Good-Night To The Season

11

Good-Night To The Season

    “Go, go!” declared Mrs Maddern. “I am past caring!”

    Christabel began cautiously: “Mamma, it is only a walk with Cousin P—”

    “GO!” she screamed.

    They went.

    “Mayhap she never noticed you, my dear,” said Mrs Goodbody, patting her hand.

    “Of—course—she—noticed!” hiccoughed Mrs Maddern. “It was the—cut—direct!”

    “My dearest Patty, I have heard that Lady Lavinia Dewesbury is extremely short-sighted,” lied Mrs Goodbody desperately.

    Mrs Maddern sniffed angrily. “I shall never believe that!”

    “I am persuaded she would not cut you, just because dear little Gaetana does not favour her nephew!”

    Mrs Maddern drew herself up. “Then pray what other reason could there be for it?”

    Mrs Goodbody’s jaw sagged.

    “And he has not so much as sent in his card, let alone paid a—a—morning—call!” wailed Mrs Maddern, relapsing into sobs.

     Mrs Goodbody proffered the vinaigrette in a helpless manner. “Well, no, I dare say… But then if Gaetana has shown she is not interested, he—”

    “Not the Marquis of Crabapple!” wailed Mrs Maddern. “Mr Puh-Puh-Parkinso-hon! I wish I were dead!”

    “My love, do not disturb yourself in this way. Although he is a—a most personable young man and his fortune is respectable, Hildy is very young, yet, and—”

    “I am sure I do not care how many vicars she rejects!” said Mrs Maddern on an angry note, blowing her nose. “And you can say what you like, Sophia, I never threw her at him!”

    “Er, no, my d—”

    “And it will serve Wilhelmina Parkinson right if Pamela Shallcrass has him in the end!” said Mrs Maddern viciously.

    Mrs Goodbody just looked at her distractedly.

    “I am determined Hildy shall have Sir Julian Naseby!” she said fiercely.

    Since Mrs Goodbody, delighted to chaperon the two younger girls to a little dance the previous evening, had observed Hildy giving every encouragement to young Mr Grahame on the one hand and Captain Lord Lucas Claveringham’s young cousin, Mr Edward Claveringham, on the other, under the visibly suffering Sir Julian’s very nose, she could only nod palely in response to this.

    “I suppose that Maddern woman will be present at your ball?” said the Countess Lieven, raising her eyebrows.

    “Unfortunately, yes,” admitted Lady Lavinia grimly. “I had already invited them, when—”

    “Quite.” The Countess chose a card.

    “Unfortunately,” said Lady Lavinia, “Susan appears to have taken a liking to the two younger girls. Well, we have seen nothing of Giles since that disastrous evening at Almack’s, so I suppose there is no chance of his walking in on them when they have come to call.”

    The Countess discarded very slowly. “They come to call so often?”

    Lady Lavinia sighed. “Susan has prevailed upon Miss Ainsley to teach her some Spanish songs. –Sometimes the young man accompanies them,” she added grimly.

    The Countess raised her slender eyebrows.

    “Quite,” Lady Lavinia allowed. “Oh, I dare say he is a pleasant enough young fellow, but it would not do!”

    “No. Well, I should be surprized if the Maddern woman does not intend him for one of those girls.” She looked in surprize at Lady Lavinia’s discard.

    “Very likely. I have spoken to Susan.”

    “Oh?”

    “She quite understands,” said Susan’s mother grimly.

    “I am very glad to hear it, my dear. –I think I have you, no?”

    Lady Lavinia looked at her cards in astonishment. “Oh, good gracious, what did I—?”

    “What are your plans for the summer, Miss Maddern?” asked Captain Lord Lucas Claveringham eagerly. “Brighton? Bath?”

    “We shall spend the summer quietly with my cousins at Ainsley Manor, Lord Lucas,” replied Miss Maddern politely.

    His face fell. “Oh—I say!”

    There was a short pause.

    “Isn’t that near Daynesford Place?” he said.

    “Er—so I believe. At least, I think it is the western boundary of Lord Rockingham’s estate that my uncle’s land adjoins.”

    Lord Lucas beamed. “Of course! Over near Dittersford! I have an acquaintance in the very neighbourhood, Miss Maddern! Now, isn’t that a coincidence!”

    “Indeed, sir,” said Miss Maddern on a feeble note.

    “I shall hope to see something of you, then! –If I may?” he said, bowing over her hand and looking at her with a twinkle in his pleasant hazel eyes.

    Miss Maddern blushed. She could hardly tell him it was hopeless and although she liked him he must not think she was offering him any encouragement, because after all he himself had not spoken. So she said very politely: “Naturally we shall be all delighted, should we happen to encounter you in the country, Lord Lucas.”

    Misinterpreting the blush, Lord Lucas smiled eagerly, said: “Wonderful!” and kissed her hand with considerable more enthusiasm than was seemly in the middle of a very dull card party.

    Miss Maddern blushed again and withdrew her hand. “May we expect to see you at Lady Naseby’s musical soirée tomorrow night?” she asked in a strained voice.

    Regretfully he revealed that he had another engagement.

    Alas, although she knew it was her duty to encourage him, Miss Maddern’s knees went quite saggy with relief at this news.

    “My dear Gaetana, the new sea-green spangled gauze for a musical evening?” faltered Mrs Maddern.

    “She looks lovely,” said Hildy in an uncertain voice.

    “Ye-es... Well, very well, my dear, if you wish to wear it. But I had thought of saving it for the Dewesburys’ ball,” said Mrs Maddern weakly.

    “No, Tia Patty, I have quite decided, I shall wear the jonquil muslin with the white satin underdress and my new pearls to the ball,” said Gaetana gaily.

    Mrs Maddern repressed a sigh. The pearls were nothing very much: just a little string, suitable for a young girl, but Paul was spoiling her dreadfully. Somehow he seemed to have got worse, lately. In Mrs Maddern’s opinion what Gaetana needed was stricter treatment in the wake of her late behaviour towards the Marquis of Rockingham, not further spoiling! On the other hand, Mrs Maddern was not any more capable of stricter treatment than was Gaetana’s brother and had very recently, quite gratuitously, bought her a sheaf of pale yellow roses for the hair and a netted purse. In the same period Amabel had made Gaetana a handkerchief case and a pen-holder, Hildy had bought her a green ribbon, Mason had offered to arrange her hair with her very own hands, and Berthe had cooked her favourite dish five times. Even Deering had developed a habit of being in the front hall to open the door in person when she wished to exit. Only Miss Maddern had hardened her heart, and had shown the miscreant no mark of special favour since the date of his Lordship’s misguided invitation to the concert.

