The Quiet Gentleman

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘I am very much obliged to her! This is something indeed!’ he said sardonically.

  She smiled, but would say no more; and upon the housekeeper’s looking into the room, went away to confer with her on the necessary alteration in the bedchambers.

  Nine

  None of the guests was expected to arrive at the Castle before five o’clock, at which hour it was thought that those who had been invited to stay the night at Stanyon might be looked for; but at a little after three Miss Morville, who happened to be in one of the saloons which overlooked the main entrance-drive, saw to her dismay that two large travelling-coaches were drawing up below the terrace. A stockily-built gentleman, just dismounted from his horse, chanced to look round, and Miss Morville recognized, with a sinking heart, the commonplace features of Lord Grampound. The servants were letting down the steps of the two coaches, and in another instant Miss Morville’s worst fears were realized: Lord and Lady Grampound had brought their interesting offspring with them to Stanyon.

  The reason was soon explained. As soon as all the bustle of greeting the visitors had abated, Lady Grampound, a young woman in her twenty-sixth year who already showed promise of closely resembling her mother, disclosed that the entire party was on its way to visit old Lady Grampound in Derbyshire. ‘She has been wanting for ever to see the children, you know, Mama, and since I was determined to come to your ball, it seemed an excellent scheme to bring them, for it is all on our way, or very little out of it, I am sure.’

  The Dowager was perfectly ready to accept her daughter’s geography, nor could she conceive that two dear little boys of four and three years old could be the smallest trouble to her. In this she spoke nothing but the truth, for she made no attempt to arrange for their accommodation, and when they became too noisy for her comfort their nurses removed them from her vicinity. Their mother said complacently that she did not know when she had seen them in such high spirits. ‘It is coming to Stanyon which has occasioned it. I am sure if Harry has asked me once when we are to set forward on the journey he has asked me a hundred times. I knew St Erth would be happy to see them: I told Grampound we need not scruple to bring them with us.’

  The Earl, admirably concealing his transports, asked his half-sister how long they were to have the pleasure of entertaining her at Stanyon. She replied regretfully that she would be obliged to continue her journey upon the following day. Everyone but the Dowager began to look more cheerful, but a damper was cast on the spirits of one of the company when her ladyship added: ‘It is a vast pity, to be sure, and poor little Harry screamed for half an hour at least when I told him we should not remain at Stanyon above a night. Dear little fellow! he has never forgot his Uncle Martin’s kindness in taking him up before him on his horse, and riding with him round the Park, and now Johnny is wild for the treat too! However, I assured them they should have the indulgence of a ride with their uncle tomorrow morning, and, indeed, I do not know how I should contrive to tear them away unless this was granted them!’

  Their fond Uncle Martin looked anything but gratified, but managed to control his feelings until he found himself out of earshot of his sister. He then declared that if Louisa imagined that he meant to waste his time in amusing her children she would find herself very much mistaken.

  ‘Good God, Martin, are you mad?’ demanded Gervase. ‘You will take those brats for rides as soon as they have swallowed their breakfasts, if Theo and I have to tie you to the saddle! Did you not hear Louisa say that she could not tear them from us until they had been granted this indulgence?’

  Martin grinned, but said with considerable aplomb that he thought the boys would prefer to ride upon Cloud’s back.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Gervase instantly, ‘would afford me greater delight than to set them up before me on Cloud, but the melancholy truth is that though he is in general perfectly docile, he cannot abide the sight of small boys. I do not know how it is, but –’

  ‘No, nor anyone else!’ interrupted Martin indignantly. ‘You are the most complete hand!’

  ‘I am, and I give you fair warning that you will leave Stanyon tomorrow, never to return, unless you oblige your nephews in this small matter!’

  An expression of deep cunning entered Martin’s eyes; he said in a conspiratorial tone: ‘I say, Gervase, could we not prevail upon Theo – ?’

  ‘The very thing!’ exclaimed Gervase. ‘For anything we know, he dotes upon young children!’

  ‘Who does?’ enquired the subject of this plot, entering the room in time to overhear this observation. He laughed, when the stratagem was disclosed to him, and said that nothing but their kind Uncle Martin would satisfy the boys. ‘And since Martin was so foolish as to set up such a precedent it is only right that he should bear the consequences,’ he added. ‘Do either of you know where Drusilla is to be found? Some arrangements must be made for the boys’ supper, and I believe she is the best person to employ in approaching the head-cook.’

