The Convenient Marriage

by Georgette Heyer

  Mr Paget tittered. ‘Or our fair hostess’s, ma’am!’

  She gave a shrug of her large white shoulders. ‘Oh, if you want to pry into the silly woman’s affairs – !’ she said, and moved away.

  Mr Paget transferred his attention to Lord Lethbridge.

  ‘’Pon my soul, my lord, I’ll swear she went white under the rouge!’ Lethbridge took snuff. ‘Cruel of you, my lord, ’pon my soul it was!’

  ‘Do you think so?’ said his lordship with almost dulcet sweetness.

  ‘Oh, positively, sir, positively! Not a doubt she had hopes of Rule. But it would never do, you know. I believe his lordship to be excessively proud.’

  ‘Excessively,’ said Lethbridge, with so much dryness in his voice that Mr Paget had an uncomfortable feeling that he had said something inopportune.

  He was so obsessed by this notion that he presently confided the interchange to Sir Marmaduke Hoban, who gave a snort of laughter and said: ‘Damned inopportune!’ and walked off to replenish his glass.

  Mr Crosby Drelincourt, cousin and heir-presumptive to my Lord of Rule, seemed disinclined to discuss the news. He left the party early, and went home to his lodging in Jermyn Street, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings.

  He passed an indifferent night, and awoke finally at an uncommonly early hour, and demanded the London Gazette. His valet brought it with the cup of chocolate with which it was Mr Drelincourt’s habit to regale himself on first waking. Mr Drelincourt seized the journal and spread it open with agitated fingers. The announcement glared at him in incontrovertible print.

  Mr Drelincourt looked at it in a kind of daze, his night-cap over one eye.

  ‘Your chocolate, sir,’ said his valet disinterestedly.

  Mr Drelincourt was roused out of his momentary stupor. ‘Take the damned stuff away!’ he shouted, and flung the Gazette down. ‘I am getting up!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Will you wear the blue morning habit?’

  Mr Drelincourt swore at him.

  The valet, accustomed to Mr Drelincourt’s temper, remained unmoved, but found an opportunity while his master was pulling on his stockings to peep into the Gazette. What he saw brought a faint, sour smile to his lips. He went away to prepare a razor with which to shave Mr Drelincourt.

  The news had shocked Mr Drelincourt deeply, but habit was strong, and by the time he had been shaved he had recovered sufficient mastery over himself to take an interest in the all-important question of his dress. The result of the care he bestowed upon his person was certainly startling. When he was at last ready to sally forth into the street he wore a blue coat with long tails and enormous silver buttons, over a very short waistcoat, and a pair of striped breeches clipped at the knee with rosettes. A bow served him for cravat, his stockings were of silk, his shoes had silver buckles and heels so high that he was obliged to mince along; his wig was brushed up en hérisson to a point in the front, curled in pigeons’ wings over the ears, and brought down at the back into a queue confined in a black silk bag. A little round hat surmounted this structure, and to complete his toilet he had a number of fobs and seals, and carried a long, clouded cane embellished with tassels.

  Although the morning was a fine one Mr Drelincourt hailed a chair, and gave the address of his cousin’s house in Grosvenor Square. He entered the sedan carefully, bending his head to avoid brushing his toupet against the roof; the men picked up the poles, and set off northwards with their exquisite burden.

  Upon his arrival in Grosvenor Square Mr Drelincourt paid off the chairmen and tripped up the steps to the great door of Rule’s house. He was admitted by the porter, who looked as though he would have liked to have shut the door in the visitor’s painted face. Mr Drelincourt was no favourite with Rule’s household, but being in some sort a privileged person he came and went very much as he pleased. The porter told him that my lord was still at breakfast, but Mr Drelincourt waved this piece of information aside with an airy gesture of one lily-white hand. The porter handed him over to a footman, and reflected with satisfaction that that was a nose put well out of joint.

  Mr Drelincourt rarely waited upon his cousin without letting his gaze rest appreciatively on the fine proportions of his rooms, and the elegance of their appointments. He had come to regard Rule’s possessions in some sort as his own, and he could never enter his house without thinking of the day when it would belong to him. To-day, however, he was easily able to refrain from the indulgence of this dream, and he followed the footman to a small breakfast-room at the back of the house with nothing in his head but a sense of deep injury.

