Excess Of It

10

Excess Of It

    “What is the matter with dear Gaetana?” wondered Amabel distressfully. “She is so unlike her dear self!”

    “I don’t know,” muttered Hildy, going very red.

    “She—she did not have a disagreement with his Lordship on the occasion of their visit to the Royal Mint, did she?” faltered Amabel.

    “Not a disagreement—no,” said Hildy in a choked voice.

    “Dearest, I am always ready to listen, you know, if there is anything you would wish to confide—”

    “No!” choked Hildy, getting up and running from the room.

    “Oh, dear,” said Amabel.

    Gaetana had told Hildy, on enquiry, that the visit to the Royal Mint had been most enlightening. She had immediately followed this statement with a storm of sobs. Fortunately this had occurred in the privacy of her bedchamber, so no-one else had witnessed it. When she had calmed down, all she said was that the Marquis had been everything that was agreeable and considerab— considerate, but she had decided that she would not see him alone again because their stations were so far apart.

    Hildy had stared. “Did he ask you?”

    “He wishes to give me driving lessons,” said Gaetana, blowing her nose and not looking at her.

    “Help! With his own horses?” she gasped.

    “Hildy, you’re as silly as Florabelle!” said Gaetana crossly.

    “Impossible!” retorted Hildy with a grin.

    Gaetana had gone very red. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— It was a horrid thing to say.”

    “He must have upset you,” discovered Hildy. “What on earth did— Gaetana, he didn’t do or say anything indelicate, did he?” she gulped.

    “No, of course not!”

    “You cannot have had a quarrel with him simply because he’s a belted marquis, that’s too silly!” declared Hildy in some exasperation.

    Gaetana blew her nose again. “It was not a quarrel.”

    “What was it, then?”

    “It was as I have said. He invited me to—to drive in the Park with him and improve my driving, and I refused because our stations in life are so very different.”

    “You actually said that to him?” said Hildy weakly, staring.

    “Yes. For I had to make him understand,” said Gaetana, blowing her nose again.

    “But Gaetana, your papa is a baronet, of course your stations are not far apart! Anyway, what is a marquis but a mere man?” said Hildy, very crossly.

    “He is not. It was tuh-terrible at the Mint!” wailed Gaetana, bursting into tears again.

    After some hesitation the undemonstrative Hildy put her arm round her. This time when the sobs had abated she said on a glum note: “I think I see. You got the marchioness treatment, did you?”

    “Sí,” she whispered.

    “Gaetana,” said Hildy hesitantly, “just because there are very many silly people in the world, does not mean that you need to let them impose their values on you. After all, if you like the Marquis of Cra— Rockingham as a man, is that not the important thing?”

    “No. He is not just a man, he is a great nobleman.”

    Hildy scowled.

    “You are forgetting that Harry is a spy,” she said sadly.

    Hildy went bright red.

    “Wellington advised him not to return to England,” she said dully. “If it were not for that, possibly— In any case, I shall not think of it.”

    After quite some time Hildy said in a tiny voice: “No. Gaetana, do you really—” she swallowed—“like him?”

    Gaetana’s lips trembled. “I do not think I could like any gentleman as much. Although of course I scarcely know him. And I realise his manner is not—not— But there is something about the quality of his mind that appeals to me.”

    “Yes,” said Hildy thoughtfully. “He is intelligent. And forthright. It is a very dry personality, though.”

    “Please don’t,” whispered Gaetana.

    “I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly.

    Gaetana sniffed dolefully, and Hildy gave her her own clean handkerchief.

    “Gracias.” She blew her nose again.

    After quite some time Hildy said: “Did he seem that keen? –I’m sorry, that was indelicate. Both the enquiry and the phraseology,” she recognized glumly.

    “No, I am glad to have you to talk about it with,” said Gaetana, squeezing her hand. “He was very proper. But I was afraid that if I saw him again alone…”

    “Mm.”

    There was a short silence.

    “I wish men were not so tall!” said Hildy crossly. “I’m sorry, that sounded puerile,” she added hastily.

    “No, I know what you mean. At first when he was driving the horses I—I was quite overcome. I’m afraid I was rude to him, too,” she added glumly.

    “I felt that about Sir Julian,” confessed Hildy. “According to him he’s a mere whipster. But it didn’t feel like it when he was manoeuvring the phaeton with two horses through the London traffic, I can tell you! I kept thinking of the time I backed the trap into a ditch and Peter Jenkins and one of the farmhands had to haul it out. Peter Jenkins said I was a right cack-handed ninny,” she reported glumly.

    “Some of them speak very freely, do they not?”

    “What, to their betters?” said Hildy with a gurgle. “Peter Jenkins is about thirty years of age and has known me all my life! He’s rescued me from trees and hauled me out of streams, and I don’t know what! He caught me riding on his father’s prize bull, once,” she added with a reminiscent smile. “He simply put me over his knee! I’ve never been spanked so hard!”

    “Help,” said Gaetana, though thinking of the time Jake had caught her smoking one of Sir Harry’s cigars (crime enough) in the stable loft (the height of stupidity).

    “I’ve often thought,” said Hildy dreamily, “that if it were not for the vast difference in our stations in life, I would marry Peter Jenkins. I like him more than any man I’ve ever known. Except for Dr Rogers, of course. –I would not say so to anyone but you!”

    “I know exactly what you mean,” confessed Gaetana. “I’ve always felt like that about Jake. But since he’s Harry’s cousin it wouldn’t do anyway.”

    Hildy had long since learned Jake’s history. “No,” she agreed tranquilly.

    This time there was quite a long silence. Then Gaetana said: “Hildy, do you like Peter Jenkins more than Sir Julian?”

    Hildy nodded. “Yes. Peter Jenkins has a lot of native intelligence, and besides is a man of solid worth. And utter integrity.”

    “I see. But Sir Julian seems a respectable man,” she ventured.

    Hildy frowned. “Yes. But he leads a frivolous life.”

    Since the Marquis had not disclosed his friend’s charitable activities to Gaetana—perhaps because it might have entailed disclosing his own—she was able to agree: “Yes.” After a moment she added: “He has had a sad life, you know. The Marquis told me something about it. I think he is very fond of him,” she added, blushing.

    “Did he really? Well, it must have been a terrible shock when his wife left him.”

    “Yes. It was. And later, when she died, he became nigh suicidal,” she said, swallowing. “Lord Rockingham said that Sir Julian’s confidence in himself had been very shaken, especially as regards ladies,” she said, her voice trembling a little.

    “I can see that,” said Hildy slowly.

    “And—and he mentioned that he would hate to see him disappointed again, for he might—might become desperate again,” she finished, very flushed.

    A few moments passed. Hildy bit her lip. “I see. The Marquis wished you to warn me off, is that it?”

    “Only to ask you to be very kind to his friend, dear Hildy,” she whispered.

    Hildy’s free hand clenched in her lap. “How can I be very kind to him when I don’t know how I feel myself?” she said harshly.

    Gaetana put her own hand gently on hers. “It is too soon,” she murmured.

    “I do like him,” said Hildy uncertainly.

    “Sí, sí: who could not, he has a delightful personality.”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, rather wondering that her cousin could prefer the Marquis of Crabapple’s. “Only I’ve barely met him, how can I say if—if—”

    “Sí. Don’t cry, querida,” she said, giving her back her handkerchief.

    Hildy blew her nose loudly. “Two watering-pots!” she declared with a shaky smile.

    “Yes,” owned Gaetana sheepishly. “How dreadful! We are turning into ladies!”

    “Help: it’ll be a dovecot next! Amabel was hankering after it only the other day: it’s quite incomprehensible to me, doves do not have personalities! Except those that she has endowed them with,” she added drily.

    “Mm!” agreed Gaetana with a smothered giggle.

    Another pause.

    “Bother,” said Hildy. “It’s all a lot more complicated than I’d imagined.”

    “Sí. I am persuaded it would be easier if the wretched creatures were not so tall, you are quite right in that, querida!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, making a sour face. “Being forced to look up to them physically induces a tendency to do so mentally, does it not? I am sure anyone could drive a stupid carriage if she had learned how!”

    “Yes,” said Gaetana hoarsely.

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you,” said Hildy lamely.

    “No, it’s all right. I dare say he would not look at me, in any case.”

    Hildy looked at her dubiously.

    “Besides, I shall not think about him any more!” said Gaetana with determination.

    “No,” she agreed dubiously.

    It had been agreed that Miss Maddern and Miss Amabel should take a stroll in the Park and there meet up with Captain Lord Lucas Claveringham. As Paul was to escort his cousins, Mrs Maddern saw nothing wrong in the expedition and in fact urged the girls to go: it was a fine day at last, and the fresh air would do them all the good in the world after stuffing in horrid parlours and libraries for the last she did not know how long!

    Mrs Maddern was not a reader, but Christabel and Hildy had very soon discovered the more intellectual delights London could offer and at present were studying, in Christabel’s case, The Heroine, a delightful skit on Mrs Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, which she would of course pass on to Hildy immediately she had finished it, and Hildy, with incredulous delight that any writer could be at once so intelligent and so funny, whilst attaining such a completely elegant style, Pride and Prejudice, by a writer she had not previously encountered, the author of Sense and Sensibility. She was quite determined to ferret the latter title out or die in the attempt.

    Amabel had looked at the first page of Pride and Prejudice and remarked: “How odd. This does not seem entirely delicate to me,” and on Christabel’s reading out to her a choice passage from The Heroine, had said: “Oh, dear, the poor girl: what a terrifying situation for a young lady. How could she manage with only a satin petticoat and a spangled muslin gown as a change of clothing?” So neither of them was bothered that Amabel might wish to be before them with either volume.

    At first Gaetana had not intended to be of the expedition and in fact had declared firmly that she did not wish to be a strawberry. Once they’d sorted out that she meant a gooseberry and had persuaded her she would be no such thing; in fact—blushes from Christabel—her company would be much appreciated, as helping not to give Captain Lord Lucas the wrong impression, she had decided to go. The more so since Mrs Maddern had offered the alternative of a shopping expedition with herself and dear Cousin Sophia.

    So Mrs Maddern dropped the girls and Paul off at the entrance to the Park and went on to collect Mrs Goodbody, with the happy promise of silks and gossip before her.

    They had not walked very far before Amabel said: “There! Is that not Captain Lord Lucas now, my love?”

    “Yes, I believe it is he,” agreed Christabel.

    “Why, that is Sir Noël Amory with him, surely!” cried Amabel pleasedly.

    “¡Sí, so it is: now you will not have to be a strawberry after all, querida!” said Paul with a chuckle to his sister.

    “No,” agreed Gaetana without enthusiasm.

    Somehow, when the two gentlemen had duly greeted them and expressed appropriate sentiments of pleasure in the company, and they had all walked on a little, Miss Maddern found that Captain Lord Lucas had ranged alongside herself, leaving Amabel to Paul. Sir Noël, whose face had visibly brightened at the discovery that it was Gaetana beneath the straw bonnet trimmed with some very frivolous artificial snowdrops and green ribbons, had immediately offered her his arm, saying: “Buenas dias, Señorita Ainsley. Benvenida—um, to El Park-o, dash it!” with a laugh.

    Feeling she ought to encourage Cousin Paul to take an interest in Amabel, Christabel firmly ignored her own inclinations and allowed Captain Lord Lucas to engage her in conversation.

    “I believe you were at the opera last week, Miss Maddern?” he said with a smile.

    “Er—yes,” she admitted, rather taken aback. “Were you there, Lord Lucas?”

    “Not myself, no. My sister Jane was, with Mamma. She said there was a group of very beautiful young ladies in Lord Rockingham’s box, so I knew instantly it must be you with your sisters and your cousin!” he said merrily.

    “You exaggerate, Lord Lucas,” said Christabel faintly, rather stunned to discover how fast the grapevine of polite society worked. As bad as their own little rural community, indeed.

    He smiled. “Jane was particularly struck with the two dark auburn heads, Miss Maddern. She naturally assumed they were sisters and asked about them when she encountered Miss Dewesbury the following night at dinner. She was most intrigued to learn they are cousins.”

    “I see,” said Christabel feebly; what she really felt like saying was “Help!” in Hildy’s manner.

