The Beau and the Bluestocking: Romantic intrigue in Regency London

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘Time,’ he said, urgently. ‘Of — of course you need more time. I — I have — um — been too sudden — er — too ill-advised —’

  As compassionately but as firmly as she was able, she set herself to dispel any hopes of this kind he might be nursing. He was too sincere a man not to be answered with complete honesty, and she knew now that her heart was irrevocably given elsewhere. As she finished speaking, she looked up and saw that Devenish was watching them from his place among the dancers. It was too much. She felt her composure cracking; and excusing herself somewhat incoherently to her companion, made her way out of the room and rushed to the seclusion of her bedchamber.

  Once there, she flung herself face down on the bed and gave way to the tears which threatened to choke her.

  A few minutes unrestrained sobbing was sufficient to bring relief. She raised herself on one elbow and groped for a pocket handkerchief. As she did so, she heard someone enter the room; turning her head, she saw Lydia there.

  ‘Alethea, my dear!’ Her cousin came to sit beside her on the bed and stroked her hair with unwonted tenderness. ‘What is it? I saw you go, and guessed there must be something amiss — was it something to do with Mr Tracy?’

  Alethea nodded and sat up, drying her eyes. ‘Yes — he — he made me a declaration,’ she replied, unsteadily.

  ‘I thought it might be that, for I could see he was speaking very earnestly to you. Did you accept him?’

  Alethea shook her head.

  ‘No?’ Lydia sounded incredulous. ‘Oh, but I dare say you will do, when you’ve had time to get used to the idea. He is quite a good match, you know, and I must say you are better suited to each other than most people. I dare say he took you unawares — such things can often come as a shock.’

  Alethea stood up and went over to the washstand. She poured some water from a jug into the basin and bathed her face.

  ‘You mistake, Lydia,’ she said, as she dried herself. ‘I can never marry Mr Tracy.’

  ‘Lud, you sound very sure of yourself! I tell you what, Mama will be no end put out if you do not — she’s quite counting on it.’

  ‘This is a matter in which I can allow no one else to guide me.’

  She had quite recovered now and her voice was firm. She smoothed her gown, patted her hair into place before the mirror, then turned to her cousin.

  ‘Shall we go back to the ballroom?’

  ‘Yes, if you’re quite ready.’ Lydia rose from the bed. ‘But, Alethea —’ she hesitated a moment — ‘it’s not because of Devenish, is it?’

  She eyed Alethea keenly as she spoke, and did not miss the tell-tale blush that came before a vigorous shake of the head.

  ‘Well, I’m monstrous glad of it, for he’s not serious you know, whatever he may try to make you believe. Vivyan mentioned to me something Devenish once said — I dare say Viv would never have repeated it, but that he thought I ought to give you a warning. It seems Devenish told Vivyan that his only interest in you was as a quarry which seemed to be eluding his grasp. Those were his exact words, Alethea. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You need not be,’ replied Alethea, in a tight little voice. ‘I’m not so gullible as to think otherwise. Say no more about it — let us go back.’

  They reached the ballroom just as the set for the next dance was forming. Lydia was whisked off at once by an anxious partner who had feared that she was trying to evade her engagement to dance with him. Devenish presented himself in more leisurely fashion to lead Alethea out on to the floor.

  She was quite sure that by now she had her feelings well in control. She would not betray herself by one look or word, but would behave towards him as she would do any other gentleman who might happen to dance with her that evening. She would be polite but cool, talk no more than was necessary and keep to generalities.

  But one touch of his hand put her emotions in such a turmoil that all her good resolutions melted away like ice in the sun. He looked down at her; there was no trace of the usual mockery in those hazel eyes, but a deep tenderness which she could have sworn was genuine. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and she saw the tightening of a muscle in his cheek. Her heart leapt. Could it be — was it possible that he, too, was struggling to keep equally powerful emotions in control? Or did she think so only because she longed with all her heart to believe it true? Was she deluding herself?

