Regency Buck

by Georgette Heyer

  Judith also looked forward to it in the expectation of consider able enjoyment. She had an ambition to see Worth, which Mrs Scattergood had described to her in the most eulogistic terms; the party was to be select, comprised for the most part of her most particular friends; and her only regret was that the greatest of her friends, Mr Bernard Taverner, was not to be present. When she told him of the invitation and saw him look sadly out of countenance, she said impulsively that she wished he might be going with them. He smiled, but shook his head. ‘The Earl of Worth would never invite me to join any party of which you were a member,’ he said. ‘There is no love lost between us.’

  ‘No love lost!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had thought you barely acquainted with him. How is this?’

  ‘The Earl of Worth,’ he said deliberately, ‘has been good enough to warn me against making your well-being my concern. He does me the honour of thinking me to stand in his way. What will be the issue I do not know. If he is to be believed, I stand in some danger of being put out of his way.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘The Earl of Worth does not like to have his path crossed.’

  She was staring at him in great astonishment. ‘This is beyond everything, upon my word! You cannot, I am persuaded, have properly understood him! Why should he threaten you? When have you met? Where did this conversation take place?’

  ‘It took place,’ said Mr Taverner, ‘in a certain tavern known as Cribb’s Parlour, upon the day that Perry went out to fight Farnaby. I found his lordship there in close conversation with Farnaby himself.’

  ‘With Farnaby! Good God! what can you mean?’

  He took a short turn about the room. ‘I do not know. I wish that I did. It was not my intention to speak of this to you, but lately I have thought that his lordship has been making headway with you. However little I may relish the office of informer, it is only right that you should be put upon your guard. What Worth’s business with Farnaby may have been I have no means of knowing. It must be all conjecture. To see them with their heads together was to me something of a shock, I own. I impute nothing; I merely tell you what I saw. The Earl, perceiving me, came across the room to my side; what passed between us I shall not repeat. It was enough to assure me that Worth regards me as a menace to whatever scheme he may have in mind. I was warned not to meddle in your concerns. Whether I am very likely to be intimidated by such a threat I leave it to yourself to decide.’

  She was silent for a moment, frowning over it. She could not but perceive that there might be some jealousy at work here, on both sides perhaps. She said presently in a tone of calm good-sense: ‘It is very odd, indeed, but I must believe you to be mistaken, in part at least. Lord Worth, being Perry’s guardian, may easily have conceived it to be his duty to inquire more fully into the cause of that projected meeting.’

  He looked at her intently. ‘It may have been so, yet I shall not conceal from you, Judith, that I neither like nor trust that man.’ She made a gesture as though to silence him. ‘You do not wish me to speak. Perhaps I should not; perhaps I am wrong. I will only beg of you to take care how you put yourself in his power.’

  She returned his look a little sternly, but as though puzzling over what he had said. ‘Lord Worth told me to trust him,’ she said slowly.

  ‘That is easily said. I do not tell you to trust me. Mistrust me, if you please: I shall continue to do what I can to serve you.’

  His frank, manly way of speaking induced her to stretch out her hand to him. ‘Why, of course I trust you, cousin,’ she said, ‘even though I think you are mistaken.’

  He kissed her hand, and said no more, but left her very soon to ponder over it, to recall incidents, words, that might guide her understanding. Lately, it had seemed to her as though Worth too might become a suitor to her hand, yet no man had it in his power to compel her into marriage, and she could see no reason for fearing him. Her cousin she believed to be strongly attached to her, and allowance must be made for the very natural jealousy of a man deeply in love. Neither man could like the other: it had been apparent from the first. She supposed each must find it easy to mistrust the other. She put the matter out of mind, yet was still worried by it.

  A few days would now bring Christmas upon them; the Taverners, accompanied by Mrs Scattergood and Miss Fairford, were to travel into Hampshire, to Worth, upon the twenty-third of December, and every moment before their departure seemed to Miss Taverner to be occupied in writing graceful notes of acknowledgment for the shower of gifts that descended upon her. The most elegant trifles were sent for her acceptance: she was in despair, half-inclined to return them all, but dissuaded from it by her chaperon, who inspected each offering with the strictest regard for propriety, and pronounced all to be in the best of taste, quite unexceptionable, impossible to decline!