    “Though I, of course, pointed out,” he said with a sly look, “that the handsomest lady present had chestnut locks, not auburn!”

    Miss Maddern could only blush and smile weakly in response to this.

    “Look,” said Sir Noël proudly to Gaetana, meanwhile: “El flowers-o!”

    “Las flores,” said Gaetana faintly, swallowing.

    “¡Sí, sí, las flores! You’re improving my Spanish no end, y’know, Miss Ainsley. Lovely flores in your bonnet, too. Though the flora beneath ’em’s the prettiest of the lot,” he said with a twinkle.

    “Sir Noël, I fear you are a shocking flirt,” said Gaetana primly.

    “No, I assure you! Entirely sincere!” he protested, laying a hand on his heart.

    “Liar,” said Gaetana calmly in the Ainsley manner.

    Sir Noël jumped slightly but made a quick recover. “You’re too cruel! –Now, I feel I should work in a quote from Lope de Vega here,” he said thoughtfully, “but just at the minute I can’t think of one!”

    “Or at any other minute,” agreed Gaetana with a lurking twinkle.

    “Well, at least I know the name, which is more than any of these chaps do, I’ll wager!” he said, very hurt, waving at Paul and Lord Lucas.

    Gaetana went into a gale of giggles.

    “Aye, well, one of these chaps!” he conceded, grinning. “Can we expect to see you at Almack’s this week, Miss Ainsley?”

    “At Almack’s? We were there last week,” said Gaetana pointedly, “and you, sir, were not!”

    “I’m entirely overcome to know that the absence of my humble self was remarked, Miss Ainsley.”

    “There is a word for persons like you, sir!” declared Gaetana, very pink and ruffled.

    “Wouldn’t be adorable, I suppose?”

    “No!” she gasped, quite caught out.

    He smiled. “I was afraid of that. Er—charmin’? Irresistible?” he said on a hopeful note.

    “Certainly not,” replied Gaetana with dignity. “It is—it is…”

    Her lips moved silently. Sir Noël watched her in some amusement.

    “Incorrigible,” said Gaetana to herself in French.

    “Ah! That’s Spanish for irresistible, Miss Ainsley!”

    “It is not Spanish!” she choked. “You are in—incorrigigible!” she declared, pouting.

    “Incorrigigible, eh?” he said, shoulders shaking. “Never been called that before! You flatter me, Miss Ainsley!”

    Gaetana looked at him sadly. “I wish you would tell me the word, because I feel such a fool when it comes out wrong.”

    At this Sir Noël gave a genuine smile, right into her eyes, and said: “The word’s incorrigible, Miss Ainsley. But don’t worry: your English is really excellent.”

    “Thank you,” said Gaetana in a small voice, blushing.

    Sir Noël was even more captivated by this sudden shyness than he had been by her earlier teasing manner, patted her hand a little where it was tucked into his arm—Gaetana blushed even more—and said: “No, funning aside, can we hope to see you at Almack’s?”

    “I believe we are to be there the—the day after tomorrow night; I have expressed that wrong,” said Gaetana in some confusion.

    At this he let his hand lie on hers rather longer than was strictly comme il faut and said: “Then I shall definitely see you there the day after tomorrow night. Will you promise me a waltz?”

    The big dark eyes looked seriously into his and she said: “I cannot, sir. There is some strange convention which dictates that one of the lady patronesses must approve of a girl’s dancing the waltz, otherwise she is shunned. And I do not think that the lady patronesses are aware of my existence.”

    “Who procured you vouchers, then?” he said unguardedly.

    Gaetana blushed deeply and looked away from him. “I believe it was the kindness of a lady whose—whose interest had been solicited by an old friend of my cousins’ grandmamma, Sir Noël.”

    “Oh—I see. Well, my mother knows Lady Sefton quite well, I’m sure she’ll present me to you as suitable to be waltzed with!”

    Suddenly Gaetana smiled. “I should like that! But I should warn you: the expression is rather ‘waltzed on’: I have never danced the waltz except with my brothers, and they tell me their toes suffered horribly in the process!”

    Sir Noël’s heart beat rather hard and he said in a husky voice: “My toes would be honoured, Miss Ainsley!”

    Gaetana blushed again and smiled, and looked away.

    ... “Ain’t she adorable?” he said, as the carriage collected the young ladies and Paul, and he and his friend stepped back on the pavement, bowing.

    “I’d say wonderful, rather than adorable,” said Captain Lord Lucas, replacing his hat. “Queenly.”

    “Qu— We’re talking about different ones, old fellow!” said Sir Noël with a startled laugh.

    “I believe we are,” acknowledged Lord Lucas with a twinkle in his nice hazel eyes. “Er—fancy a stroll round to Jackson’s?”

    “Why not,” agreed Sir Noël comfortably.

    They strolled on, and Lord Lucas asked: “You serious about selling out, Noël?”

    “Yes. Since Papa went, old Pugh—that’s the agent, y’know—ain’t been managing too well: he’s getting on. Been with the family since m’grandfather’s day. Besides, the Army’s dashed flat in peace time, old man!”

    “Yes.” Lord Lucas made a face. “Uncle Henry Kenworthy wishes me to sell out and settle down and help him manage the place.”

    Sir Noël nodded: he knew that Lucas Claveringham was Mr Henry Kenworthy’s heir. “You’ll like that, won’t you, old fellow?” he said cautiously: Lord Lucas was his own age, after all: it was time the both of them were thinking of settling down.

    “Yes, I like the life, and I can’t take the endless parades and nonsense now that we’ve beaten the Frogs. No, it’s just that Uncle Henry’s niece seems to go along with the position!”

    “Ugh, not the girl with the squint?”

    “No, no, she’s on the other side: the Claveringhams. No, this girl’s all right. Well, plainish. Given to good works, and so on,” he elaborated.

    “Oh. Well, don’t have to take her, do you?”

    “I don’t have to, no. Uncle Henry would never insist, he’s a decent old stick. Bailed me out of that dashed stupid fix the year I joined up, y’know! –Never breathed a word to Papa, either: I owe him a lot.”

    “Anybody can get in with the wrong crowd at that age,” said Sir Noël kindly.

    “Wrong crowd? Donald O’Flynn and that lot? I should think so!” agreed Lord Lucas, shuddering at the memory. “Should have heard m’colonel on the topic!”

    “Oh, well, the fellow’s dead now—damn’ good riddance,” concluded Sir Noël.

    “Aye. –I don’t want to disappoint old Henry,” he said glumly. “And Mamma’s nagging at me to settle down, and Papa called me into his study the other day,”—Sir Noël winced sympathetically: the Earl of Hubbel’s was not a warm personality—“and l suppose he’s right: I ought to be setting up my nursery. M’brother Broughamwood has only the one boy, and it don’t look like they’ll have another. But she’s a bag of bones, old man!” he burst out.

    “Don’t offer for her, then,” said his friend firmly. “That sort of thing never works out. Well, look at poor old Julian Naseby!” he added with feeling.

    “Aye—dreadful thing, that. She wouldn’t go that way; but…”

    “Don’t want a bag of bones in your bed for the rest of your natural.”

    “No, quite!”

    There was a short pause. “Miss Maddern’s a dashed handsome woman,” offered Sir Noël.

    “No dowry,” said Lord Lucas glumly.

    “Oh? Would old Henry stick at that?”

    “No, but Papa would.”

    “Tell him to go hang, for the Lord’s sake, Lucas, you’re over twenty-one!”

    “It’s all right for you: you’ve inherited the baronetcy and everything. I’m living on my pay and what Papa allows me,” he said glumly.

    “Mm.”

    They strolled on. “Settle down on your uncle’s place: old Henry’ll see you right,” murmured Sir Noël.

    “I’d like to. That’s all I can offer her, though,” he muttered.

    Sir Noël had to swallow. “You fallen for her seriously, then, old man?”

    Lord Lucas licked his lips. “Don’t know. Well, you know how it is!” he said with an awkward laugh. “Can’t get her out of my mind!”

    Miss Ainsley’s big dark eyes were beginning to haunt Captain Sir Noël rather more than was strictly comfortable, too. He did not refer to this fact but slapped his friend on the shoulder and said: “Well, then, I’d go for it, old man! Let your papa go hang! Settle down to a decent country life with old Henry! –Come on, nearly at Jackson’s, lay you ten to one in guineas I’ll floor you within the first five minutes!”

    “No, I’m not betting, Noël,” said Lord Lucas, turning fiery red.

    The baronet’s jaw dropped. “Oh—ah; right you are, old man,” he said weakly.

    “Make it sixpences,” said Lord Lucas, grinning sheepishly.

    Sir Noël slapped him on the back again. “Right you are, dear chap! Sixpences it is!” –Sixpences? Turning over a new leaf and a half, wasn’t he? Poor fellow had it bad for the queenly Miss Maddern, all right!

    Several gentlemen, as was not unusual in the Season, had chosen to drop in at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon today but the majority of them were not sparring but were standing round in a circle, watching the two who were.

    “Someone up against Jackson himself?” asked Sir Noël with interest of a bystander.

    “Rockingham,” replied this gentleman, not taking his eyes off the sport. “Going at it hammer and tongs. Never seen anything like it. Pity he was born to the purple, if y’take me drift!”

    Sir Noël and Lord Lucas squeezed in amongst the throng, and peered.

    “Jackson ain’t shamming,” said Lord Lucas in awe after quite some time.

    A middle-aged gentleman who was evidently not there to box himself, or else his figure belied him, replied to this, not taking his eyes off the sport: “Haven’t seen such rare sport since— Hah!”

    There was a general echo as the Marquis landed a smashing left to the ex-champion’s midriff and Jackson staggered.

    “Come on, now, my Lord,” he panted: “head over heart, temper don’t win a match!”

    Sweat pouring off him, Rockingham panted and glared.

    Jackson danced in again, feinting. His Lordship swung violently; Jackson skipped away.

    “He’s in a furious temper over something,” muttered the stout gentleman under cover of the general hubbub.

    “I’ll say,” agreed Sir Noël numbly.

    “Strips to advantage, don’t he?” added the stout gentleman proudly, as if Rockingham’s physique was his own prize possession.

    “Well, he’s no Adonis,” said Lord Lucas, looking rather weakly at his Lordship’s heavily muscled, hairy frame.

    “Adonis? Don’t want to be, in this sport!” the stout gentleman grunted. “Hah! Well done, sir! –Saw his father fight once—now, he had the temper of the Devil! Same physique. This man’s got more science, though.”

    “Yes, by Jove!” agreed Sir Noël, as Rockingham landed another punch.

    “Jackson ain’t shamming,” said the stout gentleman.

    “By God, no!” agreed Lord Lucas eagerly, though it was what he had just said himself.

    “Hah! Well done, sir, well done!” shouted the stout gentleman. “Come on, my Lord, you’ll have him yet! –Saw him floor Cribb, once!” he said proudly.

    “Jackson?” said Sir Noël.

    “Eh? No, no, no: Rockingham! Terrific fighter! Had a hundred guineas on him!” he said proudly.

    “What, to win against Cribb?” asked Sir Noël incredulously.

    “Eh? No, that he’d floor him, y’fool! –Bore in, bore in!” he shouted at the Marquis.

    “Look at him go,” muttered Sir Noël after some time.

    Lord Lucas frankly winced as Jackson’s fist thudded into the Marquis’s midriff. “My God, he ain’t shamming, y’know,” he muttered.

    “He’ll have Rockingham down in less than five minutes: ten to one in guineas!” gasped the stout gentleman.

    “Done,” said Sir Noël instantly.

    Lord Lucas opened his mouth and shut it again.

    “Come on, Gentleman Jim, give the fellow a taste of the real home-brewed!” shouted the stout man.

    Whether it was because of this adjuration or not it was impossible to tell, but Rockingham, looking more furious than ever, bored in, took a smashing right to the ribs as if it had been a fly landing on him, and floored the ex-champion with a crashing left to the chin.

    “By God, he’s done it!” screamed the stout gentleman, oblivious of his guineas. “Well done, my Lord, well done!”

    Rockingham stood there, heavy chest heaving, the sweat streaming off him. Two of Jackson’s boys rushed up and bent to their man.