  ‘Unfortunate Drusilla!’ commented the Earl. ‘What havoc are my little nephews creating now? When I left her ladyship’s dressing-room they had done nothing more than set fire to the hearthrug.’

  ‘Have no fear! Miss Bolderwood has taken them to the Crimson Saloon, to play at spillikins!’ said Theo.

  This intelligence had the instant effect of sending the Earl and his brother off to participate in a sport for which each discovered in himself a forgotten, but strong, predilection.

  Lady Grampound, meanwhile, was enjoying a tête-à-tête with her Mama, while her husband, himself a landowner, was wandering about the stables and the Home Farm, observing every improvement there since his last visit, and contrasting them all unfavourably with those on his own estate.

  Lady Grampound’s object in coming to Stanyon was to meet Marianne rather than to dance at the ball; and since Marianne’s good manners led her to say that she had never seen stouter or more intelligent children than Harry and John, and her sunny good nature made it no hardship to her to play with them, her ladyship had no hesitation in declaring her to be a delightful girl, and one to whom she would be happy to see her brother married.

  ‘It is such a shocking thing that poor Martin should be cut out of the succession!’ she said. ‘I was never more grieved than when I heard that Gervase had come through the engagement at Genappe without a scratch, for, you know, the Seventh were heavily engaged there, and one might have supposed – But it was not to be, and, to be sure, I wish him no harm, if only he were not older than Martin. Indeed, I am excessively attached to him, and I shall never forget that he sent dear little Johnny a most handsome christening-gift. But if poor Martin is to be cut out he must marry well, and I do believe Miss Bolderwood is the very girl for him. She seems quite unexceptionable, and they say, Mama, that Sir Thomas must be worth every penny of a hundred thousand pounds, and very likely more. The only thing I do not quite like is to find Ulverston visiting at Stanyon. To be sure, I never heard that he was hanging out for a wife, but now that his Papa has succeeded to the Earldom he must be desirous of seeing his son established, and there is no denying that Ulverston has considerable address. However, he is a man of easy fortune, so that to marry an heiress cannot be an object with him.’

  This observation caused the Dowager to suffer a qualm. It was but momentary. Her mind was not receptive of new ideas, nor could she suppose that there existed a young man more capable of engaging a maiden’s fancy than her own son. He was tall, handsome, and well-born; and such faults of temper as he showed she regarded in much the same light as her daughter looked on the disobedience of her two little boys: every defect was due to high spirits.

  Not being concerned to any very great degree with anything beyond the bounds of her immediate family, Lady Grampound soon passed to topics of more interest to her, and in recounting to her parent little Harry’s progress in ciphering, Johnny’s tendency to bronchial colds, and her own difficulties in finding a second footman
who combined smartness with respectability, comfortably whiled away the time until it became necessary for her to change her dress for the ball.

  It had been decided by Lady Bolderwood that Marianne should wear her white satin ball-dress with the Russian bodice, and pearls as her only ornaments. Miss Morville, visiting her room to enquire if she had all she needed for the completion of her toilet, privately considered that her ladyship was a good deal to be pitied for being unable to see how lovely her daughter appeared in this festal raiment; but as it was not in her nature to go into raptures she merely admired the dress, reassured Marianne on the vexed question of her curls, which Betty had arranged with charming simplicity, à l’anglaise, and placed a prettily spangled gauze scarf about her shoulders, showing her to a nicety how to dispose its folds to the best advantage. She herself, having already enjoyed several London Seasons, was not obliged to wear white, a colour which had never showed her off to advantage, but was dressed in a crape slip of her favourite soft pink, worn under a figured lace robe. Her pearl necklet was more modest than Marianne’s, but she wore a pair of diamond drops in her ears, and carried an antique fan, and a pair of very long French gloves of a delicate shade of pink which instantly awoke Marianne’s envy. ‘They are pretty,’ acknowledged Miss Morville. ‘My brother Jack was so obliging as to send them to me, when he was stationed near Paris last year, and I have never yet worn them.’