  My lord, in a dressing-gown of brocaded silk, was seated at the table with a tankard and a sirloin before him. His secretary was also present, apparently attempting to cope with a number of invitations for his lordship, for as Mr Drelincourt strutted in he said despairingly: ‘But, sir, you must surely remember that you are promised to her Grace of Bedford to-night!’

  ‘I wish,’ said Rule plaintively, ‘that you would rid yourself of that notion, my dear Arnold. I cannot imagine where you had it. I never remember anything disagreeable. Good-morning, Crosby.’ He put up his glass the better to observe the letters in Mr Gisborne’s hand. ‘The one on the pink paper, Arnold. I have a great predilection for the one writ on pink paper. What is it?’

  ‘A card-party at Mrs Wallchester’s, sir,’ said Mr Gisborne in a voice of disapproval.

  ‘My instinct is never at fault,’ said his lordship. ‘The pink one it shall be. Crosby, really there is no need for you to stand. Have you come to breakfast? Oh, don’t go, Arnold, don’t go.’

  ‘If you please, Rule, I wish to be private with you,’ said Mr Drelincourt, who had favoured the secretary with the smallest of bows.

  ‘Don’t be shy, Crosby,’ said his lordship kindly. ‘If it’s money Arnold is bound to know all about it.’

  ‘It is not,’ said Mr Drelincourt, much annoyed.

  ‘Permit me, sir,’ said Mr Gisborne, moving to the door.

  Mr Drelincourt put down his hat and his cane, and drew out a chair from the table. ‘Not breakfast, no!’ he said a little peevishly.

  The Earl surveyed him patiently. ‘Well, what is it now, Crosby?’ he inquired.

  ‘I came to,’ said Mr Drelincourt, ‘I came to speak to you about this – this betrothal.’

  ‘There’s nothing private about that,’ observed Rule, addressing himself to the cold roast beef.

  ‘No, indeed!’ said Crosby with a hint of indignation in his voice. ‘I suppose it is true?’

  ‘Oh, quite true,’ said his lordship. ‘You may safely felicitate me, my dear Crosby.’

  ‘As to that – why, certainly! Certainly, I wish you very happy,’ said Crosby, put out. ‘But you never spoke a word of it to me. It takes me quite by surprise. I must think it extremely odd, cousin, considering the singular nature of our relationship.’

  ‘The – ?’ My lord seemed puzzled.

  ‘Come, Rule, come! As your heir I might be supposed to have some claim to be apprised of your intentions.’

  ‘Accept my apologies,’ said his lordship. ‘Are you sure you won’t have some breakfast, Crosby? You do not look at all the thing, my dear fellow. In fact, I should almost feel inclined to recommend another hairpowder than this blue you affect. A charming tint, Crosby: you must not think I don’t admire it, but its reflected pallor upon your countenance –’

  ‘If I seem pale, cousin, you should rather blame the extraordinary announcement in to-day’s Gazette. It has given me a shock; I shan’t deny it has given me a shock.’

  ‘But, Crosby,’ said his lordship plaintively, ‘were you really sure that you would outlive me?’

  ‘In the course of nature I might expect to,’ replied Mr Drelincourt, too much absorbed in his disappointment to consider his words. ‘I can give you ten years, you must remember.’

  Rule shook his head. ‘I don’t
think you should build on it,’ he said. ‘I come of distressingly healthy stock, you know.’

  ‘Very true,’ agreed Mr Drelincourt. ‘It is a happiness to all your relatives.’

  ‘I see it is,’ said his lordship gravely.

  ‘Pray don’t mistake me, Marcus!’ besought his cousin. ‘You must not suppose that your demise could occasion in me anything but a sense of the deepest bereavement, but you’ll allow a man must look to the future.’

  ‘Such a remote future!’ said his lordship. ‘It makes me feel positively melancholy, my dear Crosby.’

  ‘We must all hope it may be remote,’ said Crosby, ‘but you cannot fail to have observed how uncertain is human life. Only to think of young Frittenham, cut off in the very flower of his youth by the overturning of his curricle! Broke his neck, you know, and all for a wager.’

