The Convenient Marriage

by Georgette Heyer

  The Viscount pointed a finger at his unwilling host. ‘He ain’t dead, Pom. Told you he wouldn’t be.’

  Sir Roland turned to look closely at Lethbridge. ‘No, he ain’t dead,’ he admitted with some reluctance. ‘Nothing for it but to go home.’

  ‘Blister it, that’s a tame way to end the night,’ protested the Viscount. ‘Play you a game of piquet.’

  ‘Not in this house,’ said Lethbridge, picking up his wig and putting it cautiously on his head again.

  ‘Why not in this house?’ demanded the Viscount.

  The question was destined to remain unanswered. Yet a third visitor had arrived.

  ‘My dear Lethbridge, pray forgive me, but this odious rain! Not a chair to be had, positively not a chair nor a hackney! And your door standing wide I stepped in to shelter. I trust I don’t intrude?’ said Mr Drelincourt, peeping into the room.

  ‘Oh, not in the least!’ replied Lethbridge ironically. ‘By all means come in! I rather think that I have no need to introduce Lord Winwood and Sir Roland Pommeroy to you?’

  Mr Drelincourt recoiled perceptibly, but tried to compose his sharp features into an expression of indifference. ‘Oh, in that case – I had no notion you was entertaining, my lord – you must forgive me!’

  ‘I had no notion of it either,’ said Lethbridge. ‘Perhaps you would care to play piquet with Winwood?’

  ‘Really, you must hold me excused!’ replied Mr Drelincourt, edging towards the door.

  The Viscount, who had been regarding him fixedly, nudged Sir Roland. ‘There’s that fellow Drelincourt,’ he said.

  Sir Roland nodded. ‘Yes, that’s Drelincourt,’ he corroborated. ‘I don’t know why, but I don’t like him, Pel. Never did. Let’s go.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the Viscount with dignity. ‘Who asked him to come in? Tell me that! ’Pon my soul, it’s a nice thing, so it is, if a fellow can come poking his nose into a private card-party. I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll pull it for him.’

  Mr Drelincourt, thoroughly alarmed, cast an imploring glance at Lethbridge, who merely looked saturnine. Sir Roland, however, restrained his friend. ‘You can’t do that, Pel. Just remembered you fought the fellow. Should have pulled his nose first. Can’t do it now.’ He looked round the room with a frown. ‘’Nother thing!’ he said. ‘It was Monty’s card-party, wasn’t it? Well, this ain’t Monty’s house. Knew there was something wrong!’

  The Viscount sat up, and addressed himself to Lord Lethbridge with some severity. ‘Is this a card-party or is it not?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is not,’ replied Lethbridge.

  The Viscount rose and groped for his hat. ‘You should have said so before,’ he said. ‘If it ain’t a card-party, what the devil is it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Lethbridge. ‘It has been puzzling me for some time.’

  ‘If a man gives a party, he ought to know what kind of party it is,’ argued the Viscount. ‘If you don’t know, how are we to know? It might be a damned soirée, in which case we wouldn’t have come. Let’s go home, Pom.’

  He took Sir Roland’s arm and walked with him to the door. There Sir Roland bethought himself of something, and turned back. ‘Very pleasant evening, my lord,’ he said formally, and bowed, and went out in the Viscount’s wake.

  Mr Drelincourt waited until the two bottle-companions were well out of earshot, and gave a mirthless titter. ‘I did not know you was so friendly with Winwood,’ he said. ‘I do trust I have not broken up your party? But the rain, you know! Not a chair to be had.’

  ‘Rid yourself of the notion that any of you are here by my invitation,’ said Lethbridge unpleasantly, and moved across to the table.

  Something had caught Mr Drelincourt’s eye. He bent, and picked up from under the corner of the Persian rug a ring-brooch of diamonds and pearls of antique design. His jaw dropped; he shot a quick, acute glance at Lethbridge, who was tossing off a glass of wine. The next moment the brooch was in his pocket, and as Lethbridge turned he said airily: ‘I beg a thousand pardons! I daresay the rain will have stopped. You must permit me to take my leave.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ said Lethbridge.

  Mr Drelincourt’s eye ran over the supper-table laid for two; he wondered where Lethbridge had hidden his fair visitor. ‘Don’t, I implore you, put yourself to the trouble of coming to the door!’

  ‘I wish to assure myself that it is shut,’ said Lethbridge grimly, and ushered him out.

  Some hours later the Viscount awoke to a new but considerably advanced day, with the most imperfect recollections of the night’s happenings. He remembered enough, however, to cause him, as soon as he had swallowed some strong coffee, to fling off the bedclothes and spring up, shouting for his valet.