  Amongst the collection of snuff-boxes, étuis, china figures, and fans that arrived for his sister, the tokens Peregrine had received made, he complained, a meagre show. Some hand kerchiefs, hemmed for him by Lady Fairford, a brace of partridges from Sussex, where Mr Fitzjohn had retired for the month, a locket with his Harriet’s eye painted on ivory, a small jar of snuff from which the sender’s card was missing, and a fob from his cousin made up the sum of his presents. However, he was in raptures over the locket, and very well satisfied with the rest. The handkerchiefs must always be useful; the birds could be roasted for dinner; the fob was added to his already large collection; and the snuff was no doubt a capital mixture. Like a great many other young gentlemen, Peregrine never stirred out without his box, and inhaled a vast quantity of snuff without having very much taste for it, or discrimination in the sorts he chose. Brown rappee was the same to him as Spanish bran; he could detect very little difference. As for this elegant, glazed jar which had been sent to him he liked it excessively, and only wished he might know the donor. A prolonged search amongst the litter of cards, notes, and silver-paper wrappings which surrounded his sister failed to discover the missing card; he had to resign himself to its being lost.

  Judith took a pinch of his snuff, and wrinkled her nose at it. ‘My dear Perry, it reeks of Otto of Roses! It is detestable!’

  ‘Pho, nonsense, you are a great deal too nice! Since you took to using snuff you think you know everything about it.’

  ‘I know this mixture would never be tolerated by Lord Petersham, or Worth,’ she retorted. ‘It is not at all unlike the sort Worth has made up for the Regent, only more scented. Do not be offering it to him, I beg of you! Who can have sent it to you? How awkward it is that you have lost the card!’

  ‘I believe there never was a card. I believe it must have been forgotten. If you do not like the mixture I am glad, for you won’t be wanting to fill your box from my jar.’

  ‘No, indeed! I imagine no one would suspect me of taking scented snuff,’ retorted Judith.

  The day of setting forward on the journey arrived at last. The trunks and the bandboxes were safely strapped to the chaise; Mrs Scattergood predicted a fall of snow; Peregrine mounted his horse; Miss Fairford was picked up in Arlington Street; and the whole party started on the journey not more than an hour later than had originally been intended.

  No fall of snow occurred to render the roads impassable; the weather, though wintry, was not cold enough to make travelling insupportable; and with only one halt of any length upon the way they arrived at Worth by four in the afternoon, to be welcomed with all the comfort of large fires, hot soup, and cheerful company.

  It was dusk when they turned in at the iron gates of Worth, and no impression of the park, or the exterior of the house could be had; but the interior struck Miss Taverner at once with a sense of its elegance, noble apartments, and handsome furnish ings. It was just what a gentleman’s residence should be; everything spoke its owner’s taste. Judith could not but be pleased with all that she saw, and wish to explore further, at a more convenient time, into the older part of the house, which she understood to date back as much as two centuries.

  Lady Albinia was there to receive
the travellers. She was a short-sighted, vague woman of no particular beauty, and a total disregard for the prevailing fashion. A Paisley shawl, which she wore to protect her from the draughts, was continually slipping from her shoulders and becoming entangled in the furniture. When this happened she immediately summoned up any gentleman who chanced to be near, and commanded him to disengage her tiresome fringe. She seemed incapable of helping herself, and when she dropped her fan or her handkerchief, as she frequently did, merely waited for someone to pick it up for her, breaking off in the middle of whatever she was saying, and resuming again the instant her property was restored to her. She had a habit of uttering her thoughts aloud, which was dis concerting to those not much acquainted with her, but which no one who knew her paid the least attention to. She greeted the Taverners kindly, and having led the ladies to the fire, and begged them to sit down by it and warm their chilled hands, looked Judith over with an expression of mild approval, and said in her inconsequent way: ‘Such bad weather for travelling, though to be sure it does not snow, and the roads nowadays are so good that one is hardly ever in danger of being held up. Eighty thousand pounds, and quite a beauty besides! Worth is fortunate indeed if only he may have the sense to realise it.’

