Lady Buxted was at home, and in the drawing-room, her two elder daughters bearing her company. When the visitors were announced, she rose in her stateliest way, and rather deliberately set aside the tambour-frame which held her embroidery before moving forward to meet Frederica. She favoured her with a hard stare, two fingers, and a cold how-do-you-do. Frederica showed no signs of discomposure. She just touched the fingers (as Alverstoke noted with approval), dropping a slight curtsy as she did so, and saying, with her frank smile: ‘How do you do, ma’am? Cousin Alverstoke has been so obliging as to bring me to call on you, which I have been anxious to do – to thank you for your kindness, in being willing to lend us your countenance! My sister would have come with me, but she is laid up with a feverish cold, and begs me to offer her apologies.’
Lady Buxted thawed a little. She had by this time taken in every detail of Frederica’s appearance; and the harrowing suspicion that Miss Merriville would prove to be one of those ripe and dashing beauties to whom Alverstoke was so regrettably attracted, vanished. Having realised that Frederica was neither a beauty nor in the first bloom of her youth, her ladyship was able to regard her with an impartial eye, and even to do justice to her. She would have nothing to blush for in her protégée: the girl had pretty manners, a certain air of breeding; and she was dressed with neatness and propriety. So it was quite graciously that her ladyship told her daughters that they must come and be made known to their cousin; and while the three young ladies made rather laborious conversation she drew Alverstoke a little apart, saying that Frederica seemed a well-behaved girl, and that she would do her best for her. ‘I do not, however, engage to find a husband for her,’ she warned him. ‘With no fortune, and no extraordinary degree of beauty, she cannot expect to make more than a respectable marriage, you know. If she hopes to find a husband by moving in the first circles, she is flying too high.’
‘Oh, I shan’t ask that of you!’ responded Alverstoke. ‘You will have enough to do finding a husband for Jane, I daresay.’
Only the reflection that the bills for Jane’s finery had already reached considerable proportions made it possible for Lady Buxted to keep her tongue between her teeth. But however uncertain might be her temper, her passion for funding her money was unwavering. She certainly cast her brother an angry glance, but said nothing, merely walking away from him to seat herself on the sofa, where she invited Frederica to join her.
The visit lasted for only half-an-hour; and although Lady Buxted asked Frederica a great many questions she maintained her formal manner, offered no refreshment, and made no effort to detain her when she rose to take her leave. Nor did she invite her to bring Charis to Grosvenor Place; but she did say that she must try to find time to call on Miss Winsham one day. Frederica, who answered her questions with cool reserve, detecting in them more curiosity than kindness, said, with a smile on her lips and a dangerous sparkle in her eyes, that this intelligence would cast her aunt into transports of delight; whereupon Alverstoke chuckled, and murmured: ‘Served with your own sauce, Louisa!’
He then bowed with exaggerated civility, and followed Frederica out of the room, leaving his sister and his nieces to marvel at his interest in a commonplace female (for girl no one could call her!) who had too much self-consequence, and was plainly above herself.
‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ Frederica confessed, when Alverstoke took his place beside her in the carriage.
‘Oh, why not? You took the wind out of her eye very prettily!’
‘It wasn’t pretty of me to have done it, because she is going to introduce Charis to society – and I’m persuaded she doesn’t wish to do so!’ Frederica turned her head to direct one of her disconcerting looks at him. ‘Did you – did you compel her, sir?’
‘How should I be able to do that?’ he countered.
‘I don’t know, but I fancy you could. And I don’t think it was out of good-nature, or a wish to please you, because –’
‘You are mistaken,’ he interrupted, a sardonic curl to his mouth. ‘She has a very earnest desire to please me.’
She continued to look searchingly at him, and said, after a moment or two: ‘Well, I don’t like it! And she won’t like it when she sees Charis! No mother would, who had such a plain-faced daughter to present as Jane!’
‘Are you going to cry off, then?’
She thought this over, saying presently, in a resolute tone: ‘No; if it were for myself, I would, but I’m determined Charis shall have her chance. I beg your pardon for not speaking more respectfully about your sister, but the prying questions she asked me put me all on end! I won’t say any more.’
‘Don’t refrain on my account! There’s no love lost between us.’
‘None?’ she asked, wide-eyed.
‘Not a particle! Tell me, fair cousin: is the waltz danced in the wilds of Herefordshire?’
‘In some houses it is, but not very much, and there are never any quadrilles. So I have hired a dancing-master to come to teach us the steps – that we shan’t disgrace you by appearing as country cousins.’
‘That does relieve my mind!’
‘It might well – except that I fancy you don’t care a straw how we may appear.’
‘On the contrary! Think how much my credit would suffer!’
She laughed, but shook her head. ‘You don’t care for that either. Or – or for anything, perhaps.’
He was momentarily taken aback by this, but he replied without perceptible hesitation: ‘Not profoundly.’
She frowned, turning it over in her mind. ‘Well, I can understand that that must be very comfortable, for if you don’t care for anybody or anything you can’t be cast into dejection, or become sick with apprehension, or even get into high fidgets. On the other hand, I shouldn’t think you could ever be aux anges either. It wouldn’t do for me: it would be too flat!’ She turned her head to survey him again, and suddenly smiled. ‘I daresay that is why you are so bored!’
‘I am frequently bored,’ he acknowledged. ‘Nevertheless, I – er – contrive to keep myself tolerably well amused!’
‘Oh, yes, but that’s not –’ She stopped, and her colour rose. ‘I beg your pardon! I wish I could learn to keep my tongue!’
He ignored this, saying, with a wry smile: ‘You do hold me in contempt, don’t you, Frederica?’
‘No, no!’ she said quickly. ‘You choose to call me a green girl, but I have cut my eye-teeth, you know, and I’m not wholly paper-skulled! How could you help but become bored when you have been able to command every – every agreeable luxury all your life? I expect, too,’ she added wisely, ‘that you were very much indulged, being your parents’ only son.’
Remembering the cold formality of his father, and, with more difficulty, the brief glimpses which had been granted to him of his fashionable mother, who had died while he was still at school, the sardonic curl to his mouth became more pronounced; but all he said was: ‘Very true! I came into the world hosed and shod, and was so precious to my parents that a special establishment was created for me. Until I went to Harrow, I enjoyed the undivided attention of nurses, valets, grooms, tutors, and – oh, all that money could provide!’