  Suddenly she was weary of fighting this losing battle with her feelings; for this one dance she told herself she would surrender completely to the illusion of being loved as she had come to love. After that, she would face the truth with what courage she could muster.

  For a while they did not speak at all as they followed the movements of the dance, now taking them apart from each other, now bringing them together again. It was no awkward silence, however, but one that to Alethea seemed to arise from the sense of feelings between them which lay too deep for words. At last, during a figure which kept them together for rather longer than usual, he spoke.

  ‘I trust your late partner did not tear your gown, Miss Newnham. I saw that he was so clumsy as to step on it.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Her voice was a little breathless. ‘No damage was done, fortunately.’

  ‘I did wonder, since you left the ballroom somewhat abruptly not long afterwards,’ he continued looking at her searchingly. ‘I thought you seemed a trifle discomposed?’

  She made no answer, uncertain what to say.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, with no trace of his usual drawl. ‘My remarks must seem impertinent to you — indeed, they would be in any ordinary circumstances, but I have reason —’

  She shook her head, too overcome for words.

  ‘Even at the risk of further incurring your displeasure,’ he went on, hurriedly, ‘I must finish what I have to say. It appeared to me that Mr Tracy was speaking to you in a very particular fashion, and that you — though I may be quite mistaken in this — were distressed by his behaviour. Good God, I don’t mind admitting that I could have run him through on the spot had that been possible!’

  The vehemence of his tone added to the unexpectedness of what he had said shook Alethea considerably, and it was as well that the figures of the dance at that point required them to separate for some time.

  At first, her thoughts were in a turmoil. Could he really be in earnest — was it at all possible? She knew that he had been observing her closely while she had been in Mr Tracy’s company. Now he had spoken like a man in the grip of jealousy. Could it be so?

  But gradually, as she found herself obliged to answer a succession of trivial remarks made to her by the other dancers in the set, her racing thoughts steadied and doubts set in. She told herself that what she would like to think of as the jealousy of a man in love might equally well — and much more likely, in this case — be the chagrin of a determined flirt who sees another about to succeed where he has failed. She recalled the words repeated to her by Lydia not half an hour since, words attributed to Devenish by Mr Allerton, who surely was not the man to lie about such a matter — ‘a quarry eluding his grasp’. They were burnt on her mind in letters of fire.

  With all the strength of her being, she wanted to think him loving, tender, sincere; but though she had surrendered her heart too readily, she must not completely lose her head. All the evidence at her disposal pointed to the unwelcome fact that he was merely trifling with her. Well, he had succeeded in storming the citadel; but at least, she determined desperately, he should not be given the satisfaction of knowing as much.

  He took her hand when they at last came together again, saying in a low tone, ‘Am I forgiven, or are you seriously displeased with me?’

  ‘How could I be displeased with you after the service you rendered me in Harrow?’ she replied, as casually as she was able.

  ‘Service — bah! Would I had the right to —’

  They were forced to move away from each other again for a moment.

  ‘Confound it!’ he exclaimed in exasperation, when he rejoined
her. ‘This is altogether intolerable — how am I to explain myself in such conditions? Miss Newnham — Alethea —’ her heart bounded at the name — ‘Give me leave to wait upon you tomorrow. Only name an hour, and I will be there.’

  She shook her head. ‘I think you had much better not come, Sir James.’

  ‘Not come?’ He gripped her hand hard, almost causing her to lose her step, and turned an intense look on her which made her lower her eyes. ‘Alethea, look at me! Do you really mean that?’

  Keeping all expression out of her face, she forced herself to meet his gaze for a brief moment.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she answered, lifelessly.

  He said nothing, and for some time they danced together without speaking.

  ‘I understand you, I suppose,’ he said, brusquely. ‘Tracy is fortunate indeed. Forgive my importunity.’

  She did not correct his mistaken impression. Better that he should believe her affianced to Paul Tracy, for then he would pester her no more with insincere compliments and false protestations. They finished the dance in silence, and parted.

  But Alethea felt as though she had died, and only her pale ghost continued to move about amid all the colour and gaiety of the ballroom.