  He was sitting before the dressing-table in his shirt-sleeves, arranging his lace cravat, when word was brought to him that Sir Roland Pommeroy was below and desired a word with him.

  ‘Show him up,’ said the Viscount briefly, sticking a pin in the cravat. He picked up his solitaire, a narrow band of black ribbon, and was engaged in clipping this round his neck when Sir Roland walked in.

  The Viscount looked up and met his friend’s eyes in the mirror. Sir Roland was looking very solemn; he shook his head slightly, and heaved a sigh.

  ‘Don’t need you any longer, Corney,’ said the Viscount, dismissing his valet.

  The door closed discreetly behind the man. The Viscount swung round in his chair, and leaned his arms along the back of it. ‘How drunk was I last night?’ he demanded.

  Sir Roland looked more lugubrious than ever. ‘Pretty drunk, Pel. You wanted to pull that fellow Drelincourt’s nose.’

  ‘That don’t prove I was drunk,’ said the Viscount impatiently. ‘But I can’t get it out of my head that my sister Rule had something to do with it. Did she or did she not say she hit Lethbridge over the head with a poker?’

  ‘A poker, was it?’ exclaimed Sir Roland. ‘Could not for the life of me remember what it was she said she hit him with! That was it! Then you went off to see if he was dead.’ The Viscount cursed softly. ‘And I took her la’ship home.’ He frowned. ‘And what’s more, she said I was to wait on her this morning!’

  ‘It’s the devil of a business,’ muttered the Viscount. ‘What in God’s name was she doing in the fellow’s house?’

  Sir Roland coughed. ‘Naturally – needn’t tell you – can rely on me, Pel. Awkward affair – mum’s the word.’

  The Viscount nodded. ‘Mighty good of you, Pom. I’ll have to see my sister first thing. You’d best come with me.’

  He got up and reached for his waistcoat. Someone scratched on the door, and upon being told to come in, the valet entered with a sealed letter on a salver. The Viscount picked it up and broke the seal.

  The note was from Horatia, and was evidently written in great agitation. ‘Dear Pel: The most Dredful thing has happened. Please come at once. I am quite Distracted. Horry.’

  ‘Waiting for an answer?’ the Viscount asked curtly.

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then send a message to the stables, will you, and tell Jackson to bring the phaeton round.’

  Sir Roland, who had watched with concern the reading of the note, thought he had rarely seen his friend turn so pale, and coughed a second time. ‘Pel, dear old boy – must remind you – she hit him with the poker. Laid him out, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Viscount, looking a trifle less grim. ‘So she did. Help me into my coat, Pom. We’ll drive round to Grosvenor Square now.’

  When, twenty minutes later, the phaeton drew up outside Rule’s house, Sir Roland said that perhaps it would be better if he did not come in, so the Viscount entered the house alone, and was shown at once to one of the smaller saloons. Here he found his sister, looking the picture of despair.

  She greeted him without recrimination. ‘Oh, P-P
el, I’m so glad you’ve come! I am quite undone, and you must help me!’

  The Viscount laid down his hat and gloves, and said sternly: ‘Now, Horry, what happened last night? Don’t put yourself in a taking: just tell me!’

  ‘Of c-course I’m going to tell you!’ said Horatia. ‘I w-went to Richmond House to the b-ball and the fireworks.’

  ‘Never mind about the fireworks,’ interrupted the Viscount. ‘You weren’t at Richmond House, nor anywhere near it, when I met you.’

  ‘No, I was in Half-Moon Street,’ said Horatia innocently.

  ‘You went to Lethbridge’s house?’

  At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. ‘Yes, I did, but if you think I w-went there of my own choice you are quite odious!’ Her lip trembled. ‘Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.’

  ‘Well, what is the tale?’ he asked, drawing up a chair.

  She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. ‘You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman – indeed, why should I?’

  ‘What the devil has the footman to do with it?’ demanded the Viscount.

  ‘Everything,’ said Horatia. ‘He w-wasn’t the right one.’

  ‘I don’t see what odds that makes.’

  ‘I m-mean he wasn’t one of our servants at all. The c-coachman wasn’t either. They were L-Lord Lethbridge’s.’

  ‘What?’ ejaculated the Viscount, his brow growing black as thunder.

  Horatia nodded. ‘Yes, and they drove me to his house. And I w-went in before I realized.’

  The Viscount was moved to expostulate: ‘Lord, you must have known it wasn’t your house!’

  ‘I tell you I didn’t! I know it sounds stupid, but it was raining, and the f-footman held the umbrella so that I c-couldn’t see m-much and I was inside b-before I knew.’

  ‘Did Lethbridge open the door?’

  ‘N-no, the porter did.’

  ‘Then why the devil didn’t you walk out again?’