  Miss Taverner, who had been warned by Mrs Scattergood what to expect, tried to look unconscious, but could not prevent a blush creeping into her cheeks. Mrs Scattergood said severely: ‘Albinia, where is Julian?’

  It appeared that the gentlemen had gone out for a day’s shooting, and were not yet returned. The travellers were escorted upstairs to their bedchambers, and left to recover from the fatigues of the journey before dressing for dinner.

  By dinner-time the rest of the party had arrived, and the sporting gentlemen returned from their expedition. The remaining guests comprised Lords Petersham and Alvanley, Mr Brummell, and Mr Forrest, Lady Albinia’s taciturn spouse, and Mrs and Miss Marley, particular friends of Miss Taverner. Everyone was acquainted; nothing, Mrs Scattergood declared, could have been more charming. Lord Alvanley, except for his habit of putting out his bedroom candle by stuffing it under his pillow, must always be an acceptable guest; Lord Petersham, the most finished gentleman alive, was courteous and amiable; the Earl was a calm but attentive host; Mr Brummell was in a conversable mood, and a pleasant evening was spent in one of the saloons, playing cards, drinking tea, and chatting over a noble fire. The only discomfort Judith had to endure was the sight of her brother begging Lord Petersham to give an opinion on his new snuff, the whole history of which he had been recounting a moment previous. Lord Petersham was obliging enough to help himself to a pinch, and to say courteously that he had no doubt of its being a superior mixture. Lord Worth, less polite, put up his glass when the box was offered to him, and upon hearing that it was highly scented waved it away. ‘No, thank you, Peregrine. I will believe it to be all you say. I hope you are not using it, Miss Taverner?’

  ‘No, no, I keep my own sort,’ Judith assured him. ‘When I want scent I do not go to my snuff-box for it, but to Mr Brummell, who is going to make me a stick of perfume.’

  ‘A stick of Mr Brummell’s perfume, my love!’ exclaimed Mrs Marley. ‘Do you want to make us all envious? Do you not know that every lady among us wants one of those sticks?’

  The Beau shook his head. ‘Very true, but you know I cannot be giving them to everyone, ma’am. That would be to have them held very cheap. The Regent, now, is dying to get hold of one, but one has to draw the line somewhere.’

  ‘George is feeling peevish because he has caught a cold,’ remarked Alvanley. ‘How did you come by it in this mild weather, George?’

  ‘Why, do you know, I left my carriage this afternoon on my way from town, and the infidel of a landlord put me into a room with a damp stranger!’ replied Brummell instantly.

  It seemed the next day as though Peregrine had caught the Beau’s cold. He complained of the sore throat, and coughed a little, but trusted that a day’s sport (which he had been prom-ised) would soon set matters to rights. Judith could place no such dependence on the effect of a raw, December day, but it was useless to expect Peregrine to remain indoors for no more serious reason than a slight chill. He went off with Petersham, Alvanley, and Mr Forrest to shoot over some preserves a few miles distant from Worth.

  Mr Brummell put in no appearance until midday. The exigencies of his toilet occupied several hours; he had been known to spend as many as two on the nice arrangement of his clothes, to which, however, he gave not another thought once he had left his dressing-room. Unlike most of the dandies he was never seen to cast an anxious glance at a mirror, to adjust his cravat, nor to smooth wrinkles from his coat. When he left his room he was, and knew himself to be, a finished work of art, perfect in every detail from his beautifully laundered linen to his highly polished boots.

  Mrs Marley also kept her room until a late hour, but the three young ladies were up in good time, and spent the morning in exploring the house under the guidance of the housekeeper, and in strolling about the gardens and shrubbery until they were called in to partake of scalloped oysters, cold meats, and fruit in one of the dining-parlours.

