue coat and satin knee breeches, but his figure showed signs of the corpulence that was later to make him take to wearing corsets. His face, though handsome, already bore the marks of dissipation. To Susan, he could not compare with the man standing at his side.
She watched, like everyone else, as Georgiana sank into a deep curtsy. Prinney took her hand and raised her erect again, then retained it for a few moments within his grasp as he chatted to her, smiling. Presently, His Royal Highness released the hand with evident reluctance and turned briefly to speak to Georgiana’s parents. He lingered only a few moments longer, then, with a general bow to the assembled company and a deeper, more intimate acknowledgement to Georgiana herself, he turned to go. Viscount Eversley and the Beau attended him from the room.
“Now I hope he won’t take Hugh off with him!” exclaimed Freddy, as a buzz of conversation broke out once more. “I declare it will be a great deal too bad if he does!”
Susan’s heart sank, and she realized just how greatly she had been counting on the opportunity of a few moments in Beau Eversley’s company. She did not ask for much: simply to be in the same room with him, to catch a glimpse of him now and then, would be enough. She was not even sure that she wished him to speak to her, for conversation with him threw her into such confusion that she was liable, she felt, to say the first foolish thing that came into her head.
Their escort had been glancing restively round the room. “There’s George!” he said, with satisfaction. “Pray forgive me, ma’am, for a moment. There is something I must say to my brother.”
He escaped thankfully in pursuit of a youth with the dark auburn hair of the Eversleys, who was purposefully making his way to the card room.
Susan and her aunt sat for a while in silence, watching the company.
“It is not very agreeable to have no acquaintance here,” said Mrs. Fyfield, at last, with a sigh. “My love, do look at that absurd creature with all the feathers in her hair and her gown clinging to her as though she were in a state of nature! Upon my life, I never did see anything more abandoned! But there, it is all the same, nowadays — one cannot tell what the world is coming to.”
Susan murmured something, but she was not attending. Her glance was fixed on the door through which she hoped every minute to see Beau Eversley appear. The minutes lengthened, however, without bringing him; and after half an hour had elapsed, she was obliged to accept the fact that he would most likely not return. The evening was spoilt for her. Now there could be no expectation of pleasure from it.
Susan’s reluctant conversation caused her talkative aunt to look elsewhere for entertainment. She found it in a middle-aged lady who was sitting close to them, and was for the moment alone. The two soon struck up a lively conversation, leaving Susan to her thoughts.
Her attention was caught presently by hearing them mention Beau Eversley’s name.
“Of course he is quite distractingly handsome, besides being one of the most eligible partis in town,” remarked Mrs. Fyfield’s neighbour, in a confidential tone. “But he is the most shocking rake, you know. There is always some opera singer or other — the latest is an Irish actress, they say, called Maria McCann.”
“Well, naturally I have heard so, madam,” put in Mrs. Fyfield, determined not to be treated as a country cousin. “One can’t help hearing the gossip, though I declare people are monstrous ill-natured to spread such stories abroad; often on the most slender evidence. Come to think of it, I did see him myself,” she continued, relaxing her high-minded attitude a little, “not long since, at Ranelagh one evening, with a very striking looking female on his arm. She had dark hair and a very pretty figure, though I would not have said she was in her first youth.”
“That’s Mistress McCann, you may depend on it,” replied her neighbour, nodding. “My sister went to the play at Drury Lane the other evening, and it was just so that she described the actress. It seems she was a great success. My sister said all the gentlemen rose to cheer her at the end of the performance. Of course, they say that the Dublin playgoers think the world of her.”
“It’s a wonder, then, that she did not stay over there,” remarked Mrs. Fyfield, “rather than come here where she is not known, and still has her way to make. But there, I have noticed how seldom people know when they are well off. I am sure, if a female on her own — for I collect there is no Mr. McCann? — if a female on her own can find an assured source of income, she had best stay close to it, and not play fast and loose with it. What do you say, madam?”
“Why, in the general way I am of your opinion. But recollect, madam, that such females—” she lowered her voice a little, so that Susan had to strain her ears to catch it — “often depend on protectors, and we do not know how she was placed in that regard in her native country. Perhaps she thought to find better pickings here — as indeed she has, for they say that the Beau behaves handsomely toward all his mistresses.”
Susan winced. She had guessed long ago, from hints dropped by Georgiana, that Beau Eversley was something of a rake. Everything concerning him had at that time been so remote from her that the suspicion had been robbed of its power to hurt. Now, hearing the facts openly expressed, she felt a twinge at her heart. Yet she could not stop listening.