    Mrs Maddern turned her attention to Hildy. Hildy was in white organdie with white velvet ribbons. Mrs Maddern had been doubtful of this latter touch: it was Amabel’s idea. However, now that she saw the effect, she could not but approve it, especially with the necklet of seed pearls. Hildy looked quite fairy-like, indeed!

    “She looks like—comment dit-on? De la poussière d’eau!” declared Gaetana.

    “Flotsam?” suggested Hildy drily.

    “Fl— I do not think so,” she said cautiously.

    “Flotsam? Certainly not!” cried Mrs Maddern, casting her mind back to the days of her dear Mlle Guyard. “Er... I have it! Spindrift!” she said proudly.

    “Help,” said Hildy mildly.

    “That’s very pretty! Yes, I am sure that is the word!” said Gaetana.

    “Pooh, you have never heard it in your life before!” said her cousin loudly.

    “True!” she admitted with a loud giggle.

    “Girls, that will do, you are getting over-excited.” Mrs Maddern readjusted one of Hildy’s curls. “This is very pretty, my love,” she said, looking at the narrow white velvet ribbon that bound her daughter’s head. “But whose is this?” she added, examining the little circle brooch pinned to the ribbon approximately above Hildy’s left temple.

    Hildy blushed. “Cousin Paul gave it to me: is he not kind? But if you don’t think I should accept it, Mamma—”

    “It is only a trinket,” said Gaetana anxiously. “Just seed pearls.”

    “Or a trinkettle, as dear little Maria would say!” agreed Mrs Maddern with a laugh, patting Hildy’s cheek. “It is entirely appropriate, my love, and it was very kind of your cousin to give it you!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy, sagging with relief. “It goes with my necklace, doesn’t it?”

    “Very well indeed, my dear!” approved Mrs Maddern. “Now, I shall just—”

    “Gone to inspect Christa and Amabel,” concluded Hildy with a forced smile, as she departed.

    “Sí.” Gaetana looked at her narrowly, but said nothing. If she herself had to attend a musical party given by the mamma of a gentleman who had shown her marked partiality, she, too, would be extremely nervous.

    … “And I can only hope,” said Mrs Maddern, sitting heavily on Christabel’s bed, “that her nerves do not take the form of extreme rudeness!”

    “Or extreme flirting with every other gentleman but Sir Julian,” replied Christabel grimly.

    Mrs Maddern gave a sigh that was almost a groan.

    “I am sure she would not be unkind,” said Amabel without much conviction.

    “Well, so I am not I!” retorted Mrs Maddern roundly. Her eye fell on what Amabel was wearing, and she gave a shriek. “Amabel! We have agreed that gown was a mistake! Take it off this instant!”

    Amabel looked down at her yellowish-green gown. It had the effect of making her look yellowish-green all over, though the fabric had appeared most enticing in the silk warehouse on the occasion of Mrs Maddern’s and Mrs Goodbody’s joint visit there. “Oh—very well, Mamma. It does not matter very much what I wear, though.”

    “Not matter? My dear child, what can you be thinking of? Major Grey told me himself he would be present! His mamma is an old friend of Lady Naseby’s! You must wear the jonquil gauze, dear one, since Gaetana is not wearing hers.”

    “Very well, Mamma.”

    Christabel paused with her hand above her jewel case. “What is she wearing, then, Mamma?”

    Mrs Maddern sighed. “You must remember not to stand next to her, my dear. She is wearing that sea-green gauze.”

    “Mamma, is that entirely suitable for this kind of party?”

    “No, my dear, I suppose it isn’t. However, I did not like to— Well, she has not been very happy lately, you know.”

    Christabel picked up the sapphire brooch. “True. A pity that in company it should take the form of extreme flirting with every other gentleman but the Marquis of Crabapple.”

    “Do not say that, my love,” said Mrs Maddern, swallowing.

    “I beg your pardon, Mamma. But you cannot deny that it is true.”

    “What? Oh—no. No, I meant do not call him that, Christa, it is a bad habit we have all fallen into, and one of these days one of us will forget ourselves and say it in company.”

    “Good!” said Amabel crossly.

    “Dearest, are you feeling quite well?” asked Mrs Maddern in some surprize.

    “Yes, I am quite well, thank you, Mamma. But I do confess I am very out of charity with the Marquis of Crabapple!” said Amabel defiantly, sticking out her rounded chin.

    Her relatives goggled at her.

    “What does he think he is doing, running off to the country?” she added crossly. “That is not the way to attach the affections of a very young lady!”

    Mrs Maddern faltered: “He— I dare swear there was business on his estates that needed him.”

    “Pooh! He must have households of people to do that sort of thing for him! Gentlemen,” said Amabel with a frown, “devote too much time to their estates and not enough to—to those who care for them!”

    Her relatives goggled at her.

    “Or so I have observed,” she said, blushing. “Shall I wear the topaz ribbons, Mamma?”

    Mrs Maddern got up hurriedly. “No, no dear, the ones that exactly match that gown, the effect is—”

    ... “A bevy of beauty!” said Sir Lionel Dewesbury with a chuckle as the Madderns’ party came in.

    “Yes, Papa; do they not look delightfully?” agreed Susan with simple pleasure.

    “She is wearing sapphire blue!” discerned Carolyn enviously.

    Sir Lionel had the pleasure of escorting two young ladies this evening: Lady Lavinia was laid down with the headache. “Mm?” he said. “Oh—Miss Maddern? Handsome gal, ain’t she? Those sapphires are quite decent, too! Now, when you’re a bit older, me dear,” he said, patting Carolyn’s hand where it was tucked into his arm, “you’ll have to wear something like that!”

    “She has a necklace as well, but she does not wear it,” said Susan uncertainly into the pause that followed this statement.

    “My Papa,” said Carolyn, blushing very much, “could not afford that sort of thing, and—and—please do not mention it to Giles, sir, Mamma said he has done far too much already.”