  The Earl laid down his knife and fork, and regarded his relative with some amusement. ‘Only to think of it!’ he repeated. ‘I confess, Crosby, what you say will add – er – piquancy to my next race. I begin to see that your succession to my shoes – by the way, cousin, you are such a judge of these matters, do, I beg of you, tell me how you like them?’ He stretched one leg for Mr Drelincourt to look at.

  Mr Drelincourt said unerringly: ‘A la d’Artois, from Joubert’s. I don’t favour them myself, but they are very well – very well indeed.’

  ‘It’s a pity you don’t,’ said his lordship, ‘for I perceive that you may be called upon to step into them at any time.’

  ‘Oh, hardly that, Rule! Hardly that!’ protested Mr Drelincourt handsomely.

  ‘But consider how uncertain is human life, Crosby! You yourself said it a moment back. I might at any moment be thrown from a curricle.’

  ‘I am sure I did not in the least mean –’

  ‘Or,’ continued Rule pensively, ‘fall a victim to one of the cut-throat thieves with which I am told the town abounds.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Mr Drelincourt a little stiffly. ‘But I don’t anticipate –’

  ‘Highwaymen too,’ mused his lordship. ‘Think of poor Layton with a bullet in his shoulder on Hounslow Heath not a month ago. It might have been me, Crosby. It may still be me.’

  Mr Drelincourt rose in a huff. ‘I see you are determined to make a jest of it. Good God, I don’t desire your death! I should be excessively sorry to hear of it. But this sudden resolve to marry when everyone had quite given up all idea of it, takes me aback, upon my soul it does! And quite a young lady, I apprehend.’

  ‘My dear Crosby, why not say a very young lady? I feel sure you know her age.’

  Mr Drelincourt sniffed. ‘I scarcely credited it, cousin, I confess. A schoolroom miss, and you well above thirty! I wish you may not live to regret it.’

  ‘Are you sure,’ said his lordship, ‘that you won’t have some of this excellent beef?’

  An artistic shudder ran through his cousin. ‘I never – positively never – eat flesh at this hour of the morning!’ said Mr Drelincourt emphatically. ‘It is of all things the most repugnant to me. Of course you must know how people will laugh at this odd marriage. Seventeen and thirty-five! Upon my honour, I should not care to appear so ridiculous!’ He gave an angry titter, and added venomously: ‘To be sure, no one need wonder at the young lady’s part in it! We all know how it is with the Winwoods. She does very well for herself, very well indeed!’

  The Earl leaned back in his chair, one hand in his breeches pocket, the other quite idly playing with his quizzing-glass. ‘Crosby,’ he said gently, ‘if ever you repeat that remark I am afraid – I am very much afraid – that you will quite certainly predecease me.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Mr Drelincourt looked down at his cousin and saw that under the heavy lids those bored eyes had entirely lost their smile. They held a very unpleasant glint. Mr Drelincourt cleared his throat, and said, his voice jumping a little: ‘My dear Marcus – ! I assure I meant nothing in the world! How you do take one up!’

  ‘You must forgive me,’ said his lordship, still with that alarming grimness about his mouth.

  ‘Oh, certainly! I don’t give it a thought,’ said Mr Drelincourt. ‘Consider it forgotten, cousin, and as for the cause, you have me wrong, quite wrong, you know.’

  The Earl continued to regard him for a moment; then the grimness left his face, and he suddenly laughed.

  Mr Drelincourt picked up his hat and cane, and was about to take his leave when the door opened briskly, and a lady came in. She was of middle height, dressed in a gown of apple-green cambric with white stripes, in the style known as vive bergère, and had a very becoming straw hat with ribands perched upon her head. A scarf caught over one arm, and a sunshade with a long handle completed her toilet, and in her hand she carried, as Mr Drelincourt saw at a glance, a copy of the London Gazette.

  She was an extremely handsome woman, with most speaking eyes, at once needle-sharp, and warmly smiling, and she bore a striking resemblance to the Earl.

  On the threshold she checked, her quick gaze taking in Mr Drelincourt. ‘Oh – Crosby!’ she said, with unveiled dissatisfaction.

  Rule got up, and took her hand. ‘My dear Louisa, have you also come to breakfast?’ he inquired.

  She kissed him in a sisterly fashion, and replied with energy: ‘I breakfasted two hours ago, but you may give me some coffee. I see you are just going, Crosby. Pray don’t let me keep you. Dear me, why will you wear those very odd clothes, my good creature? And that absurd wig don’t become you, take my word for it!’