“Surely it is high time he was thinking of matrimony?” asked Mrs. Fyfield. “He is in his late twenties, is he not? And the eldest son—”
“You would not be the first mother to think of that,” remarked the other lady, with a slight sneer. “But allow me to tell you, my dear madam, that there is something distinctly odd in his attitude towards females of his own quality. He pays attentions to one or other, now and then, for a short time; and all at once it is over, and no one able to say what went wrong. No female has yet been able to bring him to the point, not even the Radley girl, though we all thought he was seriously taken in that quarter.”
“I don’t think I know who you mean,” confessed Mrs. Fyfield, reluctantly.
“Over there, standing by that pillar — the fair young lady, in the yellow gown.”
Susan’s eager eyes sought and found the young lady in question. She stood chattering to a group of people, her pale, oval face turned in Susan’s direction. She had corn-gold hair, that fell on to a white neck; and when she smiled, it was as though a lamp had been lit in a dark place. Once again Susan’s heart contracted, this time with dismay.
“I tell you, I would not care for his fancy to light on a daughter of mine,” warned Mrs. Fyfield�
�s neighbour. “Thank goodness there is no danger of that, for they are both married already, I am happy to say. But that poor Miss Radley — she can smile now, but there was a time, not long since, when she was very near to a decline, so they say. You will not mind, madam, I am sure, if I drop just a word of advice in your ear. I should not let your own daughter near him — not but I should judge her to be over young to take his fancy — his preference seems to be for more mature females—” Mrs. Fyfield opened her mouth to explain that Susan was not her daughter, then decided it was not worth while, and said nothing for the moment. This gave her neighbour the opportunity to continue uninterrupted. “Of course, all kind of conjectures are made as to why he does not take a wife, as you may imagine; I have even heard it suggested that he is secretly wed or else betrothed to some female whom he is ashamed to introduce into his own circle, which is quite absurd, as I am sure you will agree!” She paused to laugh, and Mrs. Fyfield politely followed her example. “But all the same, there must be something,” she concluded, sinking her voice “And after all, the Prince of Wales was secretly wed to Mrs. Fitzherbert.”
At this point, Susan caught sight of one of the school-friends whom Georgiana had promised her she would find somewhere in the room. She rose quickly, glad to see a familiar face, and not sorry to escape from all this disturbing gossip about Beau Eversley.
Excusing herself to her aunt, she made her way as quickly as possible across the crowded room towards a small, fair, plump girl who was chatting animatedly to a group of other young people whom Susan did not know. Her friend was delighted to see her, and for some little while the two girls were oblivious to everyone else in the room as they exchanged reminiscences and news.
Presently, the orchestra struck another single chord, this time not quite as impressively as when His Royal Highness had appeared on the scene, and dancing was announced. Susan’s friend was immediately claimed for the first dance by one of the young men who had been standing in her group. As she had been too busy talking to Susan to pause long enough to introduce her friend to any of the others in her party, Susan now found herself on the outskirts of the group, which soon split up into couples, and took to the floor.
Somewhat disconsolately, she made her way back to her aunt. Mrs. Fyfield was still deep in conversation with her neighbour; by now they had changed the subject and it no longer held any interest for Susan. She was obliged to sit in silence, wondering why she could ever have supposed that she would find any enjoyment at Georgiana’s party.
And then she saw him come into the room, slim and elegant in the green coat which so admirably set off his tawny hair. Almost at once, he whisked his sister into the dance. Susan watched as they came down the room together with the careless grace that characterized all the Eversleys.
“What a handsome family they are, to be sure!” said her aunt, breaking off her conversation to throw a remark in Susan’s direction.
Susan agreed, and gave a small sigh. “I wish I were tall and well-built, like Georgiana,” she replied.
“Why, you are very well as you are, my love, I am sure!” encouraged Mrs. Fyfield. She turned to her neighbour. “Do not you think so, madam?”
Their acquaintance nodded. “The young lady has a very pretty figure,” she acknowledged. “As to height — why I can assure you that the gentlemen always feel more protective towards a little woman than they do towards these great towering females. Not but what Miss Eversley is a very good height, indeed — in fact, she is uncommon handsome in every way.”
It was scarcely surprising that this speech failed to console Susan for her lack of inches. The conversation turned away from her again, and she had nothing to do but watch Georgiana going down the dance with her hand clasped in her brother’s. Once Georgy caught sight of her friend and waved gaily. The Beau turned briefly to see who it was, before the pair merged once again into the throng of dancers.
“Susan does not look to be enjoying herself,” remarked Georgy with a frown. “It is a great deal too bad of Freddy — I asked him to look after her, and present her to some likely partners, and see how he carries out my request!”
“I will attend to it,” Hugh promised. “George shall dance with her, for one, though he does not yet know it.”
“She would be far more gratified if you were to dance with her yourself,” said Georgy, with a sly look.
“Possibly. But it is no part of my plan to encourage moonstruck schoolgirls.”
“You are severe, you unfeeling wretch! I wish now I had not told you — though you did force me into it, recollect. Poor Susan! I should not have allowed anything to persuade me to betray her secret!”