    Sir Lionel looked at her with approval. “That’s better, my dear! That’s the sort of thing we like to hear!” he said pleasedly, unaware that it was largely his daughter’s gentle influence, combined with the admiration that Carolyn had developed for Miss Maddern, that had wrought this improvement. And partly the fact of being out from under her doating Papa’s sphere of influence and in Lady Lavinia’s well-run household, where it was taken for granted that one did not throw tantrums directly before dinner parties (or at any other time) and where young ladies were not asked their opinion as to what they would care to eat tonight, they were expected to sit down when dinner was announced and eat what was offered. And where no-one—or so Lady Lavinia had assured Carolyn—was in the least interested in the fact that Carolyn did not care for reading: she and Susan had a quiet time every day which they devoted to reading, for every well brought-up girl had a knowledge of the latest books, and she at least did not approve of young ladies who were so empty-headed they could not converse intelligently about what was in the Morning Post; neither was anyone interested in the fact that Carolyn did not care for walking: a rational woman took a sensible amount of exercise every day. Carolyn had by now discovered that Miss Maddern also walked every day, so she was almost reconciled to having to do so.

    “But I wasn’t thinking of your Papa or Giles!” added Sir Lionel jovially.

    Carolyn went very red and said in a tiny voice: “Sir, you must not!”

    “Well, well, we’ll see,” he said vaguely. “Could make it an engagement present, mm?” he said to his daughter.

    “I think that would be very appropriate, Papa, but we must not forget that Carolyn is only just out,” she said with a smile.

    “Yes, and although I have met several quite agreeable gentlemen,” said Miss Girardon on a dubious note, “I cannot care for any of them.”

    “Never mind, my dear, early days yet!” said Sir Lionel bracingly. “Need time to look around you! Now, young Ainsley’s a nice-looking boy,” he added kindly.

    “He does not approve of me,” faltered Carolyn. “And—and he is scarcely a boy, Sir Lionel.”

    “Eh?” He looked down at the round, pink face. “Er—well, possibly to you he ain’t,” he conceded weakly. “Shall we go and say hullo to them, eh? –Don’t little Miss Amabel look pretty tonight?” he added to his daughter.

    Susan smiled. She was quite aware of Papa’s partiality for Amabel. “She always does, Papa. That shade of yellow does become her, certainly.”

    … “Delightful,” approved the Countess Lieven, as the string quartet bowed.

    “I am glad you enjoyed them,” smiled Lady Naseby. “It is dear Giles next.” She looked round for him.

    The Countess’s eyes sharpened. “So he is back in town?”

    “Yes, of course. He would not miss my soirée,” said Lady Naseby in a vague voice. “Ah!” She waved and smiled. Rockingham bowed, unsmiling, and went to the pianoforte.

    Lady Naseby rose. “If you will excuse me, dear Countess, his cousin Susan has promised to turn for him; I shall just—” She fluttered away.

    Conversation in their group became general and during it the Countess did not fail to raise her lorgnette and through it observe that Miss Ainsley was sitting apart from her aunt, undesirable conduct in a very young lady, with Sir Noël Amory, young Mr Grahame and even younger Mr Edward Claveringham, and giggling in a most unbecoming fashion.

     … “Oh, dear,” murmured Christabel faintly, looking in the same direction. “Could we not join them, Cousin Paul?”

    Paul glanced over at his sister. “We could, but would you suffer more or less thereby, dear Cousin?”

    “I—” Christabel bit her lip. “You always make me laugh!” she confessed, smiling.

    His dark eyes twinkled. “Well, which?”

    “Well,” admitted Miss Maddern, “as I do not think my presence would restrain her, I think it might be more!”

    “So I think. We shall ignore them, mm? After all, if stuffy high sticklers such as the Countess Lieven do not approve, that is too bad, it means that they are no longer young at heart!”

    Christabel swallowed. “No. Was she ever, do you think?” she hissed.

    Paul choked. “Highly unlikely!” His eyes flickered over to Hildy’s group, but he refrained from comment.

    Almost immediately on arriving, Hildy had found herself absorbed into the group containing Mrs Horsham, her sisters Amelia, Mrs Gore (she of the razor-like mind: her tongue matched), Penelope, Lady Wootton, an astounding matron though aged about twenty-eight, and Daphne, who was Lady George Powys. The Naseby sisters, Hildy observed dazedly, had absorbed her as—as of right? No, that was not quite it; but as if it was the natural and expected thing. Oh, help! Rather naturally Mr Horsham, Mr Gore, Sir Wilfred Wootton and Lord George were also present in the group. As was Sir Julian Naseby, once most of the guests had arrived and he was free to join them. She soon discovered that Mr Horsham played the flute, Mr Gore the violin, Sir Wilfred the viola and Lady George the clarinet. She already knew that Mrs Horsham played both the harpsichord and the pianoforte as well as having a pleasant singing voice, and that Lady Wootton sang beautifully (a mezzo-soprano: Hildy had not been altogether sure what that was). Lord George Powys played the violoncello but no-one had to tell her that: he was hugging it. Oh, help, again. How extremely lowering.

    Lord George blew his nose unaffectedly as the Marquis finished his piece.

    “Was it not lovely?” said Hildy, sniffing.

    “Indeed,” sighed Mrs Horsham, “Lord Rockingham plays most beautifully. I have always admired that piece, but it seemed to me,” she added artlessly, “that today he played it with especial melancholy.”

    Hildy went very pink and determinedly did not look in the direction of her cousin, whose group had been further augmented by three more gentlemen: two of them married but that apparently did not stop them paying Gaetana very silly compliments.

    It was now time for supper, after which there would be more music. Sir Julian rose rather awkwardly. “Er—look, Miss Hildegarde, I’m afraid I’ll have to go off and do my duty—take in one of the dragons,” he said, pulling a face.

    “Julian!” reproved Mrs Gore instantly.

    “What’s the point of wrapping it up in clean linen, Amelia?” he responded glumly. “And if it’s the Countess Lieven Mamma has lined up for me, expect to see me next with an indigestion!” he added feelingly.

    Hildy gave a stifled giggle.

    “You are exaggerating, dear brother,” said Emily Horsham mildly. “In any case, I think—” She peered. “Yes, Lord Rockingham is giving the Countess his arm.”

    “How unfortunate. His complexion must clash violently with her yellow satin,” said Hildy grimly.