    “Hell,” said his Lordship suddenly, passing the back of his wrist across his face. “You all right, Jim?”

    “Aye; I’ve been floored by better men nor you,” said Jackson, pushing his boys aside and getting painfully to his feet. “Want any more?”

    “No, I’ve had it,” said the Marquis, making a horrible grimace. “Thanks, Jim.” He removed his glove and held out his hand. Jackson shook it solemnly, as the crowd slowly broke up, paying its debts and talking over the more delicate points of the bout.

    “Ah—Cap’n Lord Lucas, Cap’n Sir Noël,” spotted Jackson, coming over to them. “What’s it to be, gentleman? Take on one of my boys?”

    “I think I’ll stick to single-stick: I’ve just been brought to realize my limitations,” said Lord Lucas frankly. “That was pretty much a tussle of champions, wasn’t it?”

    “Aye; it ain’t often as I gets a chance to really fight,” acknowledged Jackson, smiling slowly. “His Lordship can take as good as what he dishes out. Should have been a professional. Oh, well,” he said, shaking his head, “that’s life, isn’t it, gentlemen?”

    “Hadn’t thought of it in quite that way!” said Lord Lucas with a laugh. “Dashed good show, Jackson!” He went off for a bout of single-stick, smiling.

    “Put you up against young Tommy, sir?” offered Jackson. “Watch his right, though: he’s developing nicely.”

    “I should be honoured,” agreed Sir Noël.

    Jackson‘s eyes twinkled. “Although the Marquis is free of this moment, Sir Noël, should you be wishful—”

    “Lord, no!” he said, shuddering. “Not in his class! –What the Devil was the matter with him? I’ve seen him box a few times, but never blaze away like that! Thought he wanted to kill you!”

    “Aye, it felt like it. Well, I’ve no idea, sir,” he said politely.

    Sir Noël realised this could well be a lie: “Gentleman” Jim Jackson was famed for his discretion. He said merely: “Mm. Well, wanted to kill someone—dashed glad it wasn’t me!” and went off cheerfully for his round with Tommy, blissfully unaware that could the Marquis have witnessed his late encounter in the Park, it very probably would have been he.

    Hildy had not accompanied her sisters and cousins to the Park because today was the day on which Mrs Horsham, her little boy and Rommie Naseby had called for her in their barouche to drive to Richmond to call on a Horsham connection. Hildy had not been keen to go, the more so since she was in the middle of Pride and Prejudice, but her mamma had accepted the flattering invitation for her. Having understood whose sister Mrs Horsham was.

    During the drive Mrs Horsham made polite conversation for some time. Hildy answered in a strained tone.

    Then Rommie said with narrowed eyes: “Suppose you had not driven out with us today to visit Timmy’s grandmamma, what would you have done?” and Hildy answered in a startled way: “Read my book, I suppose.”

    “What book?” demanded Rommie immediately.

    “Rommie, do not quiz Miss Hildegarde,” commanded Mrs Horsham.

    “I’m sorry, Aunt Emily.” She looked hopefully at Hildy.

    “I don’t mind. I don’t think you would have heard of it, Rommie, it’s a novel. It’s called Pride and Prejudice.”

    “Oh! Is it not delightful?” cried Mrs Horsham.

    “Very,” said Hildy in a shaken voice.

    “Have you read her earlier work, Sense and Sensibility?” asked Mrs Horsham eagerly. Upon Hildy’s confessing she had not she immediately offered to lend her her copy.

    “Thank you,” said Hildy, beaming at her.

    “Is not her style delightful? So very clever!” said Mrs Horsham with a laugh. “Where have you got to?”

    “I’m up to the bit where Mr Collins marries Charlotte,” confessed Hildy.

    “Mr Collins!” cried Mrs Horsham, shuddering. “My dear, what a creature! He is exactly like—” She broke off, looking guiltily at Rommie. “Well, one feels with a character like that, that one knows his exact model in real life, do you not find?”

    “I have not met anyone exactly like him,” admitted Hildy. “But he does strike one as horridly real!”

    “Yes. As of course does Charlotte,” she said thoughtfully. “I was at school with a girl very like her. A most intelligent, conversable woman—and yet she married a prosy bore of a man, merely to get an establishment.” She sighed a little. “They are settled in Hampshire, but I confess he is so little to my taste that I have seen very little of them since the marriage.”

    “I know,” said Rommie immediately. “Mrs Burnside.”

    “That will do, Rommie,” said Mrs Horsham, reddening, so Hildy knew at once it was true.

    “Of course one has to consider what Charlotte’s alternative was,” she said politely to Mrs Horsham.

    “Yes: dwindling into an old maid at home—and her home situation was not all that happy, I suppose. But at least it was comfortable enough, there would have been no question of her being obliged to go as a governess, or anything dreadful of that nature!”

    “No. But I expect Lady Lucas would have complained against her for the rest of her life,” acknowledged Hildy. “When Pamela—well, a young lady who is a neighbour of ours—when she refused an offer from our former vicar’s curate, her mamma was very bitter against her for several months. And he was not a very pleasant young man at all. Though he had been promised a living.”

    Mrs Horsham nodded. “Yes, one understands Charlotte’s dilemma. Whilst not sympathizing entirely with her decision!” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

    “Quite!” agreed Hildy with a laugh.

    Mrs Horsham then asked her very kindly about what other books she had read and they talked a little of poetry and eventually Hildy revealed that her favourite poet was Horace—blushing.

    “My late papa admired him very much,” replied Mrs Horsham serenely. “You read the Latin, do you, dear Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Yes,” whispered Hildy, blushing more, as she realized that Sir Julian must have conveyed this information to his sister.

    “I know Latin!” said Rommie immediately.

    “Ho, what a falsehood!” gasped her aunt.

    “I do, too, Aunt Emily!” Rommie recited “Feminine are these in –us.”

    “Where did you learn that?” said Hildy weakly.

    “From Uncle Giles. He taught me the seven hills of Rome, too.” Rommie immediately recited their names.

    “Very good,” said Hildy weakly.

    “I learned them last Christmas. It was very wet,” explained Rommie. “If you had come, Aunt Emily, we could have had charades,” she added sadly, “only there were not really enough of us, and Grandmamma said she was too old for charades. And Mr Jerningham would not play.”

    “Mr Horsham and I scarcely know Lord Rockingham, dear,” she murmured. “Besides, we were promised to Mr Horsham’s brother, you know.”

    “He lives in Hampshire, too,” explained Rommie.

    Mrs Horsham went rather red; so did Hildy.

    “Mr Horsham is with the Foreign Office,” said Rommie impressively. “He is a very important man.”

    “Rommie, that is a silly exaggeration,” said her aunt.

    “Um—well, may I say he is a coming man, Aunt Emily?”

    “We hope that is so, Rommie, but it is not a sentiment that one voices. Not where one’s own family is concerned.”

    “Oh,” said Rommie, looking puzzled.

    Quickly Hildy asked her about her interests—she sang, did she not? She would really have liked a little time to ponder on the oddness of the very conventional Mrs Horsham’s enjoying Pride and Prejudice as much as she did herself. However, this was not to be granted her: Rommie told her a lot about her singing teacher—Hildy had expected her to say her grandmamma had taught her, and was rather taken aback—and then asked Hildy many questions about her own family and her home, expressing greatvenvy of her having so many brothers and sisters and having her Spanish cousins living in the same house with her.

    By the time they reached Mrs Horsham’s mamma-in-law’s house at Richmond, Hildy really felt very much at her ease.

    The rest of the afternoon passed very much as Mrs Horsham had indicated to Lady Naseby. Hildy was duly impressed by Lady Horsham’s beautiful tapestry work and confessed glumly that she was no needlewoman. Lady Horsham immediately asked who had worked her pretty reticule, and Hildy, very thankful that there was at least one member of her immediate family who had a mentionable accomplishment, explained that it was all Amabel’s work.

    They were just about to take their leave—Rommie with two little boxes of cake for her little sisters and, since she had sung a song so beautifully for her Aunt Emily’s mamma-in-law, a box for herself, too (it was very evident that all three of these boxes had been made up well in advance and Hildy had looked at the beaming and nodding elderly Lady Horsham and the innocently thrilled Rommie with amusement and considerable liking) when Lady Horsham’s maid, who was considerably older than her elderly mistress, very fluttered, ushered in Sir Julian Naseby.

    “Papa!” cried Rommie. “You came!”

    “Yes: made it after all,” he said with a smile. “How are you, my dear Lady Horsham? You’re looking terrifically well!” Hildy expected him to kiss the elderly lady’s hand but instead he kissed her plump, pink cheek gently. “Yonge’s looking well, too: Yonge by name and young by nature, eh?” he said to the parlourmaid with a wink.

    “I declare, Sir Julian!” she gasped.

    Lady Horsham smiled. “Yes, our good Yonge has quite shaken off that horrid cough, I am glad to say. The tonic water your dear Mamma recommended has done wonders.”

    “Splendid! Very glad to hear it!” he said. He kissed his sister and said, turning to the pink-cheeked Hildy: “Delighted to see you again, Miss Hildegarde. Thought I might come and see you all safely through the wilds of Richmond, y’know!”

    Hildy could not help laughing: Richmond was very pretty and entirely respectable.

    Lady Horsham then urged Sir Julian to take tea but he declared he would not trouble Yonge and Cook, he had had tea in town, and Yonge bobbed and withdrew.

    “Papa has been to a horrid committee meeting—or was it a Board, Papa?” said Rommie.

    “Oh, a Board this time—bored stiff, y’know!” he said with a laugh. “Did she do her new song, ma’am?” he asked.

    Lady Horsham explained that she had, and it was delightful, and she was very glad that Rommie was working so hard at her music. And Timmy could count up to ten all by his self, did not his Uncle Julian think that was very advanced for a child of only five years? Sir Julian agreed heartily to this and offered the now somewhat comatose Timmy his hand, Lady Horsham giggling like a girl meantime, and Mrs Horsham smiling indulgently. After which Sir Julian gathered his little flock together and took them away.

    Timmy and Rommie, being full of cake and pleasure in the old lady’s reception of their achievements, both nodded off in the barouche going back. The weather was cool and not bright but there was no sign of rain, and once Mrs Horsham had ascertained that Hildy was perfectly comfortable to have the hood down, Sir Julian ranged alongside on his hack and chatted cheerfully to the ladies.

    Hildy was somewhat annoyed to find that the sight of Sir Julian on a horse was almost equally as daunting as his careless social adroitness at the opera house, not to say his ability to handle a phaeton and pair in traffic. She told herself crossly that every gentleman could ride a horse and she was being absurd, but nevertheless did not manage to overcome her shyness sufficiently to do more than reply politely but very briefly to his easy flow. Besides, his breeches were so beautiful and his boots so incredibly shiny: having suffered vicariously through years of Hal’s struggles with spotted buckskins and inferior boot-blacking Hildy could not help feeling glumly—though telling herself that she was being ridiculous—that Sir Julian’s sartorial splendour more or less summed up the difference between their two families. Perhaps it was well she knew little of horseflesh, and was thus spared the humiliation of a comparison of the highbred creature Sir Julian was on with the raw-boned brute her brother was wont to ride.

    She was so busy with her own feelings on this sort of subject that it did not cross her mind to wonder what on earth the frivolous Sir Julian had been doing on a Board, or what it might have been a Board of.

    “What is it, Mamma?” asked Miss Maddern.

    Mrs Maddern replied in a very odd voice, looking up from the invitation in her hand: “It is an invitation to an evening at Sir Lionel and Lady Lavinia Dewesbury’s house. She paused. “An evening of music,” she said weakly.

    Hildy gave a shriek of laughter.

    “A musical soirée!” cried Gaetana. “¡Olé!” She bounced up and under her aunt’s horrified eyes did an impromptu dance round the breakfast table. Paul immediately bounced up and joined in, using his table napkin as a sort of—of— The Madderns could not have said what but they watched with open mouths, he looked quite incredibly Spanish.

    They concluded with a stamp and a flourish, just as Deering came in with another envelope on a small silver salver.

    “Thank you, Deering, that will be all,” said Mrs Maddern in a very weak voice.

    “Thank you, madam,” he replied, bowing.