  The sportsmen were expected to be back by three o’clock, so that it was not surprising that Miss Fairford should blushingly decline the offer of being driven out for an airing after luncheon. The Earl made the suggestion; it was met by a dismayed look and a stammered excuse, Miss Fairford hardly knowing what to say, from the fear, on the one hand, of offending her host, and, on the other, of not being present when Peregrine returned to the house. The Earl looked amused at her confusion, but forbore to tease, as Judith was half afraid he would, and said with only the faintest suggestion of a laugh in his well-bred voice: ‘You had rather be writing a letter to your mama, I daresay.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ said Miss Fairford thankfully. ‘I think I ought certainly to do that!’ He turned away to address Judith. ‘Does Miss Taverner care to drive out with me?’

  She assented to it gladly; as they left the room together the Earl looked back, and said with the hint of a smile: ‘Let me have your letter when it is finished, Miss Fairford, and I will frank it for you.’

  An hour spent in being driven about the country brought Miss Taverner back with glowing cheeks and in happy spirits. The Earl had been in his most pleasant mood, a sensible companion, entertaining her with easy talk, and teaching her how to loop a rein and let it run free again in his own deft fashion.

  They returned quite in charity with each other to find Lady Albinia, Mrs Marley, and Mr Brummell seated in one of the drawing-rooms with a lady and two gentlemen who had driven over from a neighbouring estate to pay a call at Worth.

  Upon the entrance of the Earl and his ward a greater animation seemed to enter into these visitors. Compliments were exchanged, and the lady lost no time in presenting her son to Miss Taverner. The elder of the two gentlemen, who had been talking to Mr Brummell, had less interest in the heiress, and very soon returned to Brummell. The Beau was sitting with a look of pained resignation on his face, which was accounted for by Lady Albinia, who in making the necessary introductions turned to the Earl and said: ‘You see the Fox-Matthews are come to call on us, my dear Worth. So obliging of them! They have been sitting with us more than half an hour. I do not believe they will ever go.’

  Mr Fox-Matthews was talking in a consequential way of the beauties of the Hampshire scenery. He would scarcely allow it to have its equal, unless perhaps one took the Lake District into account. It was soon seen that having been travelling there in the summer he now desired nothing better than to be allowed to describe the Lakes to everyone, and to tell those who had not had the good fortune to journey so far that they had missed something very fine. He did not know whether Mr Brummell had visited the Lakes; if he had not he should certainly make the effort.

  Mr Brummell looked him over with that lift of the eyebrow which could always depress pretension. ‘Yes, sir, I have visited the Lakes,’ he said.

  ‘Ah then, in that ca
se – And which of them do you most admire, sir?’

  Mr Brummell drew in his breath. ‘I will tell you, sir, if you will accord me a few moments.’ Then, turning to address a footman who had come in to make up the fire, he quietly desired the man to send his valet to him. Mr Fox-Matthews stared, but the Beau remained quite imperturbable, and maintained a thoughtful silence until the entrance of a neat man in a black coat, who came anxiously up to him, and bowed.

  ‘Robinson,’ said Mr Brummell, ‘which of the Lakes do I admire?’

  ‘Windermere, sir,’ replied the valet respectfully.

  ‘Ah, Windermere, is it? Thank you, Robinson. Yes, I like Windermere best,’ he said, turning politely back to Mr FoxMatthews.

  Mrs Fox-Matthews, swelling with indignation, rose, and declared it to be time they were taking their leave.

  Peregrine’s cough, when his sister next saw him, did not appear to have benefited much from a morning spent in the fresh air. It still troubled him, and during the days that followed grew perceptibly worse. His throat was slightly inflamed, and although he would not hear of consulting a doctor, or admit that he felt in the least sickly, it was evident that he was far from being in perfect health. There was a languor, a heavy look about the eyes which worried his sister, but he ascribed it all to having caught a chill, and believed that the air at Worth might not quite suit him.

  ‘The air at Worth,’ Judith repeated. ‘The air –’ She broke off. ‘What am I thinking? I deserve to be beaten for indulging such a wild fancy! Impossible! Oh, impossible!’

  ‘Well, what are you thinking?’ inquired Peregrine, with a yawn. ‘What is impossible? Why do you look so oddly?’