  Mr Drelincourt, feeling unable to cope adequately with his cousin, merely bowed, and wished her good morning. No sooner had he minced out of the room than Lady Louisa Quain flung down her copy of the Gazette before Rule. ‘No need to ask why that odious little toad came,’ she remarked. ‘But, my dear Marcus, it is too provoking! There is the most nonsensical mistake made! Have you seen it?’

  Rule began to pour coffee into his own unused cup. ‘Dear Louisa, do you realise that it is not yet eleven o’clock, and I have already had Crosby with me? What time can I have had to read the Gazette?’

  She took the cup from him, observing that she could not conceive how he should care to go on drinking ale with his breakfast. ‘You will have to put in a second advertisement,’ she informed him. ‘I can’t imagine how they came to make such a stupid mistake. My dear, they have confused the names of the sisters! Here it is! You may read for yourself: “The Honourable Horatia Winwood, youngest daughter of –” Really, if it were not so vexing it would be diverting! But how in the world came they to put “Horatia” for “Elizabeth”?’

  ‘You see,’ said Rule apologetically, ‘Arnold sent the advertisement to the Gazette.’

  ‘Well, I never would have believed Mr Gisborne to be so big a fool!’ declared her ladyship.

  ‘But perhaps I ought to explain, my dear Louisa, that he had my authority,’ said Rule still more apologetically.

  Lady Louisa, who had been studying the advertisement with a mixture of disgust and amusement, let the Gazette drop, and twisted round in her chair to stare up at her brother in astonishment. ‘Lord, Rule, what can you possibly mean?’ she demanded. ‘You’re not going to marry Horatia Winwood!’

  ‘But I am,’ said his lordship calmly.

  ‘Rule, have you gone mad? You told me positively you had offered for Elizabeth!’

  ‘My shocking memory for names!’ mourned his lordship.

  Lady Louisa brought her open hand down on the table. ‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘Your memory’s as good as mine!’

  ‘My dear, I should not like to think that,’ said the Earl. ‘Your memory is sometimes too good.’

  ‘Oh!’ said the lady critically surveying him. ‘Well, you had best make a clean breast of it. Do you really mean to marry that child?’

  ‘Well, she certainly means to marry me,’ said his lordship.

/>   ‘What?’ gasped Lady Louisa.

  ‘You see,’ explained the Earl, resuming his seat, ‘though it ought to be Charlotte, she has no mind to make such a sacrifice, even for Elizabeth’s sake.’

  ‘Either you are out of your senses, or I am!’ declared Lady Louisa with resignation. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and how you can mean to marry Horatia, who must be still in the schoolroom, for I’m sure I have never clapped eyes on her – in place of that divinely beautiful Elizabeth –’

  ‘Ah, but I am going to grow used to the eyebrows,’ interrupted Rule. ‘And she has the Nose.’

  ‘Rule,’ said her ladyship with dangerous quiet, ‘do not goad me too far! Where have you seen this child?’

  He regarded her with a smile hovering round his mouth. ‘If I told you, Louisa, you would probably refuse to believe me.’

  She cast up her eyes. ‘When did you have this notion of marrying her?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t,’ replied the Earl. ‘It was not my notion at all.’

  ‘Whose, then?’

  ‘Horatia’s, my dear. I thought I had explained.’

  ‘Do you tell me, Marcus, the girl asked you to marry her?’ said Lady Louisa sarcastically.

  ‘Instead of Elizabeth,’ nodded his lordship. ‘Elizabeth, you see, is going to marry Mr Heron.’

  ‘Who in the world is Mr Heron?’ cried Lady Louisa. ‘I declare, I never heard such a farrago! Confess, you are trying to take me in.’

  ‘Not at all, Louisa. You don’t understand the situation at all. One of them must marry me.’

  ‘That I can believe,’ she said dryly. ‘But this nonsense about Horatia? What is the truth of it?’

  ‘Only that Horatia offered herself to me in her sister’s place. And that – but I need not tell you – is quite for your ears alone.’

  Lady Louisa was not in the habit of giving way to amazement, and she did not now indulge in fruitless ejaculations. ‘Marcus, is the girl a minx?’ she asked.