    The Naseby sisters stared.

    “Er—well, it’ll be another one nearly as bad,” said Sir Julian hurriedly.

    “Don’t worry, old boy, we’ll look after Miss Hildegarde!” said Lord George kindly.

    “I would hate to force you to abandon your cello, merely for me, sir,” said Hildy dulcetly, giving him a look from under her lashes.

    “Eh?” He gave a startled laugh. “More than happy to, I assure you! Come, now, you take this arm, and Daphne can take the other, and then we shall be all right and tight, mm?”

    “Thank you very much, sir,” said Hildy, remembering her manners. “Pray do not regard it, Sir Julian, you must go and do your duty,” she added.

    “Yes: off you go, Nimble!” said Lord George with a merry laugh.

    “Really, George!” said his sister-in-law Amelia.

    “Whole of Society’s calling him that, y’know!” he said with a laugh as Sir Julian bowed to Hildy and retreated, grinning.

    “Oh, dear,” said Hildy, biting her lip.

    “Now don’t tell me you know where it came from, Miss Hildegarde!”

    “Um—yes,” said Hildy, going very red.

    As he conducted his two fair burdens into the supper room, Lord George pressed Hildy teasingly to reveal all.

    Lady George laughed very much when she eventually did. Then she said: “Julian has always been very fond of dancing. His late wife, of course, was not. She was a very serious-minded young woman.

    “So I believe,” said Hildy, going scarlet and glaring at the floor.

    … “It was awful!” she groaned, throwing herself face down onto her bed regardless of the organdie gown.

    “I quite enjoyed myself,” replied Gaetana airily.

    Hildy groaned into the pillows.

    “The music was wonderful,” said Gaetana.

    Hildy groaned into her pillows.

    “Wuh-well,” said Gaetana weakly, “what happened? Were they unkind to you?”

    Hildy rolled over onto her back. “No,” she said with a deep groan: “quite the opposite. They seemed to take it for granted I would form one of their party. And that is not the worst of it. They kept dropping heavy hints!”

    “Heavy— Oh.”

    “How can I— Oh, bother!” said Hildy loudly to the ceiling.

    Gaetana looked at her awkwardly. “Querida, he is a very pleasant man.”

    “PLEASANT! PLEASANT! Is that ENOUGH?”

    “Well—I do not know,” said Gaetana, gulping.

    “Sir Noël Amory is pleasant and that stupid young Mr Grahame is pleasant, and even downy-cheeked Edward Claveringham is pleasant, does that mean you would fancy being leg-shackled to any one of them for the rest of your life?” demanded Hildy angrily.

    “Um—no.”

    “Well, why should I?” she cried.

    “Querida, I am the last person to force you into anything you would not wish for.”

    “I know. Sorry,” growled Hildy.

    Gaetana sat down uncertainly on the edge of the bed.

    After a moment Hildy said: “Do you know, Amabel actually said to me the other day that Sir Julian is the sort of man who could always get one a sedan chair in the rain, and that that must always be comfortable! I do not wish to be comfortable!”

    “No, I can see that. It would be intensely boring.”

    “Yes.”

    “You do not find Sir Julian intensely boring, though, do you, querida?”

    “Not exactly,” said Hildy a trifle guiltily. “I do always enjoy his company,” she admitted a trifle hoarsely. “Only,” she confessed, “I think that perhaps that is because whenever I see him he’s always giving me stupid treats or paying me compliments, or some such nonsense! What basis is that on which to judge a man? I have never had a serious conversation with him in my life! In fact,” she added, “whenever I try to introduce a serious topic, he immediately starts funning!” She turned over and buried her nose in her pillows again.

    “Querida, you are not crying?” said Gaetana cautiously.

    “No,” she said, very grumpily.

    “Hildy,” said Gaetana very softly: “does being in Sir Julian’s company make your heart beat faster and—and make you feel very excited and sort of happy?”

    “Yes,” admitted Hildy faintly.

    Gaetana swallowed. “Madre would say that—that that is really the fundamental thing,” she said, blushing.

    Hildy said something in a muffled voice into her pillow.

    “What was that, querida?”

    Hildy rolled over and sat up, very flushed. “But he is not the only gentleman in whose company I experience these sensations!” she cried desperately.

    “I should like it of all things, Mamma,” said Susan in a small voice.

    Lady Lavinia sighed, and laid the note down.

    “Mrs Maddern suggested I might care to come, too, only I suppose I shall have to be with horrid Giles,” said Carolyn glumly.

    “Do not speak of your brother like that, Carolyn, it is yourself you demean by such an expression, not he,” said Lady Lavinia repressively.

    Carolyn went very red.

    Lady Lavinia frowned. Lionel had already accepted an invitation from the Prince Regent to a reception at the Pavilion, and it would be no very bad thing if the two girls should happen to be absent from Brighton at that particular time. Not that she had any idea that her daughter would be so badly behaved or so foolish as to adjourn with the Prince almost alone and then allow the third party to disappear discreetly. But the company His Royal Highness kept was highly undesirable for any young girl. And besides, if Carolyn was with Giles, then Susan would be lacking a companion…

    “Very well, my dear. You may accept Mrs Maddern’s invitation. For a fortnight only,” she said heavily.

    “Oh, thank you, Mamma!” gasped Susan ecstatically.

    “It is not fair! Well, I shall ride over from the Place to visit with you!” declared Carolyn.

    “Can you ride, my dear?” asked Lady Lavinia cautiously.

    “Oh, yes, Aunt Lavinia! I have a delightful pale blue habit! But Giles was so horrid, he would not let me bring my beautiful white Fanfreluche to England on his silly yacht! He said she would be seasick, but for myself I do not believe a horse can be seasick,” she said, pouting.

    “F— That is an odd name for a horse, my dear,” said Lady Lavinia, very faintly. She could envisage quite clearly the yellow-haired Carolyn in her pale blue habit on her white steed. Very likely—no, almost certainly—the doating M. Girardon had also supplied a pale blue harness for it.

    “Oh, you would not say so if you could but see her, Aunt Lavinia! She has the most beautiful tail and—and— I do not know the English word,” she said, reddening.

    “Your English is entirely excellent, my dear,” said Lady Lavinia kindly. “I think you must mean mane.”

    Carolyn gestured uncertainly at the back of her own neck.