  ‘Do you know,’ confided Marianne, rather shyly, ‘I had thought that you did not care very much for such things?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ replied Miss Morville, ‘my besetting sin is a great inclination towards finery. Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – my figure is not good, and my complexion rather brown, so that it suits me best to dress simply, and never in such colours as make you, my dear Marianne, appear quite ravishing!’

  Marianne blushed, and disclaimed, and marvelled silently that her friend could so calmly refer to her own lack of beauty.

  Together, they traversed the several galleries and antechambers which lay between their apartments and the Long Drawing-room. Here they found many of the dinner-guests already assembled, those who were to spend the night at Stanyon having arrived some time previously, and being now gathered to await the appearance of those persons living in the immediate neighbourhood of Stanyon whom the Dowager had thought it proper to honour with an invitation to dinner. She herself, formidably attired in purple gros grain and velvet, and wearing the famous Frant diamonds, which comprised a tiara, necklet, and elaborate corsage, all of which would have been the better for cleaning, was assisting her daughter to bore the Duchess of Rutland with an account of the recent attack of measles suffered by Harry and Johnny. The Duchess was herself the mother of a young family, but only her strict training in the formal household of her Papa, the Earl of Carlisle, enabled her to support her part in this interchange with the appearance of complaisance. However, she was upborne by the reflection that her rank must make it a certainty that St Erth would take her in to dinner, and for him she had no hesitation in declaring that she had a strong tendre.

  He was looking particularly handsome, in a dark coat made for him by the first tailor in town, and a most intricately tied cravat. His glowing locks, brushed into the Brutus style made fashionable by Mr Brummell, shone like new-minted guineas in the light of the candles; and his stockings, like Miss Morville’s gloves, had been bought in Paris. So exactly were his coat and satin knee-breeches moulded to his figure that Martin was conscious of a sudden regret that he had not commissioned Weston to make his own evening-dress.

  The entrance of the two young ladies was productive of a sensation in which Miss Morville realized, without rancour, that she had no part. Lord Ulverston was heard to mutter, ‘By Jupiter!’ by the high-born damsel to whom he had been talking; and the Duchess, having rapidly assimilated Miss Bolderwood’s charms, demanded of her hostess in an urgent whisper to be told the name of the newest Beauty.

  But although Marianne might be first in beauty, she was not first in consequence, and not all the Dowager’s concern for her son’s success with an heiress could blind her to the impropriety of his leading a mere baronet’s daughter in to dinner when other, and more important, ladies were present. To Mr Warboys was the task of partnering Marianne allotted, and if his intellect was not of a powerful order at least he contrived to keep her very well-entertained throughout the meal. Lord Grampound sat upon her other side, and since his attention was pretty well divided between his other neighbour, a matron with an inexhaustible flow of small-talk, and his dinner, which he pronounced to be uncommonly good, Marianne’s notice was not often claimed by him. At the head of the table, the Earl and her Grace of Rutland were seen to be entertaining one another creditably; rather lower down, Martin did his duty by a chatty Countess; and in the centre of the table, Miss Morville and Theo Frant conversed together with all the ease and comfort of old friends.

  Hardly had the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner than the rest of the guests began to arrive, and in a very short space of time the musicians had struck up for the first country-dance. Here again, propriety forbade either the Earl or his brother to lead Miss Bolderwood to the head of the set that was forming. To the Duchess must belong the honour of opening the ball; and it was Lord Ulverston who had the good fortune to secure Marianne’s hand for the first two dances. Not all Martin’s manoeuvring served even to place him beside Marianne in the set, a circumstance which Miss Morville, who had that happiness, considered to be a merciful dispensation of providence. The most dispassionate observer must have been obliged to own that between the lively Viscount and Marianne there already flourished an excellent understanding; and no one at all acquainted with Martin could have placed the least dependence on his comporting himself with composure under the trial of seeing her responding so artlessly to Lord Ulverston’s advances.

  Her hand was presently claimed by Gervase for the first quadrille. She performed her part correctly, but since she had never danced it but under the guidance of her instructor, she was nervous of making some mistake in its various figures, and had little leisure for attending to the Earl’s attempts to amuse her. He, as was to be expected of an officer under the Duke of Wellington’s command, was an excellent dancer, performing all the most difficult steps with ease and grace. She exclaimed naïvely at the assurance with which he led her into the grande ronde; he told her that she wanted only practice to make her an unimpeachable exponent of the art: a compliment which emboldened her to attempt the pas d’été with more confidence than she might otherwise have felt.