    “Isn’t he perfect, you would swear he never saw us!” said Gaetana in awe after the door had closed behind him.

    “It will be all round the servants’ hall in approximately five seconds,” remarked Christabel with a twinkle.

    “Of course. But not to let it show! Well, that is the mark of a real London butler, I suppose!” said Gaetana with a gurgle.

    “I trust that is not another invitation to a musical soirée, Mamma?” said Amabel with a little laugh, as her mother opened it.

    Mrs Maddern gulped.

    Hildy gave a shriek. “It is! It is! Who on earth from, though, Mamma?”

    “Just Cousin Sophia, I expect,” said Miss Maddern with a twinkle in her fine grey eyes.

    “It can’t be: there’s a crest on it,” spotted Amabel.

    “The Marquis of Crabapple is inviting Amabel to try out his very own pianoforte, of course! In a piece for four hands!” choked Hildy.

    “Hildy, dearest, you go too far,” said Mrs Maddern.

    Hildy caught sight of Gaetana’s flushed cheeks and realized that her unruly tongue had, indeed, led her too far, though not quite in the sense her mother meant. “I’m sorry,” she growled.

    “Well, whom is it from, Mamma?” prompted Christabel.

    “From Lady Naseby,” said Mrs Maddern faintly.

    Hildy went very pink.

    “Really for a musical evening, Tia Patty?” asked Paul.

    Mrs Maddern held it out mutely to him. Paul took it. He gulped.

    “She actually calls it a musical soirée,” said Mrs Maddern dully.

    “No!” gasped Gaetana.

    “Sí,” said Paul weakly.

    “And we are not even musical,” said Christabel in a shaken voice.

    “I hope they are not for the same evening?” said Amabel faintly.

    Christabel made a strangled sound. Paul gave a whoop. So did Gaetana. Mrs Maddern abruptly gave way entirely and dissolved in helpless giggles worthy of a girl a quarter of her age. Amabel bit her lip but almost immediately gave way entirely also, as did Hildy, in spite of her earlier embarrassment.

    Fortunately they had more or less recovered by the time Deering came in again.

    “Er—yes, please clear, Deering,” said Mrs Maddern weakly, ceasing to fan herself with her napkin.

    “Certainly, madam. This has just come, madam,” he said in distinctly congratulatory tones, proffering his salver.

    The cousins all watched transfixed as Mrs Maddern took up the cream missive sealed with...

    “Has that been sealed with a seal ring?” asked Christabel incredulously.

    Mrs Maddern looked weakly at the wax. “Many people have them, I suppose.”

    “His Highness the Prince Regent,” said Paul, “has no doubt invited us to one of his musical soirées at Carlton House.”

    “Stop it!” gasped Christabel.

    “Er—I think you may go, Deering, these things may remain,” said Mrs Maddern hurriedly.

    “Certainly, madam.” Deering withdrew.

    “The seal is large enough to be the Prince Regent’s, I’m sure,” said Hildy. “Are you not going to open it, Mamma?”

    “It’s not from Harry, is it?” asked Gaetana.

    “No, no, my dear, it is not his hand. Besides, it has been delivered by hand,” said Mrs Maddern, looking at it weakly.

    “Lady Georgina?” said Hildy dubiously.

    Paul came round the table. “Would you rather I opened it, dear Tia Patty?”

    Mrs Maddern handed it to him limply. “Please. For I cannot take any more musical soirées, I am afraid.”

    “Mamma, it won’t be!” said Hildy with a laugh.

    “No, impossible,” agreed Amabel.

    Paul slid a knife under the seal. “Bungo will like this—good, it’s come off whole. …Madre de Dios,” he said numbly.

    “Ugh: a dun?” said his sister.

    “No, imbecile!”

    “Carlton House,” said Christabel drily.

    Paul swallowed. “The Marquis of Rockingham requests the pleasure—”

    “That is NOT FUNNY!” shouted Gaetana.

    “No,” agreed Christabel. “Cousin Paul, the joke has gone far enough. What is it, if you please?”

    Paul handed her the invitation. Christabel’s colour rose. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly.

    “No, por favor— Please do not,” said Paul, sitting down rather suddenly.

    “Dearest, what is it?” demanded Mrs Maddern.

    “My cousin was not joking, Mamma. The Marquis has invited us all to a concert,” said Christabel with difficulty.

    Gaetana pressed her shaking hands to her glowing cheeks.

    “With him?” said Mrs Maddern weakly.

    “Yes.” Christabel passed the invitation to her.

    “Is that suitable for a single gentleman to do?” asked Hildy dubiously.

    “Yes,” said Mrs Maddern baldly.

    “Oh.”

    There was a short silence.

    “No es posible,” said Gaetana through her teeth.

    Mrs Maddern looked at her anxiously.

    Paul said to her in Spanish: “If a bullet through his arm did not discourage him, he is obviously not a man who discourages easily. But if you don’t like him, querida, you need only be coolly polite, you know.”

    Gaetana looked at him helplessly.

    “I am saying,” said Paul to the company, “that this is a flattering invitation and it would be very rude in us to turn it down. But if Gaetana cannot like the Marquis she need only be polite to him.”

    “That is very right, my love,” said Mrs Maddern anxiously.

    “I do not see that we need feel ourselves obliged to accept,” said Christabel coolly.

    “My love, he could ruin all of us in Society very easily,” said Mrs Maddern in a shaking voice.

    “He would not do so if he is a man of principle,” declared Hildy grimly.

    “Hildy, dearest, who knows what these great lords may do?” quavered Mrs Maddern.

    “Mamma, if our place in Society depends on the whim of a great man with no principles,” said Christabel in a hard voice, “then I for one confess I do not wish to have a place in it.”

    “Nor I!” agreed Hildy stoutly.

    “But it is your one chance, girls!” cried Mrs Maddern, bursting into a storm of tears.

   Gaetana’s lips tightened. She stood up. “Tia Patty, please don’t. You are right: you must accept this invitation. Christa, Amabel and Hildy must not be disadvantaged because of me.” She went out, looking very pale.

    Hildy stood up and began to pile up breakfast crockery. ”Well, I for one now feel an abjectly loathsome hypocrite,” she noted.

    “True,” agreed Christabel tightly. “But it appears that is the price one must pay to figure in polite society. I would certainly not wish to disadvantage any of you girls.”

    Mrs Maddern sniffed dolefully. “It is the way the world is, dearest,” she quavered.

    Paul gave her his handkerchief. “Yes,” he said to Christabel in a low voice.

    She gave him a look of loathing and turned away from him. “Hildy,” she said, “there is no need, the servants will do that.”

     Hildy looked numbly at her pile of crockery. “Oh. I forgot.”

    Mrs Maddern blew her nose. “After all, it is only a concert.”

    “Sí, sí, Tia Patty. Would you not like to rest a little?” suggested Paul soothingly. Mrs Maddern allowed him to assist her to her feet and help her out of the room.

    “Hildy, what on earth happened during that accursed visit to the Royal Mint?” demanded Miss Maddern instantly.

    “Yes, I think you should tell us, if you know, dearest; we are not trying to pry,” quavered Amabel.

    Hildy sat down limply. “No. Well, I did not grasp it all, but it appears the people at the Mint must have—have treated Lord Rockingham with great respect, indeed servility, because of—of his wealth and position.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Ye-es...” said Christabel.

    “It brought it home to Gaetana how wide the gap is between a great gentleman and the daughter of a spy,” said Hildy dully.

    Amabel gasped.

    “I see,” said Miss Maddern.

    Hildy began to cry. “Christa, she really likes him and he wuh-wanted to give her driving lessons and she turned him down and I duh-don’t know what to do!”

    Miss Maddern transferred herself to the chair next to Hildy’s and put both arms round her. “Don’t cry, dearest. I do perfectly understand Gaetana’s position: she has behaved as a young woman of great principle.”

    “Indeed,” agreed Amabel. “And,” she added eagerly, “although Gaetana has acted entirely creditably and properly, there are after all two persons involved, and it is clear from this invitation that the Marquis is not a man to give up easily!”

    “No-o... Actually I think maybe that was what Paul said to her after he opened it, though I don’t know much Spanish,” admitted Hildy.

    Miss Maddern was now regretting her attitude to Paul over the invitation, even though it was her principles which had led her take it up. She bit her lip and did not speak.

    Amabel was nodding encouragingly; Hildy warned: “She is determined to keep him at arms’ length.”

    “And apparently he is determined she shall not,” said Miss Maddern, recovering her composure.

    “Christa, I cannot be so optimistic about it as you,” said Hildy in a low voice.

    “I am sure he will carry the day!” breathed Amabel, putting her hand to her bosom.

    “Well, so am not I,” said Hildy heavily.

    “Dearest, you would not encourage to repulse the Marquis, just because you cannot like him?” faltered Amabel.

    “No. And in any case, you are wrong, I don’t dislike him. I think he has a good mind. But he is awfully old,” said Hildy dubiously.

    There was a short silence.

    “Yes,” admitted Miss Maddern guiltily.

    “Oh, what does that signify?” cried Amabel. “He cares for her, that is what matters! Oh, it is so exciting, I am so looking forward to this concert! When is it?” She bounced up and retrieved the invitation eagerly.

    Her sisters swallowed, and avoided each other’s eyes. To say truth, they were both now experiencing a shaming emotion not unlike that which Amabel was evincing so artlessly.

    “What did you think?” said Sir Lionel on a hopeful note over breakfast on the morning after his evening of music.

    As usual the elder Dewesburys were breakfasting alone, Lady Lavinia having decreed that after evening parties Susan should breakfast in her room and come down later. Susan, docile as ever, had submitted to her Mamma’s wishes without its dawning on her that the main reason for the decree was that Lady Lavinia could not support the company of the half-fledged at breakfast and that the second reason, of almost equal importance, was that Lady Lavinia wished to be able to discuss the personalities and events of the evening just passed with the complete freedom which she could not have used in front of an unmarried daughter. There was a third reason, which was that Lady Lavinia sometimes wished to discuss her, but this was only a minor contributing factor: Susan might be discussed at any time and besides, Lady Lavinia was not particularly in the habit of consulting her husband about her.

    “Musically I dare say it went off very well,” she allowed.

    Sir Lionel preened himself. “Aye, you might say so. La D’Angelica was in fine voice, fine voice!”

    Lady Lavinia sighed. Large Italian ladies letting their voices rip in her salon were not her cup of tea. “I am glad you think so, my dear.”

    Sir Lionel beamed. After a moment he noted: “Dare say Prinny will be askin’ me why he was not invited.”

    She sighed again. “I believe he has been invited to Susan’s ball?”

    “Yes, said he would put in an appearance; but dash it, won’t enjoy it, y’know!” he said, shaking his head. His wife looked most indignant but he added: “Well, what man of his age and figure would?”

    “Oh. Well, no, you are probably right. But in view of the events last night,” she said significantly, “one can only be glad he was not invited.” She paused. “For I dare say she would have encouraged him, too.”

    Sir Lionel swallowed uneasily.

    Lady Lavinia picked up her coffee cup and held it suspended. There was an awful pause.

    “Whilst not encouraging Giles. Which even you must admit,” she said with horrible dryness, “was the whole point of the evening.”

    “Eh?” he protested feebly. “No, no, that’s going too far! The music was the point of the evening!”

    Lady Lavinia permitted herself a slight sniff. She drank some coffee.

    “Uh—well—she’s only a young thing, y’know,”

     Lady Lavinia did not reply.

    “Dash it, he is too old for her, always said so!” he said heatedly.

    His wife did not point out that he had not always said so, in fact his last several comments on the subject had been to directly the opposite effect. “At all events she has shown quite clearly that she is not interested in him.”

    “Well, part of the time he was at the piano!” he said aggrievedly.

    “Yes, and whilst he was, she was flirting unrestrainedly with young Mr Grahame and—and—that nephew of Bobby Amory’s! And in any case it would be surprizing if any very young lady would favour a man who publicly indulged in such—such cacophony!”

    Sir Lionel had been waiting for this but nevertheless he winced. “That was Beethoven!”

    “I do not care to know what it was, Lionel, thank you. It was horridly loud and—and completely unrestrained. I cannot abide this new-fangled music and I am very sure, from the expressions on their faces, that half of our guests also thought as much! I thought the pianoforte was going to break!”