  Chapter XXII

  After he had left her, Devenish made his way to the refreshment room. He found Vivyan Allerton there, drinking steadily, and frowned, momentarily shaken out of his own gloomy reflections.

  ‘Nothing better to do, Viv?’ he demanded as he took a glass of wine from one of the waiters.

  Allerton looked up, a heavy scowl on his usually good-tempered face. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’

  ‘None other,’ agreed Devenish. ‘Wishing me at the devil, are you?’

  ‘Not particularly — there’s only one fellow I heartily wish at the devil, and I dare say it don’t take three guesses to find out who he is.’

  ‘No,’ said Devenish, sipping his wine.

  Allerton drained his glass at a gulp and refilled it from a bottle by his elbow. ‘For two pins,’ he muttered, between clenched teeth, ‘I’d call the swine out!’

  ‘Don’t chance to have two pins about me. Just as well. You couldn’t call him out for two good reasons — one, he’s old enough to be your father, and two, it would make a rare scandal!’

  ‘Hell and the devil, don’t you think I know that? What am I supposed to do? Stand by while the only girl I ever cared for — ever could care for! — is pushed into marriage with that — doddering old fool!’

  Devenish looked quickly about them, but only a few people were in the room and none close enough to overhear.

  ‘You’ve got it wrong, Viv. I’d say myself that she goes willingly enough.’

  For a moment it looked as though Allerton would dash the contents of his glass in the other man’s face. Then he controlled himself with an effort, setting the glass down on the table with a shaking hand. When he turned towards Devenish again, the angry expression had been replaced by one of bewilderment.

  ‘But why, James, for God’s sake why? You saw her with me at Harrow — tell me honestly, wouldn’t you have said she was beginning to care for me at last? I thought so, and God knows I’m no coxcomb — you know that, James!’

  ‘Indeed I do. And I must admit that the lady did seem to be more sincere than I’ve ever known her to be with anyone else. But I fear you must allow for the influence of her surroundings — away from her matchmaking Mama and the glitter of Town life, no doubt things appeared very differently to her. Now she’s back in London, all that has vanished.’

  Allerton stared at him in silence for several moments.

  ‘So,’ he said at last, slowly, ‘what you’re saying is that I was no more than a passing interest, a diversion to help relieve the tedium of an enforced stay in the country. Is that it?’

  Devenish hesitated. ‘I could be wrong, Vivyan, but so it seemed to me.’

  ‘Then by God!’ declared Allerton, thrusting out his jaw. ‘I’ll waste no more time in regretting her! There are pretty girls in plenty out there —’ he gestured towards the ballroom — ‘so let’s go and dance with ’em!’

  Although Devenish signified his approval of this, he did not himself stay for more than one dance before making his excuses to his hostess and departing. Allerton, however, went through every dance with a different — and most attractive — partner, until the time came for his promised cotillion with Lydia. He arrived at her side a few minutes late, on account of an absorbing conversation which he had been holding not two yards away with a pretty young lady in blue from whom he seemed reluctant to part. A tinge of colour crept into Lydia’s cheeks as he apologised and hurried her on to the floor. Throughout the dance, he almost ignored his own partner while carrying on a lively flirtation with two of the other young ladies in the set. The cotillion over, he sketched a careless bow to Lydia and hastened to claim one of these young ladies, a vivacious blonde with very free manners, as a supper partner.

  The Duke of Bedwyn, who had already danced twice with Lydia, now came to lead her in to supper. He was received with very much less animation than she had so far shown him, and as the meal progressed he had difficulty in forcing a single word out of her. This was made more noticeable by the flow of easy talk and laughter which surrounded them; especially from the opposite side of the table where Allerton had seated himself with his blonde companion and one or two of his cronies. Towards the end of the meal, Allerton started feeding his lively partner with sugar plums by tilting back her head and dropping them into her open mouth. This caused a great deal of mirth amongst her companions, and Lydia suddenly pushed back her chair with an expression of distaste on her face. The Duke came to his feet, assisting her to rise; but as they walked away, Allerton’s laughter, seeming to mock, followed them down the room.