    “Yes. Well, Giles has many horses; I am sure he will find you a nice one to ride,” she said encouragingly.

    “Yes, indeed; you might like dear Ladybird, that I had the last time we were at the Place, she is the gentlest thing!” said Susan

    “What colour is she?” asked Carolyn instantly.

    Lady Lavinia smothered a cough.

    “Er—she is a bay, dear Cousin. A reddish-brown horse.”

    “Oh, pooh: then my dearest Fanfreluche’s beautiful blue harness will not look well on her!” she said, pouting.

    Susan watched in some amaze as her mother got up and almost ran from the room.

    “You are very quiet this evening, Miss Hildegarde,” ventured Sir Julian, as the band played, the couples waltzed and even Lady Lavinia relaxed, allowed her husband to give her a glass of wine and a small savoury, and conceded that Susan’s ball was going very well.

    “I was enjoying your dancing,” said Hildy in a vague voice.

    Sir Julian went very red. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, gripping her hand rather too tight.

    “Nimble Naseby!” added Hildy with a laugh, looking up into his face.

    “Uh—yes,” he said lamely. “At your service, Miss Hildy.”

    Hildy frowned. “I do not think you should call me Miss Hildy,” she pronounced.

    “Uh—no—I’m sorry, it just— Pray forgive me!” he stammered.

    “Now if I were to call your friend the Marquis of Crabapple,” said Hildy in a hard voice, “and then claim it had just slipped out, what would you think of me?”

    “I didn’t exactly say it had slipped out,” he said weakly.

    “That is a prevarication, sir,” said Hildegarde coldly.

    “Well—uh— Well, I beg your pardon, I suppose it was what I meant!” admitted Sir Julian dazedly. He swallowed. “Why would you want to call Giles the Marquis of Crabapple, Miss Hildegarde?” he ventured.

    “Because,” said Hildy with a pout almost worthy of Mlle Girardon, “in the first place he must strike universally as being as cross as crabs—to those who are unacquainted with his true character, of course,” she added in a steely voice—poor Sir Julian blinked—“and in the second place, those who are not used to moving in such exalted circles cannot really take the fact of a man’s being a marquis seriously, and so when we first heard of him we dubbed him the Marquis of Carabas, and then we heard that our little cousins had quite coincidentally dubbed him le Marquis de Carabas. After that,” she said, looking up into his face with such a nasty glint in her grey-green eyes that he blenched, “our parlourmaid at home, of whom we are all very fond, in a flustered moment which was not unconnected with the awkwardness of finding unexpected visitors on the doorstep at the moment at which we were preparing for a dinner party,”—Sir Julian swallowed—“miscalled him the Marquis of Crabapple. And so we all adopted it. For in our family,” she said pointedly, “we are not above treating our parlourmaid as a friend and companion!”

    “No, quite so,” he said faintly. “Er—he can’t help being a marquis, you know, Miss Hildegarde. A man has to take what he’s born with.”

    “Preferably take what he’s born with and do something with it,” she said, very grimly.

    “Yes. Well, my father always said that,” he conceded feebly.

    Perhaps unfortunately Hildy did not wait for him to elaborate on this point, but swept on: “And I hope you will not deny that to strangers he certainly gives the impression of being a very sour crab.”

    “Giles is a close friend of mine,” said Sir Julian in a strangled voice.

    “Then I’m sure I beg your pardon. He is virtually a stranger to me,” said Hildy grimly.

    She waited for him to defend his friend vigorously but Sir Julian only said in a very weak voice: “Yes.”

    Hildy’s lips tightened. She said no more but glared at his waistcoat.

    Waltzing with Miss Hildegarde had hitherto seemed to Sir Julian like earthly Paradise. Now it seemed like Purgatory, not to say worse, and he could only hope the dance would soon end.

    Meanwhile Gaetana had allowed young Mr Grahame to lead her into an handy alcove, which was veiled by an handy curtain.

    “Get up, Mr Grahame!” she said with a loud giggle.

    On one knee before her, Mr Grahame was holding her hand very tight. “No! I must and will speak!” he panted.

    “Pooh: you are being silly!” said Gaetana with another giggle.

    “No: I demand you hear me!”

    “Go on, then,” she said resignedly.

    “Er—Miss Ainsley,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I have been your slave from the moment I first set eyes on you!”

    “Ooh, what a lie! You asked my cousin Hildy to dance before you asked me!”

    “Er—that is true, but—but you were already engaged, dearest Miss Ainsley. My angel!” he said, kissing her hand fervently.

    Gaetana giggled again.

    “I adore you,” said young Mr Grahame in a muffled voice.

    “Well, I am very sorry, but I do not adore you. And I do not think it is very proper of you to talk so.”

    “You mistake! My intentions are everything of the most honourable!”

    “Do not say it,” warned Gaetana.

    “I must and will say it! Miss Ainsley, I am your devoted slave! Will you do me the very great honour of”—he gulped—“honouring me with your hand in marriage?”

    “No,” said Gaetana calmly. “And in any case you seem to forget that such a proposal should be addressed to my papa. And he,” she added, eyeing him drily, “is in Spain.”

    “Then your brother! Oh, please, angel mine! Give me hope!” He kissed her hand desperately again.

    “Stop it!” gasped Gaetana, falling back on her sofa in a gale of giggles. “That sounds—quite—ridiculous!”

    Mr Grahame got up, very flushed, and brushed at the knees of his pantaloons. “You have shattered my dearest hopes,” he said glumly.

    “Well, if I ever gave you any cause to suppose that you could hope that far, I am very sorry for it. I think you had best run along and get very drunk on lots of champagne,” she said kindly.

    Mr Grahame goggled at her.

    “Is that not the usual thing in these circumstances?” she said.

    “Usual!” he choked. “You are not taking me seriously at all!”

    “Well, no. But you are very young, Mr Grahame,” she said kindly.

    “I’m older than you!” he cried, very injured.

    Gaetana broke down in another gale of giggles.

     Mr Grahame bowed stiffly and went out, very red.

    “I heard that,” noted Sir Noël Amory, coming into the little alcove with two brimming glasses.

    “Oh—help, did you?” said Gaetana limply, wiping her eyes.