    Sir Lionel gave a startled and quite genuine laugh.

    Lady Lavinia went very red and glared.

    “Sorry, my dear,” he said weakly. “Er—it was magnificent, y’know. Stürm und Drang, eh?” He shook his head in admiration.

    “What?” she said blankly.

    “Thought you was the one that learnt modern languages off your governess!” he said jovially. “That’s what they call the style, my dear. I’m not as ignorant as you think!”

    Lady Lavinia was very red again. “I am perfectly well aware, thank you, Lionel, that you are not in the least ignorant, and I wish you would not pretend to be! ‘But please do not explain, this modern music is beyond me,” she said with a sigh.

    “Very well, my dear. And next time I will just mention to Giles that the moderns strike a bit hard on the unattuned ear,” he said kindly.

    “Thank you.”

    “Actually,” he said, carving himself a third lot of beef, “little Miss Ainsley said to me she thought it was wonderful.” He thought it over, his mouth full of beef. “Dhare shay—” He swallowed. “Dare say it might have been a lie. Didn’t sound like it, though. Don’t know a thing about music, but was all flushed up over it.”

    “Was she?” said Lady Lavinia acidly. “I would have thought she had been flushed up over some of the outrageous things young Amory was saying in her ear!”

    “Well,” he said, rubbing his nose, “could have been doing it—um—not pour encourager les autres; what’s the expression I want?”—His wife stared at him blankly.—“Show Giles he’s not the only pebble on the beach!” he said. “That’s it!”

    “Well, it did not have that result. He was disgusted,” she said grimly.

    “Ye-es... Furious, more like.” He thought it over. “No, both.”

    “True. Well, I suppose it is just as well. Eighteen and thirty-seven is hardly...”

    “Aye. Well, better he finds out now than later, eh? Well, look at Marianne P—”

    “Lionel!”

    “There’s only us here, old girl.”

    “Do not address me in those terms, if you please. –Besides, the cases are quite different.”

    Sir Lionel agreed sourly: “No, he ain’t just about to pop the question to Miss Ainsley.”

    “Marianne Pouteney,” pronounced Lady Lavinia, “was a heartless, unprincipled baggage.”

    “Mm. Peculiar, too.”

    His wife looked at him dubiously.

    “Well, how old was Giles at the time? Twenty-one? And she tells her papa she’ll be pleased to receive his offer, and then goes off and gets herself lost in the huntin’ field with old Leigh-Grant, and announces she’s engaged to him! Dashed nearly old enough to be her grandfather!”

    “Poor boy,” said Lady Lavinia with a sigh.

    Sir Lionel gave her a kindly look. “Yes. Well, it’s taken him long enough to get over it. –You know she ditched Leigh-Grant, not to mention the three brats he’d given her, and went off with some damned foreigner? Don’t know where to,” he admitted.

    “Vienna. I had it from the Countess Lieven and quite frankly, I would rather not have had the subject recalled. Then or now.”

    “No. Sorry,” he said, grimacing.

    She sighed. “I think I shall ring for a fresh pot of coffee. Would you care for some, my dear?”

    In some surprise, Lionel agreed he would.

    Mrs Compton raised her lorgnette. “Who is that extraordinarily handsome young man with Sophia Goodbody?”

    Lady Ives peered. “It is not the Ainsley boy, is it?”

    “No!” she said crossly. “Far taller than he!”

    “Oh.” Lady Ives peered again. “Oh, I have it, it is the son of a very old friend of Sophia’s.”

    “What, not one of the Maddern creature’s family?”

    “No, indeed. I forget the name...” Lady Ives wrinkled her pallid brow.

    The majestic Mrs Compton glared at her.

    “Parks—no, Parkinson,” said Lady Ives at last.

    “Parkinson? I have never heard— Not the Derbyshire family?”

    “I do not believe so,” said Lady Ives dubiously. She nodded tentatively to an acquaintance, with a pale smile. The acquaintance failed to notice her. This was a fairly frequent experience in Lady Ives’s life and so it did not particularly disturb her.

    Mrs Compton sniffed.

    “Sophia was telling me he is in Holy Orders,” said Lady Ives timidly.

    Mrs Compton sniffed again, but raised the lorgnette a second time. “Then what is he doing at Almack’s, pray?” she demanded coldly.

    “Er—well—I dare say he is escorting Mrs Goodbody,” she faltered.

    “And what is she doing here, in any case, the woman has no daughters of her own!” she said heatedly. Mrs Compton had seven. Three of them were out. Only the second one had received an offer and he was the fourth son of a younger son. It was true that at this precise moment all three of them were dancing, but Mrs Compton had worked very hard indeed to achieve this end.

    “She is joining Mrs Maddern and her party, I expect,” offered Lady Ives mildly.

    Mrs Compton sniffed again. “I do not see them,” she pronounced, after a slow survey of the room.

    “No, I do not think they are here yet.” Lady Ives nodded encouragingly as her daughter circled in the set in front of them, but Beatrice failed to notice her.

    “Well, I dare say when they do arrive we shall see the Maddern woman throwing those girls at— Look at that!” she gasped.

    Lady Ives peered. “What?”

    “That is Rockingham with the Dewesbury party!” she gasped.

    From the way Mrs Compton said “Rockingham” you would have thought the Marquis was one of her oldest acquaintances but actually, as Lady Ives very well knew, she had never even met his Lordship. Lady Ives, however, knew Lady Lavinia slightly, and she was aware that Mrs Compton was aware of this. “Very likely. She is his aunt,” she said faintly.

    “Who is the blonde girl on his arm?”

    “His half-sister; I have forgot her name. His mamma married a second time. I think the husband is... Dutch? I have forgot. Lady Lavinia is bringing her out.”

    Mrs Compton’s eyes narrowed. “Not a Hammond, then. And the papa?”

    “I believe he is not a—a person of consequence.”

    Mrs Compton frowned. After a moment thought she said: “If she is his half-sister I am sure Rockingham’s consequence will not permit of his not seeing her very comfortable.”

    “Oh, indeed. We heard that he has paid all young Lord Welling’s debts.”

    “More fool he,” returned Mrs Compton grimly. “Though I must say, that boy was far too young to be let loose upon the town.”

    “Er—yes,” said Lady Ives faintly.

    Mrs Compton rose. “Come, you had best pay your respects to Lady Lavinia: it would not do to be behindhand in any little courtesy in that direction!”

    Lady Ives rose resignedly. “Very true,” she murmured. She endeavoured to catch Beatrice’s eye and give a sign that her mamma was moving off, but her daughter failed to notice her.

    ... “Damned toad-eaters,” concluded Rockingham sourly as two dames retreated, smiling and nodding ingratiatingly. “Place is full of them; why the Devil do you come here?” he said to his aunt.

    “I admit that the standard of the company is not such as one would wish always to see. I shall speak to dear Lady Sefton,” returned Lady Lavinia majestically.

    “That won’t do any good: woman’s soft as butter, dare say it was she who let ’em in. Speak to the Countess Lieven. Or that bosom-bow of hers, the Drummond-Burrell woman.”

    “Very well.”

    “I thought the Ives were neighbours of yours, though, Aunt Lavinia?” ventured Carolyn.

    “That is quite true, Carolyn, my dear, but that does not mean that I was seeking an introduction to the Compton female.”

    “No? I quite thought you were,” said her nephew sardonically.

    “She has many daughters. I do not quite see...” murmured Susan.

    “Don’t be a gaby, child, it was not I to whom she wished to be introduced, but your cousin!” said Lady Lavinia frankly.

    “Oh,” said Susan, going very red.

    “Well, she’s out, there, if they all have moustachios like hers,” noted Rockingham.

    “The third girl is very pretty,” murmured Susan. “That is her in the pink, just joining that set.”

    “Pink with yaller curls,” he said drily.

    Susan went as pink as the third Miss Compton’s gown.

    “A very delicate shade of pink,” pronounced Lady Lavinia, “is quite acceptable with very fair hair. Provided that one has the complexion to support it, naturally.”

     “Well, neither of these two have, so don’t trick ’em out in pink. Or if you do,” said his Lordship frankly, “don’t invite me to be of the party.” His eyes roamed the room.

    “Carolyn and Susan both look delightfully in blue. And you may take Carolyn into this set,” said his aunt firmly.

    “You may go to Hell, Lavinia,” he returned cordially.

    “Giles! How dare you!”

    “Look, you browbeat me into escorting the three of you, but I warned you I won’t dance. And don’t appeal to the ties of consanguinity, Lavinia, that topic has lately become very boring.”

    “Just because I asked you to escort your own half-sister to the Park!” she gasped.

    “Just because you asked me to dawdle away an afternoon in which I had many better things to do than watch Carolyn make eyes at anything that came along in pantaloons.”

    “Giles! I did not!” gasped Carolyn.

    Susan put her arm through hers. “No, she behaved most properly, and I must say that was both unjust and unkind of you, Cousin Rockingham!”

    He eyed her drily. “Good for you. –Girl’s got more character than I thought,” he noted to her mother.

     Lady Lavinia’s colour was already heightened but at this it rose alarmingly.

    “And if you think I was badly behaved,” burst out Carolyn, “how, pray, would you describe the conduct of that dreadful girl from Ostend who was walking with Mr Grahame and his sister?”

    His Lordship’s mouth tightened.

    “Miss Ainsley and Miss Grahame have lately become friends,” said Susan weakly.

    “That does not excuse her calling him a little tiger and ruffling his hair!” she cried.

    “No,” allowed Susan faintly.

    “Miss Ainsley’s manners are no concern of yours, Miss,” said Rockingham blightingly to his sister. “But let me just add, I am happy to say that she is not my sister!” He turned his back on them and strode off.

    “Carolyn, that was exceedingly ill-advised,” warned Lady Lavinia.

    “Buh-but what did I say, Aunt Lavinia? And she is a horrid girl! Why, at Ostend—” Carolyn broke off abruptly, recalling that the tale of the meeting at Ostend did not redound to her credit, either.

    “What about Ostend?” asked Lady Lavinia in a weak voice.

    “Nothing,” she said, pouting. “We encountered her there, and Giles appeared to think she was something wonderful, that is all. –He will never take my part!”

    “You should exert yourself more to please him, my dear,” said Lady Lavinia firmly. “I know he is your half-brother, but after all he is a man very much your senior. Little pouting Misses do not amuse him. And I cannot say I blame him,” she added fairly.

    Carolyn subsided, for the nonce, looking sulky.

    ... “Good gracious, so it goes back to Ostend,” said Lady Lavinia very weakly, when Carolyn was dancing.

    “Yes, Mamma,” agreed Susan faintly. “But we had thought that, from dear Aunt Anne’s letters.”

    “Well, yes, but I must own— Well, Carolyn is the most self-centred young person I have ever met, but if she remarked that Giles was struck by Miss Ainsley—!”

    “Oh, dear, Mamma,” burst out Susan, “I cannot understand why she is being so cruel to him!”

    “Nor I,” admitted Lady Lavinia with a sigh.

    “Of course, his character is a complex one, and he is not a man who—who pleases readily,” Susan conceded.

    “No,” said Lady Lavinia dully.

    “But Miss Ainsley is not a shallow Miss.”

    “No, I dare say. Though she has certainly been behaving like one these past few weeks.”

    “Ye-es... I had thought at Papa’s evening that she very much favoured Sir Noël Amory, but latterly...”

    “She has a new cicisbeo at every event at which one encounters her—quite.”

    “Mamma, do you think she and Cousin Giles could have quarrelled, and—and that she is endeavouring to—to punish him?”

    “Very like,” said Lady Lavinia grimly. “For he is enough to make a saint quarrel, I will not scruple to say so to you, my dear.”

    “Yes, he can be very irritating... But I do not understand,” said Susan in a low voice, “how any lady could be so—so exceeding cruel to a gentleman.”

    “No. But you have a very different temperament, Susan.”

    Susan looked at her doubtfully.

    “And I dare say she knows nothing of his past history as we in the family do.”

    Susan’s gentle blue eyes filled with tears. “No.”