  When at last the ball came to an end and all their guests had departed, Mrs Manbury flopped wearily into the chair.

  ‘My poor feet!’ she moaned. ‘They’re killing me, I declare! These shoes are monstrous tight — only wait until I see that wretched shoemaker!’ She paused to massage her instep, then turned to Lydia. ‘One thing I must know before I seek my bed — did Bedwyn come to the point?’

  ‘No,’ said Lydia shortly.

  ‘There!’ exclaimed Mrs Manbury to her husband. ‘It’s just as I feared — didn’t I tell you I’d observed a change in him after supper? Pray, whatever was amiss, Lydia? You were going on famously at first — he was all smiles and attention, you looked charmingly and seemed to be enjoying yourself! — I made quite sure that he would declare himself long before the ball was over, and be waiting upon us during the course of the next few days! I tell you what, Miss, you must have played your cards monstrous badly, for I never saw a man so smitten in my life!’

  Lydia made no reply, but burst into tears.

  ‘There, there!’ said her father, patting her shoulder soothingly. ‘Let be, Olivia — the child’s too fatigued to discuss anything now. Indeed, I think we all are. Go to your bed, Lyddy, and everything will look better when you’ve rested.’

  Even his wife saw the value of this advice, so nothing more was said and the family retired for what was left of the night. But as Alethea was wearily undressing, having dismissed her heavy-eyed maid, a faint tap on the door roused her from her unhappy thoughts. Slipping into a dressing gown, she opened the door to find Lydia, still fully dressed, standing outside.

  Her cousin said nothing, but stood there with such a hopeless, lost expression on her face, which was ravaged by tears, that Alethea almost burst into tears herself. Taking Lydia’s cold hands in hers, she drew her into the room and, quietly shutting the door, led her to a chair.

  ‘What is it, love?’ she asked, gently.

  Lydia’s uncertain composure broke at the tender tone, and for a time both cousins wept in each other’s arms.

  Alethea recovered first. Disengaging herself and drying her eyes, she went to a drawer and came back with a handkerchief which she gave to Lydia.


  ‘There, we’ll both feel better now,’ she whispered. ‘Can you tell me about it, do you suppose?’

  Lydia began to talk, somewhat incoherently at first, her words punctuated by sobs; but the gist of what she said was that she could never, never marry Bedwyn because she realised now that she loved Vivyan Allerton with all her heart.

  ‘I thought I could do it, Alethea,’ she explained, when she grew calmer. ‘Just as I told you, I’d weighed one thing against another in my mind, and it seemed to me that in the end the things Bedwyn could offer meant more to me than my feelings for Vivyan. I thought I should soon get over those — but, oh Alethea!’ She caught her breath on a sob. ‘It’s like slowly dying inside to watch him flirting with another woman — as he was doing most shamelessly at supper! And then to think of myself having to — to submit to Bedwyn’s caresses, when all the time —’

  She broke off and shuddered. Alethea nodded in sympathy.

  ‘I can’t do it, I won’t do it!’ Lydia said, vehemently, twisting the handkerchief in both hands as though she were wringing someone’s neck. ‘Mama may scold me as much as she likes! — and believe me, Alethea, she’s going to create the most dreadful fuss when I tell her, for she’d quite set her heart on seeing me a Duchess — but I shan’t yield! Not if she thrusts me into a garret, and keeps me on bread and water for years — not for anything, I tell you!’

  Alethea could not help giving a shaky laugh. ‘Well, I scarce think she will be so Gothic as that, Lydia, but I quite see you may have an unpleasant interview in front of you. Can you not enlist your father’s support? He was ready enough just now to take your part, and I do think he’s very fond of you.’

  ‘True, Alethea, but he seldom opposes Mama, and certainly never in anything that concerns us girls. He has always left our affairs in her hands. No, I see no help in that quarter. There’s nothing for it but that I must face up to her myself — and I mean to, don’t you fret! She shan’t bring me round her thumb this time, and she’d be hard put to it to force me to the altar!’