    “Mm. Silly puppy,” he said lightly. sitting down beside her on the sofa. “Here: you’ll probably need this.” He held out a glass, meantime eyeing her little posy of pale yellow rosebuds thoughtfully. The inane Grahame, to name but one young imbecile, was sporting just such a rose in his buttonhole this evening. Silently he vowed that he, too, would be wearing such a gage ere the night was much older!

    “I am not supposed to drink champagne, sir,” said Gaetana weakly.

    “No doubt. Tell me you have never tasted it before and I’ll remove it instantly.”

    “Um—well, actually my mamma is very fond of it and we have it for celebrations at home!” Gaetana raised her glass, eyes twinkling. “Your health!”

    “Health and happiness, Miss Ainsley—though not with young Grahame, I sincerely trust,” he replied smoothly.

    “No!” she gasped, choking. “Ooh, help, bubbles!” she gasped.

     Sir Noël took the glass from her and patted her on the back. “Better?”

    “Yes, thank you.” She received her glass back gratefully but said: “Why do these sorts of things always happen to me?”

    Sir Noël was sitting back on the sofa watching her with a little smile in his eyes. “Hey?”

    “Oh—well, I cannot be Romantick, sir!” confessed Gaetana with a giggle. “I am fated to do the wrong thing at the wrong time!”

    This time Sir Noël prudently waited until she’d lowered her glass before admitting: “Grahame certainly thought so just now, at all events.”

    Gaetana bit her lip. “I must say I would not have encouraged him at all if I’d thought he’d get so silly.”

    “No?” Sir Noël allowed his free arm to rest along the back of the sofa. “Would you have encouraged me?”

    Gaetana went very red and looked away hurriedly. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, sipping her champagne.

    He edged closer. “Don’t you?”

    “You are not being very proper!” she declared crossly.

    “True. Is that what you want?”

    She bit her lip and did not reply.

    “Don’t worry, I shan’t make a cake of myself too,” he said lightly.

    “Um—no.”

    Sir Noël sipped his champagne. “On the other hand, if I were to ask you a question, I think I would like a favourable answer.”

    “Don’t,” she said faintly.

    The Amory eyes that were the colour of pale sherry twinkled gently. “It is only, if I were to be spending time in the neighbourhood of Dittersford this summer, would you be glad to see me?”

    “I expect we should all be glad to see you,” said Gaetana valiantly.

    “But I do not care about the others, charming though they may be. Would you?”

    “Sir Noël,” she said desperately, “you are going too fast for me! I have only been in town a few weeks and—and we have barely met, and—and—”

    “Mm. I’m sorry,” he said, taking her free hand and squeezing it a little. “At least you would not be displeased to see me?”

    “No,” she said in a low voice, “but I think I should warn you that—that possibly I might not be so pleased to see you, sir, as you would hope!” She gulped.

    “Is there another man?” he said baldly.

    Gaetana’s lips trembled. “No-one whom—whom I can ever think of, sir.”

    His eyebrows rose a little. “I see.” He looked at her thoughtfully. She was, after all, very young. And Noël Amory, though he was not a vain man, knew that he was attractive to women. He had a tall figure, a decent pair of shoulders and—or so it had always appeared hitherto—sufficient charm and looks to please. Someone whom a girl who was scarcely out could not think of did not appear to him a very serious  rival. Probably fallen for her brother’s tutor, or a curate, or some such. “Well, in that case, Miss Ainsley,” he said cheerfully, “you will have to excuse me if I plug on!”

    … The evening was going well, the musicians played valiantly, and the dance continued. Various persons continued to enjoy themselves in various ways, and the handy little alcoves with their handy curtains were much appreciated…

    “Mr Claveringham!” said Hildy in horror. “How you can come to me with another woman’s rose fresh upon your bosom and say such things, I know not!”

    “Oh—er—forgot!” gulped Mr Edward Claveringham in great confusion, his hand going to the pale yellow rosebud.

    Hildy went into a paroxysm of giggles.

    “Oh, I say, you’re a sportsman, Miss Hildy!” he said, beaming.

    “Don’t call me that! And I am no such thing! And for Heaven’s sake let us go back into the ballroom before we are missed!”

    Grinning sheepishly, Mr Claveringham allowed himself to be led back into the ballroom.

    … Major Grey, who after all was a man of two and thirty, and ranked higher than the mere captains who were pursuing the cousins, had gone about the matter of the summer in a business-like manner. “So, y’see, Mrs Maddern,” he said, looking as much like a lost spaniel as it was possible for a tall, blond, broad-shouldered, slightly florid, naturally cheerful-looking male of the human species to look, “if I should be in the neighbourhood—”

     Mrs Maddern, thrilled, assured him they would be only too glad to receive a visit! It did not occur to her for an instant to consult Amabel’s wishes on the matter.

    ... “Well, the Season is almost over,” said Sir Julian in a tentative sort of voice to Miss Hildegarde during the last dance.

    “Anyone who had go to some dire sort of breakfast given by our Cousin Sophia in two days’ time would not say so, sir,” replied Hildy in a hollow voice.

    Encouraged, Sir Julian replied: ‘I say, that is too bad. No—er—I shall be spending most of the summer with the children at Daynesford Place, y’know.”

    “Yes, I believe you have mentioned it.”

    They danced in silence for a little.

    “You do waltz excellently,”  Hildy admitted.

    “Is that a joke?” he returned miserably.

    “No!” she said in astonishment, looking up into his face. “Waltzing with you is like flying, Sir Julian!”

    Sir Julian turned a sort of deep puce. “Go on, now call me Nimble Naseby,” he said bitterly.

    “I was not going to!” gasped Hildegarde, turning puce herself.

    He gulped a bit. “Waltzing with you is like dancing with a wood-sprite, Miss Hildy. ’Specially in that dress. You look… Well,” he said on a glum note, “I dare say a score of fellows must have told you how pretty you look tonight. Like a—a fairy, or something!”

    “Well, not a score. But I must admit you are the fourth to have said I look like a fairy and the third to have thought of a wood-sprite. One very poetic gentleman,” said Hildy with a twinkle in her eyes, “compared me to a moonbeam!”

    “He was right, dash it!” he said with feeling.

    “Thank you, Sir Julian. But do not be downcast: he may have had a poetic turn of speech,” said Hildy with a wicked look, “but his hair was not nearly so pretty as yours, his neckcloth not half so wonderful, and he had the horridest waistcoat I have ever laid eyes on!”