    “My dear, it was a lucky escape. Recollect that”—Lady Lavinia paused—“M.P.,” she said significantly, “ran off with another man within five years of having married. We must just be very thankful it was not Giles to whom that happened!”

    “Very true, Mamma,” she said, blinking.

    Lady Lavinia patted her hand. Susan looked at her in a startled way and smiled awkwardly.

    ... “Well, here we are, you see!” said Mrs Goodbody with a smile.

    Mrs Maddern beamed, and said that she was so sorry the girls had been out at the time Mr Parkinson had called; and did he know—yes, of course, he had met Sir Julian at their little supper dance, my, how long ago that did seem, to be sure! And this was Major Grey, and Captain Sir Noël Amory and—oh, dear, should she perhaps have presented Captain Lord Lucas first, she found these matters so confusing, to say truth!

    The gentlemen bowed and smiled, eyeing one another warily.

    “So you have found time for a bolt to the metropolis, eh, Vicar?” said Sir Julian with a not altogether kind gleam in his eye.

    “Yes. Mamma had some errands she wished me to run; so I thought I would combine business with a little pleasure.”

    “Y’won’t dance, of course,” said Sir Julian, very dry.

    Hilary reddened. “My bishop assures me it would not be improper in me to do so.”

    “Lord, no! My cousin’s a parson; nippiest on his pins of the whole family!” said Sir Noël with a laugh.

    “Nimble,” said Hildy thoughtfully. She and Gaetana choked.

    “I shall never live that one down, shall I?” said Sir Julian, terrifically pleased, shaking his head. “Nimble Naseby, they call me in polite society, Vicar.”

    Over certain persons’ spluttering fits, Mrs Maddern cried: “Do not regard them, my dear Mr Parkinson, it is a silly joke! Of course polite society does not call Sir Julian any such thing!”

    “I say, you’re not claiming he ain’t nimble, I hope, Mrs Maddern?” said Lord Lucas, shocked.

    “Well, I— Oh, you are teasing! I declare, you military gentlemen!” At this precise moment poor Mrs Maddern recalled that Mr Parkinson’s late unlamented brother-in-law had also been a military gentleman, and went very red.

    Paul said quickly: “Mr Parkinson, I hope you will feel yourself able to make one of a party to see Kean in one of his famed Shakespearean rôles? We have a box for the day after tomorrow and you would be most welcome in our party.”

    “Shakespeare is so respectable,” added Hildy drily before Mr Parkinson could speak.

    Very flushed, the Vicar bowed and said stiffly: “You are too kind, Mr Ainsley. I should like it of all things.”

    “Fortunately, the audience is not required to dance,” said Hildy thoughtfully to the ceiling of Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

    Gulping slightly, Sir Julian said quickly: “No, but by Jove, you are, dear Miss Hildegarde! Will you honour me?” Hildy smiled kindly upon him and he led her into the set.

    Major Grey immediately invited Amabel, and Lord Lucas Christabel.

    “We three could fight it out,” noted Sir Noël with a twinkle in his eye, “but on second thoughts Ainsley must be disqualified because of his near relationship, and then, I’m very much afraid your cloth disqualifies you, Vicar, whatever your bishop may have said. What do you think, Miss Ainsley?”

    Gaetana had perceived from Hildy’s manner that there was something between her and the Vicar. And in her opinion if there was, then Mr Parkinson should have immediately solicited her cousin’s hand, not stood there with a sheep-like look on his face, never mind how beautiful the face in question was. “¡Sí! Besides, I do not think I could favour Mr Parkinson with a dance: not an abbé dansant!” She went off gaily on Sir Noël’s arm.

    That left Mr Parkinson with Paul and the two middle-aged ladies. Some might have thought that it served him right.

    Quite some time later Gaetana observed in a low voice: “He is talking with Miss Dewesbury and Christabel.”

    “Yes. Well, perhaps someone should warn Miss Dewesbury,” said Hildy in a hard voice, “that he is just a pretty face, and she will not get a waltz out of him!”

    “Un abbé valsant?” gasped Gaetana. “Jamais!”

    The cousins went into a gale of giggles. This did not mean that Gaetana was not very much aware of Hildy’s disturbance over Mr Parkinson, or that Hildy had not registered that though Gaetana had danced every dance except a waltz, which she had sat out with Sir Noël, her eyes kept returning to a silent, scowling presence which was the Most Noble the Marquis of Crabapple propping up Almack’s wall in an entirely Byronic fashion.

    … “Señor Ainsley,” said Lady Jersey with a wicked twinkle in her eyes, “you are not dancing, I see. May I present Miss Compton as a highly desirable partner for the waltz?”

    Paul bowed politely and led Miss Compton into the dance, inwardly vowing that, patroness of Almack’s or not, he would get even with Lady Jersey, both for the “Señor” and for the dance: Miss Compton had neither looks nor intelligence to recommend her. Added to which she was almost as moustachioed as her mamma.

    ... “Go away,” said Major Grey rudely.

    Hildy giggled ecstatically.

    “It is my turn to dance with Miss Hildegarde,” continued Major Grey, offering his arm, “and even if it weren’t, your presence is no longer required. –Nimble Naseby,” he added as a nasty afterthought.

    “No!” agreed Hildy, looking back over her shoulder at Sir Julian with a giggle. “For I have already danced one more dance with you, Sir Julian, than is seemly in a young lady at Almack’s!”

    “You are too cruel, Miss Hildegarde! What shall a poor fellow do?”

    “Prop up the wall like Rockingham, if y’like,” noted Major Grey, leading his prize away.

    “Yes: The Corsair!” said Hildy with a loud giggle.

    “Oh, absolutely, Miss Hildegarde!” he agreed as the crush on the floor swallowed them up.

    Sir Julian, excellent manners or not, could not forbear to scowl. He did not notice and perhaps would not have seized the significance of the fact if he had done, that the Reverend Mr Parkinson was standing with Mrs Goodbody, just a little way behind him.

    … “Well, at least procure us some refreshment, if you will not dance!” said Lady Lavinia tartly.

    Rockingham shrugged. “What do you wish for?”

    “Anything!” she snapped.

    He shrugged again and strolled off in search of anything.

    “Orgeat again, it seems to haunt us, sir!” said Paul with his nice smile.

    “Yes,” agreed Rockingham, frowning.

    Paul hesitated and then said: “Lord Rockingham, may I have a word with you? It need not be here, but—”

    “As well here as anywhere. –Wait, let me get rid of this muck.” He led Paul over to his party, handed the ladies their refreshments, noted: “I am not responsible if that muck poisons you,” and tugged Paul over to a relatively quiet spot. “Well?”

    Paul made a face. “I would not have wished to broach the matter in such a public place, but—”

    “What is it? Do you need a loan?” he said bluntly.

    “Madre de— No, Lord Rockingham!” gasped Paul, turning scarlet.

    The Marquis sniffed. “Most unlike your father, then. Well?”

     Paul said in a low voice: “I was gaming with some friends two days since in a hell which I had not previously visited, and which I intend to steer very clear of in the future.”

    “Oh? Loaded dice?” He shrugged. “What do you expect me to do, Mr Ainsley? Have it closed down? I dare say I could, but it will spring up in another guise in some other house, you know.”

    “No, that was not— Though I should not be at all averse to your doing so. No; I am afraid this is really none of my business, sir, but—”

    His Lordship’s lips tightened. “Welling?”

    “Sí, he was there with Truscott—well, there is nothing that—but also a M. de la Bruyère, who I am very sure is not a La Bruyère, if he is anything he is a M. Escroc.”

    “Fuzzed the cards, did he?” he said drily.

    “Sí, but personally I was not affected. Well, I am acquainted with that fashion of marking the deck, sir,” he explained politely to Rockingham’s raised eyebrow.

    The Marquis choked slightly. “I perfectly comprehend you, Mr Ainsley. Thank you for the warning: I have thought before of packing Welling off to the country with a bear-leader, and this time— No?” he said, as  Paul grabbed his sleeve.

    “I beg your pardon, sir, I have creased your sleeve.”

    “Mr Ainsley, do I look as if it takes four strong men to ease me into me coat? Don’t answer that,” he added with a twisted grin. “Well?”

    “There was also present,” said Paul reluctantly, “a younger man, a M. de Lavalle, who was very clearly cut from the same cloth as M. Escroc, and who—who claimed acquaintance with Mlle Girardon and indeed spoke very freely of the lady. He was most interested to learn that Lord Welling was so closely related to your Lordship and—and in short, sir, I think he means to make mischief.”

    “Taking it out on Welling because I hauled Carolyn out of his clutches? More than likely. Thank you, Ainsley,” he said, laying a hand fleetingly on the young man’s shoulder. “I shall take care of it.”

    “Not at all, sir. If I can be of any use to you in the matter, pray do not hesitate to mention it.”

    “Thank you, but I doubt if I shall need any assistance,” said Rockingham grimly.

    … “Isn’t that brother-in-law of yours at the Foreign Office?” he said abruptly, walking up to Julian as he stood chatting with Mrs Maddern, Mrs Goodbody and their group.

    “Er—Horsham, you mean, Giles? Yes; why?”

    “I want to find out how to get rid of an undesirable of French origin. Putative French origin,” he corrected himself grimly.

    “What has he done?”

    “I have no notion, and it is immaterial, I want him out of the country.”

    “This is English democracy in action,” noted Gaetana loudly to Hildy.

    “Fascinating, is it not?”

    Rockingham flushed angrily and took Julian’s arm. “Come over here,” he said, drawing him away.

    “My dear girls, how could you!” gasped Mrs Maddern. “And he is to take us to the concert tomorrow, too!”

    “I am looking forward to it extremely,” said Gaetana grimly.

    “I believe his Lordship is very musical?” ventured Major Grey.

    “A musical Mendoza,” murmured Lord Lucas.

    Naturally Major Grey had heard the story of Rockingham’s bout with Jackson. He grinned. “Known as such in polite society, is he?”

    Lord Lucas choked into his glass.

    “Who is Mendoza?” asked Miss Maddern in bewilderment.

    “Er—a prize-fighter—boxer, Miss Maddern,” said Lord Lucas uneasily.

    “Good gracious, pray do not, Lord Lucas, of all things I abhor fisticuffs!” cried Mrs Maddern.

    “I have heard of him: my papa has spoken of him,” said Gaetana.

    “Well, I do not scruple to say that he should not have, my love!” cried her aunt.

    “No, but you know Harry.”

    “We had heard that Lord Rockingham likes to box,” put in Hildy.

    “He invited Paul, but Paul would not. And I must say I agree with him that it is a horrid, rough pastime, unfit for gentlemen!” said Gaetana on a cross note.

    “Yes, indeed, my love,” murmured Mrs Maddern.

    “Er—yes,” said Lord Lucas weakly.

    ... “Why did you not support me?” he hissed later in his friend’s ear, glaring.

    “I was enjoying seeing you open your mouth and put your great foot in it, old fellow,” replied Major Grey amiably.

    Lord Lucas glared.

    “Fine girls, the Madderns, are they not?” added Major Grey carelessly.

    “Yes,” he said, scowling.

    Major Grey’s lips twitched. “Rather fancy little Miss Amabel, m’self.”

    “Well, that is good, for had you fancied Miss Hildegarde I think you would have had to fight first Julian Naseby and then that damned Vicar for her,” replied Lord Lucas crossly.

    “Mm. And if I’d fancied Miss Maddern, I’d have—eh?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

    “Drop it, will you?” he growled.

    Major Grey clapped him on the shoulder and strolled off, laughing.

    ... “No, I do not think we shall join her, just at this moment, my love,” said Mrs Maddern on a complacent note.

    Amabel glanced over at Hildy. “Oh,” she said, with an understanding smile.

    Mrs Maddern sighed happily. “I am persuaded he has come to London for no other reason than to pursue her! So—so particular, the way he addressed her, was it not?”

    “I think you may be right, Mamma.”

    “And I had no notion!” sighed Mrs Maddern. “Two eligible gentlemen—fancy! Our little Hildy!”

    Hilary Parkinson, or so the dismayed Hildegarde felt, had cornered her. Since she was standing near a wall and he came and positioned himself between her and the throng and since Hildy was not tall and the Vicar was six foot and broad-shouldered, there was perhaps some justification for the feeling.