  But a severe set-back awaited the Earl. When the musicians, under his private instructions, struck up for a waltz, no persuasions could prevail upon Marianne to stand up to dance. Her Mama’s instructions had been explicit: she might, if solicited to do so, dance the quadrille, but on no account must she waltz. Neither the Earl nor Lord Ulverston could induce her to contravene this prohibition: to be seen to waltz before she had received the accolade of the approval of the hostesses of Almack’s must set upon any débutante the indelible stigma of being a fast girl. Lady Bolderwood had foreseen the danger, and had guarded against it: although some licence might be permitted to a young lady making her appearance at a private ball, she was too shrewd not to know that there would be jealous matrons enough to report in influential circles that Miss Bolderwood was not quite the thing.

  Marianne’s docility might disappoint her male admirers, but it did her no disservice in the eyes either of Lady St Erth or of her ladyship’s acquaintance. She was held to be a very modest girl by at least three mothers of promising daughters; and the most delightful, unaffected girl possible by those ladies anxious to marry their younger sons creditably.

  Since Miss Morville happened to be standing beside Marianne when the Earl begged for the honour of her hand in the waltz, good manners compelled him to turn next to her. She accepted the offer with her usual composure, curtseying slightly, and allowing h
im to lead her on to the floor. Here she surprised him by proving herself to be an experienced dancer, very light on her feet, and so well-acquainted with the various steps that she performed them as though by instinct, and was able to converse sensibly while she did so. Under no illusions as to the value of the compliment paid her by her host in asking her to stand up with him while many ladies of more consequence awaited that honour, she said seriously: ‘If only you had mentioned the matter to me, I could have told you that there was no possibility of Miss Bolderwood’s waltzing, my lord, and then, you know, you need not have commanded the musicians to strike up for one.’

  ‘How do you know that I did so command them, ma’am?’ he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

  ‘Well, I did not, because Lady St Erth does not like to see it danced; and I am very sure Martin did not, because he has never learnt the steps.’

  ‘You are correct in your surmise,’ he acknowledged. ‘And I am going to bespeak another waltz. You dance delightfully, Miss Morville!’

  ‘I have had a great deal of practice,’ she said. ‘I am very much obliged to you for the courtesy, but I believe you ought rather to invite Lady Firth to dance with you.’

  ‘Miss Morville, you may manage the arrangements for the ball, but you shall not manage my conduct at it!’ he told her. ‘I have already stood up with Lady Firth for the boulanger, and I consider myself now at liberty to please myself. I hope you don’t mean to refuse me the pleasure of another waltz with you!’

  Martin, meanwhile, had joined the small group of young ladies whose mamas, like Lady Bolderwood, did not sanction the waltz. If he could have done it, he would have detached Marianne from the fair bevy, but his arrival was greeted with so much delight by a damsel, just emerged from the schoolroom, and whom he had known all his life, that civility obliged him to remain talking to her for several minutes. By the time another gentleman came up to claim her notice, Lord Ulverston, escaping from the clutches of Lady Grampound, was seated beside Marianne, entertaining her with a few of the military anecdotes so much frowned on by the Dowager; and although Martin might hover jealously over Marianne he could not lure her attention away from her more amusing partner. He had had the forethought to engage her for supper, but whatever solace this might have afforded him was banished by the chance which set Ulverston upon her other hand at the table. Besides the long table in the centre of the saloon, several smaller tables had been set up, and it was at one of these that the two couples were seated. Martin, who had adjured Abney to keep the table free for him, was very soon regretting what had seemed at the time to be a piece of good strategy. The two parties naturally merged into one, and it would have been idle to deny that Lord Ulverston was the life and soul of it. This was bad, and still worse was it to perceive, a little later, that his lordship had won Marianne’s hand for the second time that evening. Martin felt quite indignant with her for yielding to the solicitations of one whom he was fast beginning to think a confirmed rake; and had the opportunity offered he would have been much inclined to have told her that her Mama would by no means approve of her standing up twice with the same gentleman. The ball had become an insipid affair; he wondered that his partner in the set could have so little to say for herself; and decided that dancing was a stupid business after all.