“Don’t fret,” he said, soothingly. “In an unflatteringly short space of time, your pretty little friend will have forgotten my very existence. Once she meets some younger men with whom she can compare unfavourably an elderly bachelor with a shady reputation, my day will be done.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, doubtfully. “Susan is full of fun, but underneath it all, she is very romantical.”
“Because she has seen nothing of the world, my dear Georgy,” drawled the Beau. “Living in Miss Fanchington’s seminary is very close to living in a nunnery, as I know you will agree. In such an unnatural atmosphere young girls’ heads become filled with moonshine. She will grow out of it, you’ll see.”
“I do hope you’re right. But meanwhile you will be kind to her, won’t you, Hugh? And not tease her, or treat her too much as if she were a child? For she is sensitive, too, and I won’t have her hurt — no, not even by you, Hugh!”
“Give you my word,” he said, with mock solemnity.
She was quite content with this light-hearted promise; for she knew her brother well enough to realize that beneath his flippant exterior lay a kinder heart than many people suspected. And she was inclined to think that he was right about Susan. Her feelings for Hugh were only the hero-worship of a young girl who had so far met no men more worthy of notice than the elderly clergyman who had preached to them every Sunday in church, and the silly simpering dancing master at the Seminary, who had been an object of ridicule to all the pupils. Now that she was in the outside world, Susan would soon forget her moon-dreams. They were something that Georgy, with her more robust nature, could not fully understand.
As soon as the dance ended, Georgiana found herself claimed by another partner; and it was not until she had been dancing some time that she noticed Hugh emerging from the card room with her brother George in tow, and Freddy following them at a short distance, evidently protesting:
“You know damned well, Hugh, that I don’t care for dancing,” George was saying as he tried to shake off his elder brother’s firm grip. “Don’t care for females, either, come to that — rather have a game of cards, any day, than dance with one of ’em.”
“You owe a certain duty to your sister,” said Hugh, sternly. “You must help to entertain her guests.”
“Fustian! I dare say this Miss what’s-er-name don’t care for dancing, either.” He stopped suddenly as a happy thought struck him. “Tell you what — why don’t you ask her, Hugh? You cut a sight better caper than I do.” The Beau shook his head. They had now approached quite close to the spot where Susan and her aunt were sitting. He lowered his voice.
“I am engaged to dance with Miss Radley,” he stated. “Oh, the devil you are!” replied George, loudly. “You make off with the prize while I am left to lead out a girl who can’t get anyone else to dance with her! That’s rich, that is!”
“Not so loud, you dolt!” warned Hugh, as he noticed that Susan’s head was already turned in their direction.
He propelled his brother relentlessly forward. “May I present my brother George, Miss Fyfield?” he said, smoothly. “He has an ambition to dance with you, if you should be willing to gratify it.”
Susan could never see Beau Eversley without showing some slight signs of confusion: but at these words, a deeper blush than usual came into her cheeks. He eyed her in
dismay for a moment. Could she have heard what George had been saying, and have interpreted it correctly? He dug his brother surreptitiously but competently in the ribs. Thus prompted, George suppressed a scowl and made his bow, at the same time requesting Susan for the pleasure of the next dance.
“Oh, I am very much obliged to you, sir,” she answered, stammering a little. “But — but if you will excuse me — I do not much care about dancing at present.”
“There, what did I tell you?” hissed George triumphantly in Hugh’s ear. “Now may I go back to the card room?”
“You may go to the devil,” replied Hugh, in the same low, quick tone. Aloud, he said to Susan, “My brother can only hope that you may be prevailed upon to favour him later on. In the meantime, can either of us procure you some refreshment? A glass of lemonade, perhaps?”
Susan declined hastily, her cheeks still hot, A slight frown appeared on the Beau’s forehead, and he wished ardently at that moment for the chance of delivering a well-aimed kick at his clumsy younger brother. There could be no doubt that the girl had heard his words, and was smarting under them. However, there was nothing to be done at present, and he must go and claim Barbara Radley’s hand for the next dance. He excused himself smoothly to Susan, George made his bow, and they both left her side.
Susan’s hurt and angry eyes followed the Beau. She saw him move towards Miss Radley and stand for a moment in smiling conversation with her, before taking her hand to lead her into the dance.
After that, Susan could not tear her eyes away, though every glimpse caught of them among the other dancers was torture to her. The glitter of the huge chandeliers caught and blended the colours in their hair, so close was his tawny head to Barbara’s golden one. He moved gracefully, with a suggestion of power held in leash; and every now and then he smiled into the blue eyes of the lovely girl who swayed beside him in time to the music. Once she smiled in return; and, catching sight of her face, Susan’s heart sank. Never could she hope to compete with the sheer witchery of that smile, she told herself.
The Clandestine Betrothal Page 5