    “You are having a very gay time in London, I see,” he said with an effort.

    “If you imagine Almack’s represents a gay time, Mr Parkinson, you must have had very few gay times in your life!”

    The Vicar stared, very taken aback.

    “Though I will admit that now we have made some acquaintances it is not as dull as it was the first time we came,” Hildy added, trying to see round him and failing.

    “Some acquaintances amongst the military, it would seem,” he said, his voice shaking.

    “Oh, the military, the gentry and the nobility, sir!”

    “I have remarked that,” he said grimly.

    There was a short pause.

    “Miss Hildegarde, I had believed that you at least would have had enough of an understanding of what is right and fine in life to—to—”

    “Mr Parkinson, Almack’s is known as the Marriage Mart in polite society. We did not come here—indeed we did not come to London, as I am sure you must be aware—to prop up the wall. I am no different than any other young lady here. And I would be most obliged,” said Hildy coldly, “if you would move aside, as you are standing in my light. Literally as well as figuratively, if you do not mean to dance.”

    Mr Parkinson went scarlet, bowed stiffly, and retreated.

    “Pretty face,” said Hildy through her teeth.

    ... “Very well, I shall present you, if you wish to risk a rebuff,” said the Countess Lieven, raising her plucked eyebrows very high. “I own, I have a certain curiosity to see how Harry Ainsley’s little girl has turned out.”

    Rockingham replied grimly: “Why are you assuming she will rebuff me?”

    “My dear man, you have made yourself a considerable figure of interest these past several weeks by your unavailing pursuit of Miss Ainsley. I myself have observed her rebuff you... Let me see. At an extremely boring dance of Sally’s; once while I was driving in the Park—you did not see me, I think: she was with a crowd of young people; and once, or it might be more correct to say the entire evening, at the Dewesburys’ musical party. Your playing was quite delightful, by the way, did I say?”

    “Yes. Thank you,” he said stiffly. “Will you do it or not?”

    The Countess raised her eyebrows very high again but accompanied him over to where Gaetana was sitting with Amabel.

    The two girls rose to their feet, very flustered.

    “Countess, may I present Miss Ainsley—Miss Amabel Maddern,” said Rockingham in an extremely bored voice. “The Countess Lieven.”

    The girls curtseyed deeply.

    “So you are Harry Ainsley’s daughter. Yes, you have a great look of him,” stated the Countess.

    “Thank you, your Ladyship,” said Gaetana feebly.

    “May I suggest Lord Rockingham to you as an eminently eligible partner for the waltz, Miss Ainsley?” said the Countess, not sounding very interested. “Miss Amabel, I see Mr Trotter is without a partner—” She hailed the shrinking Amabel off inexorably.

    “I thought she did not notice débutantes,” said Gaetana limply.

    “She rarely does. I asked her. Will you dance the waltz with me?”

    Gaetana glared at him.

    “Well?”

    “Lord Rockingham, you know perfectly well that I would not dare refuse after the Countess Lieven has presented you to me as a partner!”

    “I know nothing of the sort. In my experience of you, you would dare anything. Well?”

    “This is du chantage!” said Gaetana wildly.

    “Very true.”

    “Very well, but only because I am too much of a coward to refuse,” she said grimly.

    “I’m shattered,” he said, offering her his arm. Gaetana took it without looking into his face and they went onto the floor.

    After some little time had passed without a exchange between them, the Marquis said: “You waltz vilely, Miss Ainsley.”

    “You are the first man I have danced it with, and I am counting,” said Gaetana grimly into his waistcoat.

    “Counting? Counting the number of times you have stepped on my feet? Do not bother: I can do that myself. It is seven.”

    “One, two, three; one, two, three!” she replied breathlessly.

    Rockingham shook with laughter but to his partner’s fury at the same time continued to waltz smoothly in rhythm with the music.

    “Do not dare to reverse!” she gasped as they reached the corner of the room.

    “Er—I may have to. No—we are saved,” he said, twirling her round the corner.

    “One, two—I’m sorry!” she gasped.

    “Eight,” he said drily.

    “It serves you right, blackmailer!” she gasped.

    “Whom did you practise with, if not men?” he enquired with interest. “Chairs?”

    “No!” she gasped. “My brothers! Must you go so fast?”

    “Miss Ainsley, it is the dance, not I, that is going fast.”

    “Be quiet!” she hissed.

    “Relax. Let me guide you.”

    This had no effect: she did not relax, and the Marquis found himself wondering if she was deliberately resisting him.

    After some time Gaetana said in despair: “I think it would be easier with a chair!”

    “Your brothers must be terrible dancers.”

    “No, but they always—two, three—counted!”

    With terrific resignation Rockingham began to count: “One, two, three; one, two, three—”

    “That was much better!” declared Gaetana, beaming at him, as the music ended.

    “Curtsey,” he replied, lips twitching.

    “What? Oh—sí.” She curtseyed and rose, smiling. “It is just so much easier when you count, sir!”

    The Marquis bowed and offered her his arm. Gaetana’s smile died as she realised who it was that had been counting for her. She took his arm in silence.

    “May I do myself the honour of sending you a caper merchant, Miss Ainsley?”

    “A what?”

    “A dancing master,” he drawled.

    “A— No, you may not!”

    “Look upon it as a gift to humanity, not just to yourself,” he suggested.

    “I am not that bad,” said Gaetana in a shaken voice.

    “Miss Ainsley, permit me to tell you, you are worse.”

    “Then it serves you right for insisting on asking me when you knew I did not wish to!”

    “Yes.” He pulled her gently to a halt as she was about to join Mrs Maddern. “Why did you not wish to?”

    “You know perfectly well why,” she replied, glaring at the floor.

    “It is not still the title rubbish, is it?”

    “Yes,” she said in a stifled voice.

    “Gaetana,” said Rockingham in a very low voice: “it must be obvious even to you by now that you are received everywhere. Why do you persist in this attitude?”

    Gaetana looked up at him, big dark eyes sparkling with tears. “Because I know what is right! And I will not let you be talked about, even if you do not care for yourself! And please don’t ask me to dance again!” She pulled away from his slackened grasp and hurried over to her aunt.

    Under the interested gazes of Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey, not to say such lesser lights as Mrs Compton, Lady Ives, et al., Rockingham turned on his heel and, oblivious to the fact that he was escorting a party of ladies this evening, strode out of the assembly rooms.

    Possibly one or two persons who had observed him at Almack’s might have expected the Marquis to cancel his invitation for the concert next evening, but he did not.

    The younger people having foregathered in a little group as they waited to go in, Carolyn was able to reveal, on Paul’s asking if she enjoying London: “Well, Aunt Lavinia does not take me to any very lively parties, and Giles has been horrid, he has refused to take me to Vauxhall Gardens, which I should like of all things, but on the whole it is not too bad, I suppose.”

    “Is Vauxhall Gardens not suitable for very young ladies?” asked Paul with a twinkle in his eye.

    She pouted. “That is what he says, at all events! But everyone has been there. it is not fair!”

    “I have not,” said Gaetana detachedly,

    “Nor I. Indeed,” said Hildy without a tremor in her voice, “Lady Lavinia herself mentioned to me that it a sadly rompish place. Not like when she was a girl, at all.”

    “You smile, Miss Maddern?” murmured Rockingham at this point.

    Her eyes twinkled. “My cousin is to take us there next week, Lord Rockingham. I fear most members of my family are over given to indulging in teasing.”

    “You are lucky, Miss Maddern,” he said in a bitter voice. “Most members of mine are naggers or bores or worse.”

    Miss Maddern gave him a look of concern. A flush rose to his dark cheeks. “I beg your pardon. Er—they will begin soon, I think. If your mamma is ready, shall we go in?”

    Mrs Maddern, though buoyed up by the wearing of a plumed satin turban in striking shades of bronze and burnt Sienna, had felt quite overawed at the sight of the Marquis in a beautiful black coat and an exquisite neckcloth with a large pearl peeping from its folds. However, she brightened considerably as he offered her his arm, and sailed in proudly to the concert rooms, plumes and ribbons streaming, very pleased with herself.

    This minor triumph should not be begrudged her, however: for it must be admitted that that was the last moment of the evening that poor Mrs Maddern was to enjoy.

    ... “Well?” said Christabel without hope.

    Hildy sat down heavily on the end of her sister’s bed. “She is crying.”

    Amabel blew her nose.

    “So is she,” noted Christabel drily.

    “Christa,” said Hildy weakly, “that isn’t funny.”

    “No. –Don’t cry, dearest, I did not mean to be horrid,” said Miss Maddern, sitting down beside Amabel and putting her arm round her. “Possibly this is a—a mere temporary setback.”

    Amabel blew her nose again. “You do not believe that, Christa,” she said soggily.

    “She was not exactly... Well, I suppose I could have understood if she had been rude to him, or had ignored him completely, or—or even if she had flirted with another gentleman!” said Hildy, going very red on this last and eyeing Miss Maddern nervously, “but she was just—just—”

    “Politely indifferent!” wailed Amabel, bursting into sobs.

    “Yes,” said Hildy glumly.

    “She is determined to discourage him,” Miss Maddern reminded them, offering Amabel a clean handkerchief.

    “Well, if you ask me, she has succeeded,” said Hildy bitterly. “His face isn’t cheerful at the best of times but I never saw a man look so, um…”

    “Cast down!” sobbed Amabel, blowing her nose on the fresh handkerchief.

    “Um—yes. Well, I thought of ‘grim’, but I suppose cast down is accurate enough,” said Hildy dully.

    Amabel quavered: “Do you think he will give up, now?”

    “Well, I do not know what she said to him last night at Almack’s, and quite frankly I would as soon remain ignorant,” said Miss Maddern grimly, “but it was evidently bad enough to send him straight from the room.”

    “Lady Lavinia was furious with him,” agreed Amabel.

    “That is hardly material,” said Miss Maddern tiredly. “I was trying to make the point that with her, um, cool civility of this evening following hard upon that incident—whatever it was,” she added hurriedly as Amabel opened her mouth again—“it would be very surprising if he did not give up!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy gloomily.

    “Major Grey mentioned…” faltered Amabel.

    “What?” said Hildy without interest.

    “Well, that—that Lord Rockingham is known by the gentlemen to be a great fighter!” she squeaked with an anxious eye on Christabel.

    “We know that, Amabel, and if one more gentleman mentions it to me, I declare I shall scream!” said Hildy roundly. “Why does it impress them so? We are not—not primitives!”

    There was a short silence as the Maddern sisters thought this over.

    “Though perhaps gentleman are, underneath their fine coats,” Hildy admitted drily. Both Miss Maddern and Amabel had been thinking that. They reddened, and did not reply. “At all events, I am very tired of the subject!” finished Hildy loudly.

    “No, but dearest, that is not the point!” objected Amabel.

    Hildy rolled her eyes. “It is to me, I can assure you! Well, go on, what is the point?” she said with a sigh.

    “Major Grey assured me that—that Lord Rockingham is known for his determination and—and—that he is not a man to give up easily in a fight.”

    “Amabel, it is hardly the same case!” objected Miss Maddern.

    “No, but it is indicative of his character, do you not think?” she said eagerly.

    Miss Maddern looked at her sister’s pretty, round face and artless big eyes and once again thought resigned thoughts of blancmangers.

    However, to her surprize Hildy said thoughtfully: “You may be right. When did Major Grey say this, Amabel?”

    Amabel blushed a little. “When we were eating supper, yester night. After Lord Rockingham had—had deserted his party.”

    “Possibly the man has a slight modicum of intelligence after all,” she noted.

    “Hildegarde!” said Miss Maddern.

    “Christa, he said to me three times during the course of the evening: ‘Shocking squeaze tonight, Miss Hildegarde.’ Is that the mark of an intelligent man?”

    “At least it was quite an acceptable remark!” said Amabel crossly.

    Hildy rolled her eyes madly.

    “That will do,” said Miss Maddern, trying not to laugh. “Let us not forget that Amabel has lately suffered greatly.”

    Amabel looked at her in bewilderment.

    “Of course!” choked Hildy. “Mr Trotter! Did he tell you about his Plan, Amabel?”

