‘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.
r /> ‘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.
Fourteen
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 wrong-doing. 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 Winsham, 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 there 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 l
ordship 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?’