    “Did he, by Jove?” he muttered. “Er—well, could be almost anyone, Miss Hildegarde! Half the room’s wearing unspeakable waistcoats!” he added, rallying.

    “I thought so, but then I’m very ignorant of gentleman’s fashions. But I always think you look very smart, sir. Without being silly,” she said serenely.

    “Thank you, Miss Hildegarde. I’ll tell Weston, he’ll be flattered to know he’s appreciated.”

    “Not at all. –Who is Weston? Your man?”

    “No, Miss Hildegarde, my tailor!” he choked.

    “Oh. Paul goes to a man called Schultz, is he supposed to be good?”

    Sir Julian sniffed faintly. “Lot of the military men go to him. See that coat of Lucas Claveringham’s? –Schultz.”

    “Did he tell you?” she asked dubiously.

    “Didn’t need to tell me!” he retorted scornfully.

    “Oh. And Captain Sir Noël Amory?” she asked, catching sight of him whirling past with Gaetana.

    “Lord, no! Weston!”

    “I see…Do you not sometimes long to wear the embroidered satin coats of the last century, Sir Julian?” she asked seriously.

    “Lord, no! Shockin’ bad taste! –Oh, you are joking, Miss Hildegarde.”

    “No, I’m not, I was genuinely wondering. Sir James Overton from our district has a portrait of his grandfather in the most beautiful coat I have ever seen: pale blue embroidered satin.”

    Sir Julian winced. “Dare say. Got a portrait of my grandfather in pink. And one of him and his sister when they were young dressed alike: both in pale yellow silk. Dreadful cake he made of himself, poor fellow. .And that ain’t all: Mamma had me done when I was a little chap. Reynolds,” he said, closing his eyes for a minute.

    “Oh, yes: Sir Joshua Reynolds!” agreed Hildy pleasedly. “How did he do you, Sir Julian?”

    “White ruffled shirt, nankeens—now don’t say that ain’t too bad, Miss Hildegarde, I haven’t got to the bad bit yet—a blue ribbon in me hair—in ringlets, appallin’—and cuddled up to a dashed spaniel of my grandmamma’s with a blue bow round its neck!”

    Hildy went into such a fit of giggles that she missed her step and trod on his foot. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “Does it hurt?”

    Wincing, Sir Julian lied nobly: “Not at all, ma’am.”

    “Look, let us go in there and sit down: the dance will be over soon,” she said.

   Amazed at the way Heaven seemed all of a sudden to be smiling on him, Sir Julian allowed her to lead him into a little curtained alcove.

    “Dashed bad hand, here,” he reported of the cards scattered on the little table in this alcove.

    Hildy sat down on the sofa, smiling at him. “Actually I would like to see that picture, Sir Julian, it sounds very sweet.”

    “The pink one of m’grandfather’s at Naseby Park. Bit far from Daynesford,” he said, looking at her wistfully.

    Then a silence fell.

    “Never been down that way?” he said desperately.

    “No. I believe it is pretty country.”

    “Aye. Not bad, get a decent run—well, humbug country really, not like— I’m sorry, Miss Hildegarde, you don’t like hunting talk.”

    “Not much, no. I always think of how frightened the fox must be,” said Hildy seriously.

    Sir Julian went very red. “Yes Don’t really get out, to tell you the truth.”

    She looked at him incredulously. “Sir Julian, do you—do you not care for hunting?” she breathed.

    “Um—not actually, no,” he said, swallowing. “Feel like you do about it, actually!” he burst out.

    “Oh! I’m so glad!” she cried.

    He looked up, startled. “Really? Most young ladies think it’s not manly. Giles tells me I’m squeamish as a girl,” he added, grimacing.

    “Who cares what he says! Oh, you are a man of true feeling!” she cried.

    At this the man of true feeling, quite overcome by his feelings, pulled her most ungently into his arms and kissed her soundly.

    “Oh!” cried Hildy furiously, delivering a ringing slap to his cheek. “How dare you!”

    “I’m sorry— I forgot myself— Don’t look at me like that, you’ve been driving me mad for weeks, blowing hot and cold!” he fumbled.

    “What? Rubbish! Don’t dare to try and blame it on me!” cried Hildy angrily, all the more furious because she felt she was not entirely blameless in the matter.

    “I’m not, I— Please, Miss Hildegarde!” he croaked.

    “I shall leave you to cool down, Sir Julian,” said Hildy coldly, rising to her feet, “and just be very glad I don’t tell my mamma!” She paused. “Or your mamma!” she added grimly, stalking out.

    … “GRR!” she growled, flinging her reticule across the bedroom.

    “Hildy! What happened?” gasped Gaetana.

    “He kissed me! He’s a brute!”

    “Who?”

    “Nimble Naseby, that’s who!” she cried loudly.

    “Ssh! –Sir Julian actually kissed you?” she hissed.

    “Yes. I was a fool to ever— And I thought he was the complete gentleman! Inane, but a gentleman!” she said bitterly.

    Gaetana perched on the edge of the bed. “Ooh, Hildy! What was it like?”

    Hildy sat down suddenly. “Um—it was odd, actually,” she admitted.

    “Did you—did you like it?”

    “Um, no. Well, I was so surprized, I…” She broke off, swallowing. “I swear I never encouraged him, Gaetana: at one moment we were talking about pink satin grandfathers and at the next moment there he was, putting his horrid mouth on mine!”

    Gaetana ignored the obscure pink satin reference to gasp: “Good gracious!”

    “Don’t look so excited, it was not in the least thrilling,” said Hildy, scarlet-cheeked. “Slimy, if anything. He cannot be a gentleman!” she concluded in a strangled voice.

    “Madre says a gentleman only does that when he is feeling very passionate!” she hissed.

    Hildy pouted.

    “Ooh, I wish it had been me,” said Gaetana wistfully.

    Hildy scowled. “I dare say you would not have enjoyed it.”

    “No-o... I would like to know what it is like, though.”

    “Not very pleasant. No wonder one is not supposed to do it,” she said grimly.

    “No-o...”

    “Stop saying that!” said Hildy crossly.

    “I beg your pardon. –He must have a much more passionate nature than we had thought!” she added excitedly.

    “Than you may have thought, possibly. I have not given his nature a single moment of my time and I intend to give it even less now!”