    “Dearest, it is not his Plan,” she said with gentle dignity:

    Hildy, however, closely followed by Miss Maddern, had gone into a paroxysm of wheezing giggles.

    “Oh, dear,” said Christabel finally, sighing. “One should not laugh, when dear Gaetana is so unhappy.”

    “And Lord Rockingham, also,” agreed Amabel sympathetically.

    “He! Then let him do something about it!” cried Hildy, suddenly very angry.

    “Hildy, dear—”

    But Hildy had bounced up and run from the room.

    Her sisters looked at each other sadly.

    After a moment Miss Maddern said: “I think we said it all last night, Amabel.”

    Amabel sighed. “Yes. I hoped Mr Parkinson might call this morning...”

    “I think Mamma was very surprized when he did not,” admitted Miss Maddern. “Though for myself, I did not expect it.”

    “No. –Dearest,” she said in a low voice, “he appeared to be in a fury!”

    “Hildy can have that effect,” noted Christabel drily.

    Amabel gulped. “Yes, but—”

    “Well, it demonstrates he is human,” said Christabel with a flicker of humour, “a supposition to which his extraordinary beauty does rather give the lie, you know!”

    “B-beauty?” she faltered.

    Christabel looked upon her with some amusement. “Yes, dearest, beauty. In spite of his cloth.”

    “Ye-es...”

    “Well, I cannot like a clergyman, any more than you,” said Miss Maddern frankly, “but I must say I can see that such beauty in a man must make the fact of his being in Holy Orders even harder to grapple with!”

    “For—for himself, or for Hildy, dearest?”

    Miss Maddern opened her mouth. She closed it again. Then she said weakly: “That was an extraordinarily percipient question, Amabel.”

    Amabel looked astonished.

    “For both of them, I have no doubt,” admitted Miss Maddern, swallowing.

    After some moments’ thought Amabel said sadly: “Oh, dear.”

    Miss Maddern looked glumly at the bedroom carpet.

    “She—she was not very kind to Sir Julian at Almack’s, either,” she ventured

    “No, Amabel, but we have already discussed that,” said Miss Maddern heavily.

    “True,” she said sadly.

    Miss Maddern sighed. “Well, they are both very young, after all.”

    “No, dearest! –Oh, I see: Hildy and Gaetana?”

    Miss Maddern nodded.

    There was a short pause.

    “Hildy is but a year younger than I,” she said in a low voice.

    Miss Maddern looked at her kindly. “Yes. Major Grey seemed very attentive last evening, Amabel. You like him, do you?”

    “Major Grey?” echoed Amabel vaguely. “Oh—oh, yes, he is a very pleasant gentleman.”

    Miss Maddern perceived her sister was tired. She kissed her forehead gently and said: “I think we had best get some sleep. It has been a trying two days, has it not?”

    “Yes. I find London very tiring,” admitted Amabel in a small voice.

    Miss Maddern kissed her again and said: “Then you shall not come walking tomorrow morning, dear one, but have a quiet time resting upon your bed.”

    “Very well, Christa,” she said obediently.

    Mr Sweet drew a trembling breath. “Fourteen! Fourteen neckcloths did we destroy tonight, Mr Hayes! Never did I think to see— For one must admit that His Lordship is not one of the dandy set!”

    Silently Mr Hayes poured him a glass of brandy. Mr Sweet seized it in a trembling hand. “I am obliged.”

    Since it was nothing if not a domestic emergency, Mrs Dawkins, the Marquis’s housekeeper, had deigned to honour the butler’s pantry with her presence. “What did he do, Mr Sweet?”

    Mr Sweet shuddered all over.

    As his colleague appeared temporarily incapable of speech, Mr Hayes said with great dignity: “Well, for a start, Mrs Dawkins, he certainly spoke to poor John as I never thought to hear a footman addressed in one of my houses.”

    Frederick, speaking for the first time in this exalted gathering, at this said eagerly: “‘Cognac!’ he shouts at him, and poor John, seeing the hour it is, says ‘I beg your pardon, my Lord, did you say Cognac?’ and my Lord shouts at the top of his lungs: ‘Who hires these imbeciles? Are you deaf? Bring me the Cognac!’ I dare say you might have heard him as far as—as—”

    “My pantry,” said Mr Hayes grimly.

    “Er—yes, Mr Hayes. Sorry, Mr Hayes,” he gulped.

    M. Courvoisier, the chef, who was a foreigner and therefore knew no better, at this emitted a loud sigh, placed his hand on his ample bosom and sighed: “Ah! Qu’il est amoureux!”

    Mr Sweet shot him an annoyed glance.

    “Pray proceed, Mr Sweet,” said Mrs Dawkins majestically.

    Mr Sweet inclined his head. “Well, his Lordship comes upstairs and of course I am waiting for him in the course of my duty. Thinking to hang his new coat up and—and exchange a few words on the events of the evening as is his Lordship’s most gracious custom,” he said, pressing his handkerchief to his mouth with a trembling hand. Everybody nodded understandingly. “But the very moment he sees me, he shouts: ‘What you are staring at? Get out!’” said Mr Sweet, bowdlerizing the Marquis’s actual words somewhat for Mrs Dawkins’s chaste ears.

    Mr Hayes shook his head regretfully and Mrs Dawkins tutted.

    “Ah, but then,” said Mr Sweet impressively, for this was his climax and he would not be deprived of it: “then he rips off his neckcloth and hurls his new coat to the floor, that come from the hands of Mr Weston himself, and shouts: ‘Burn these damned rags! I never want to see them again!’ –Begging your pardon, Mrs Dawkins.”

    “Granted, Mr Sweet. Well, I never!”

    “Mr Weston!” lamented Mr Sweet. “That I have spent I don’t know how many years trying to persuade his Lordship to patronize, for never was there a gentleman with a finer pair of shoulders, and a shame it is to see what he’ll let That Person”—they all understood this to refer to his Lordship’s less exalted usual tailor—“get away with!” He trumpeted into the handkerchief.

    “Eet mus’ be love!” declared M. Courvoisier sentimentally. “I shall go to make heem some mos’ delicious fresh brioches for his petit déjeuner!”

    “Well, he won’t eat ’em, I can tell you,” said Frederick, “not if he’s on the brandy.”

    “You did not let John take it up, I hope?” said Mr Hayes.

    “No, Mr Hayes, I’m not that stupid!” replied Frederick, greatly injured. “Thomas took it up.”

    “I see. Well, run along, my lad, back to your duty. –No, stay: what did Thomas say of his Lordship when he took him the brandy?”

    The exalted company looked at him eagerly.

    Frederick’s round, pink face fell. “Um—nothing, Mr Hayes. He said he just sort of—um—grunted.”

    There was a short pause.

    “There was a broken vase by the chimbley-piece, though!” he said eagerly.

    “Yes: the blue Dresden vase. For I do not scruple to tell you,” said Mr Sweet tearfully: “that his Lordship so far lowered himself as to huh-hurl it at my head!”

    “He’ll regret it in the morning,” pronounced Mr Hayes grimly. “Well do I remember the day her Ladyship gave it to him with her very own hands. –What are you standing there for, lad? Run along!”

    Frederick exited, muttering sotto voce: “He’ll regret the brandy more, mark my words!”

    After Mrs Dawkins had graciously accepted a very small glass for medicinal purposes from Mr Hayes’s own bottle, and Mr Sweet had lachrymosely allowed Mr Hayes to refill his glass, for he did not scruple to tell them that he had never felt so in need of a restorative in his life, and Mr Hayes had refilled both his own and M. Courvoisier’s glasses in a sort of automatic way, and they had all sipped, a glum silence fell.

    “It is not like his Lordship,” pronounced Mrs Dawkins at last.

    “Any man may fall in love, I suppose, Mrs Dawkins,” said Mr Hayes heavily.

    “I dare say, Mr Hayes. But to take it out on poor young John and Mr Sweet! That is not like his Lordship at all,” she said, shaking her head.

    “No,” said Mr Sweet, sniffing. “For he has his faults, as I would be the last to deny, and if I have begged him once I have begged him a thousand times to let me tie his neckcloth in the Mathematical—but never mind that. But I have never known him unjust!”

    “No,” agreed Mr Hayes weightily.

    “Indeed. He is certainly a quick-tempered gentleman,” Mrs Dawkins added, “but this is most unlike him.”

    “But l’amour, eet may change the temperature of any man!” said M. Courvoisier eagerly.

    “I think you mean temper, Mr Corverzeer,” said Mrs Dawkins graciously.

    “Merci mille fois, madame. Temper,” he said, bowing slightly.

    “I shall have a word with Cummins in the morning,” pronounced Mrs Dawkins.

    Mr Sweet gave a resentful sniff. “I don’t see what good that will do!”

    Mrs Dawkins perfectly understood the ill-humour in this remark was directed not at her but at his Lordship’s head groom, for Mr Sweet and Mr Cummins were old rivals. So she replied mildly, rising: “He may be able to tell us more of this Miss Ainsley. Good evening, gentlemen.” She bowed her head graciously; the gentleman, who of course had risen, bowed in return, and she sailed out.

    “I wager he will not be able to tell us a thing!” said Mr Sweet crossly, sitting down again. “He did not even drive my Lord tonight!”

    Mr Hayes couldn’t see that being told more about Miss Ainsley in any case would do them any good or alter his Lordship’s situation one iota, but he was not devoid of ordinary human curiosity, so he said temperately: “I dare say he may have learned a little more. For he does accompany his Lordship when he drives his curricle.”

    Mr Sweet blew his nose aggrievedly.

    “Il la vue récemment, vous savez,” said M. Courvoisier, nodding. “Au parc.”

    “What?” said Mr Sweet dully,

    “Vairy ree-cent-lee, he see her. In the Park!” he said, beaming.

    “Who: Cummins?” said Mr Hayes.

    “Non— Eugh, oui. Yes, Cummins but also Milord!”

    “Cummins did not mention this to me,” noted Mr Hayes.

    “Non, pair’aps not. He comes to my keetchen and says: ‘Moy, that do smell good, M. Courvoisier!” said the chef, beaming, “and I geeve heem just a leetle taste of ragoût de lièvre, you know?”—They sighed: Cummins’s blatant buttering-up of M. Courvoisier meant he ate the best of anyone in the household not excluding his Lordship.—“And he tell me!”

    “Tell you what?” asked Mr Hayes weakly.

    “That he see la petite demoiselle in the park!”

    They stared at him.

    The chef got up, draining his glass. “Mille remerciements pour le cognac, cher M. Hayes!”—Mr Hayes inclined his head majestically.—“I go for to make my brioches his doughs!” He exited, beaming.

    Mr Hayes sighed heavily.

    “I’ll say this for him, for a cook and a foreigner, he’s good-natured,” noted Mr Sweet.

    “Yes.” Mr Hayes refilled their glasses.

    “I can’t see there was anything in that!” reported Mr Sweet aggrievedly, having thought it over.

    “No more can I, Mr Sweet. That, if I may permit myself the h’observation, is M. Courvoisier all over.”

    Mr Sweet sighed and drank brandy.

    “What could have gone wrong, at a mere concert?” wondered Mr Hayes.

    Mr Sweet shuddered and closed his eyes. “I have no idea.”

    “He was wild enough last night,” said the butler incautiously.

    “True. But he did say to me ‘At least she danced the damned dance with me, Sweet’—begging your pardon, I’m sure, Mr Hayes!”

    Mr Hayes inclined his head majestically.

    “Women!” said Mr Sweet crossly. “Why was they ever invented? I have not seen his Lordship in a state like this since he was a boy of twenty-one and that—that—Person—jilted him so shamelessly!”

    Mr Hayes kindly refilled his glass for him.

    “And never,” said Mr Sweet, lifting his glass with a trembling hand, tears in his eyes, “did I think to see it ever again, Mr Hayes!”

    At this the elderly and stately Mr Hayes solemnly produced a huge silk handkerchief and trumpeted into it majestically. Mr Sweet, despite his own disturbance, observed him in some awe.

    “No, indeed,” the butler said slowly, shaking his head. “In fact I will not scruple to confess to you, Mr Sweet, that at the time it happened, I prayed for Master G— his Lordship, that it would never happen again.”

    Silently Mr Sweet refilled his glass for him.