    “But querida, he must feel very deeply about you, to lose control like that! For he is normally very much the gentleman, you cannot deny it.”

    “He said I had been blowing hot and cold!” revealed Hildy angrily. “How can I know what to do when—when— I shall just not encourage him at all! He is an impertinent beast!”

    “This is getting ridiculous!” said Miss Maddern wildly. “Five bouquets in as many days?”

    “Six, the sixth one was for you from Lord Lucas!” said Marybelle with a loud giggle.

    “That is beside the point. What on earth can he…”

    “He wishes to persuade Hildy to marry him!” said Marybelle excitedly.

    “Rubbish: if that were the case he would have applied to Mamma for her hand: he is certainly a most eligible parti,” rejoined Miss Maddern witheringly.

    Amabel was examining Sir Julian’s latest offering. “Pink rosebuds: are they not exquisite! Oh, look at this delightful little fern!”

    “I wish it was mine,” said Marybelle wistfully.

    “It might as well be, the man must be becoming desperate to offer a girl of her colouring pink,” said Miss Maddern drily. “Yes, why not give it her, Amabel, Hildy will only try to throw it away if she sees it.”

    Amabel surrendered the bouquet dubiously to the ecstatic Marybelle. Marybelle immediately rushed out of the room to show it to Maria.

    “Well,” said Christabel with a sigh, “he has obviously blotted his copybook in some way.”

    “You do not think Marybelle may be right and—and Sir Julian has offered and met with a rebuff?”

    “I grant you the rebuff is not unlikely,” returned Miss Maddern drily, “but the offer most certainly is, Sir Julian Naseby is not a man to behave improperly upon such an important matter! Of course he would approach Mamma first!”

    “Yes, of course,” said Amabel, duly abashed. She paused. “Five!”

    Miss Maddern took a deep breath.

    “Yes, ridiculous, of course,” she said hastily.

    “There is another bouquet come, and it’s for Gaetana!” shouted Floss next day, rushing into the little sitting-room.

    Gaetana had been attempting to make a handkerchief case from Amabel’s pattern. She put it down and went rather white. “For me?”

    Deering himself brought it in on a salver, bowing. “Miss Ainsley.”

    “Thank you,” she said faintly.

    There was a breathless hush while she unfolded the note.

    “From Sir Noël,” she said. “He wishes me a comfortable journey to the country and hopes to see me soon.”

    “How very pretty!” approved Amabel. “And so unusual: the pinks peeping from amongst the white roses!”

    “Yes,” said Gaetana faintly. “Pray excuse me.” She went out, abandoning the posy.

    “Perhaps I could have it,” said Floss, looking at it hungrily.

    “Perhaps you could go upstairs to the schoolroom instantly!” retorted Christabel.

    Floss trailed out, looking sulky.

    “Well, their holidays are very nearly come: it is always a strain, this time of year,” said Amabel.

    “I thought Gaetana liked Sir Noël?” said Marybelle, greatly puzzled.

    Christabel sighed. “Marybelle, if you wish to sit here with us quietly working, pray do not make silly remarks.”

    Marybelle subsided, looking both sulky and bewildered.

    “That is a knock!” she said, two minutes later.

    “We heard it, dearest; ladies do not remark such things,” said Amabel gently.

    Marybelle pouted.

    Deering entered, with a posy of yellow roses on a salver. “Miss Amabel,” he said, bowing and almost permitting the corners of his eyes to crinkle in the suggestion of a smile.

    Amabel took it limply. “Thank you, Deering.”

    “It must be from Major Grey!” gasped Maria. “Oh, dear, is that a silly remark?” she added anxiously to Christabel.

    “Not very, dear. Rather obvious,” she replied faintly.

    “Yes, it is from Major Grey. Very much the same message as was on Gaetana’s,” said Amabel quietly.

    Christabel looked at her anxiously.

    “I have rather the headache. I think I might just lie down…” She hurried out, abandoning the posy.

    “So much for Major Grey. It appears not to be the day of the military,” said Hildy in a hard voice, getting up. “I’ll just go and see that the twins haven’t packed Pierrot in their enthusiasm,” she noted drily.

    “Very well, dear,” said Christabel limply.

    “Christa, what has gone wrong?” cried Marybelle as the door closed after Hildy. “I do not care if that is a silly remark, I feel all peculiar!” she added, very flushed.

    “Sí, so do I,” agreed Maria.

    Miss Maddern swallowed, but before she could speak—if she had been going to—they heard another knock at the front door. Christabel shut her eyes.

    Deering came in with a very pink posy on his salver.

    “Deering, please!” said Miss Maddern.

    This time the butler’s eyes did crinkle. “This one was delivered in person, Miss Maddern. A Mr Grahame. With profuse apologies and best wishes for a safe journey. For Miss Ainsley.”

    “I swear, he was smiling!” said Marybelle in awe as the door closed after him.

    “I cannot blame him! Profuse apologies? Mr Grahame? He would not harm a fly!” said Miss Maddern wildly. She looked up. “Come away from that window, girls,” she said weakly.

    Maria and Marybelle retreated regretfully. “Quite short,” reported Marybelle.

    Maria examined the posy. “It is truly beautiful.”

    “Have it!” said Christabel wildly.

    “Ooh, may I really?”

    “Yes.”

    Maria picked the posy up reverently.

    Christabel got up. “And if any more floral offerings come before we leave for the country,” she said grimly, “I for one do not care if they are given to—to Floss, or Bunch, or—or Pierrot! I am going to my room.” She went out, looking forbidding.

    “Help!” said Maria.

    “¡Ay de mi!” agreed Marybelle deeply.

    They giggled, but then looked at each other in a confused way. “My head is very mixed,” admitted Maria.

    “Muddled,” corrected Marybelle. “So’s mine. I thought—” She broke off.

    “I thought it would all be lovely when you were grown up,” said Maria sadly.

    Marybelle made a face. “So did I.”

    “Well,” said Maria optimistically, “perhaps they will marry these gentlemen after all!”

    “Huh!” retorted Marybelle witheringly.

    Maria looked sad. It didn’t seem likely to her, either. After some time she said: “Berthe says Deering’s offering ten to one on Sir Julian, now.”

    “Well, that shows you!” cried Marybelle.

    Maria nodded sagely. It certainly showed you, when a London butler offered you odds that long on a gentleman’s success with a lady!