  ‘I know I should have,’ confessed Horatia, ‘but then Lord Lethbridge came out of the s-saloon, and asked me to step in. And, P-Pel, I didn’t understand; I thought it was a m-mistake, and I d-didn’t want to make a scene before the p-porter, so I went in. Only n-now I see how foolish it was of me, because if Rule comes to hear of it, and m-makes inquiries, the servants will say I went in w-willingly and so I did!’

  ‘Rule mustn’t hear of this,’ said the Viscount grimly.

  ‘No, of c-course he mustn’t, and that’s why I sent for you.’

  ‘Horry, what happened in the saloon? Come, let me hear the whole of it!’

  ‘It was d-dreadful! He said he w-was going to ravish me, and oh, Pel, it was just to revenge himself on R-Rule! So I p-pretended I might run away with him, and as soon as he turned his back, I hit him with the p-poker and escaped.’

  The Viscount drew a sigh of relief. ‘That’s all, Horry?’

  ‘No, it isn’t all,’ said Horatia desperately. ‘My g-gown was torn when he k-kissed me, and though I d-didn’t know till I got home, my brooch fell out, and, P-Pel, he’s got it now!’

  ‘Make yourself easy,’ said the Viscount, getting up. ‘He won’t have it long.’

  Catching sight of his face, which wore a starkly murderous expression, Horatia cried out: ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ said the Viscount, with a short, ugly laugh. ‘Cut the dog’s heart out!’

  Horatia sprung up suddenly. ‘P-Pel, you can’t! For g-goodness’ sake don’t fight him! You know he’s m-much better than you are, and only think of the scandal! P-Pel, you’ll ruin me if you do! You can’t do it!’

  The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!’

  ‘If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things – oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s b-bad enough with Sir Roland knowing –’

  ‘Pom!’ exclaimed the Viscount. ‘We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.’

  ‘Have him in? W-why, where is he?’

  ‘Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.’

  ‘W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,’ said Horatia dubiously. ‘But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.’

  Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. ‘Never mind about that!’ he adjured him. ‘Can I call Lethbridge out?’

  Sir Roland devoted deep thought to this, and after a long pause pronounced the verdict. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘I m-must say, you’ve got m-much more sense than I thought,’ said Horatia approvingly.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ demanded the Viscount, ‘that I’m to sit by while that dog kidnaps my sister, and do nothing? No, damme, I won’t!’

  ‘Devilish hard on you, Pel,’ agreed Sir Roland sympathetically. ‘But it won’t do, you know. Called Drelincourt out. Deal of talk over that. Call Lethbridge out – fatal!’

  The Viscount smote the table with his fist. ‘Hang you, Pom, do you realize what the fellow did?’ he cried.

  ‘Very painful affair,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Bad ton. Must hush it up.’

  The Viscount seemed to be bereft of words.

  ‘Hush it up now,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Talk dies down – say three months. Pick a quarrel with him then.’

  The Viscount brightened. ‘Ay, so I could. That solves it.’

  ‘S-solves it? It doesn’t!’ declared Horatia. ‘I m-must get my brooch back. If Rule m-misses it, it will all come out.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said her brother. ‘Say you dropped it in the street.’

  ‘It’s no good saying that! I tell you Lethbridge means m-mischief. He may wear it, just to m-make Rule suspicious.’

  Sir Roland was shocked. ‘Bad blood!’ he said. ‘Never did like the fellow.’

  ‘What sort of brooch is it?’ asked the Viscount. ‘Would Rule be likely to recognize it?’

  ‘Yes, of c-course he would! It’s part of a set, and it’s very old – fifteenth century, I think.’

  ‘In that case,’ decided his lordship, ‘we’ve got to get it back. I’d best go and see Lethbridge at once – though how I’ll keep my hands off him I don’t know. Burn it, a pretty fool I look, calling on him last night!’

  Sir Roland was once more plunged in thought. ‘Won’t do,’ he said at last. ‘If you go asking for a brooch, Lethbridge is bound to guess it’s my lady’s. I’ll go.’

  Horatia looked at him with admiration. ‘Yes, that would be m-much better,’ she said. ‘You are very helpful, I think.’

  Sir Roland blushed, and prepared to set forth on his mission. ‘Beg you won’t give it a thought, ma’am. Affair of delicacy – tact required – a mere nothing!’

  ‘Tact!’ said the Viscount. ‘Tact for a hound like Lethbridge! My God, it makes me sick, so it does! You’d better take the phaeton; I’ll wait for you here.’

  Sir Roland once more bowed over Horatia’s hand. ‘Shall hope to put the brooch in your hands within half an hour, ma’am,’ he said, and departed.

  Left alone with his sister, the Viscount began to pace about the room, growling something under his breath whenever he happened to think of Lethbridge’s iniquity. Presently he st
opped short. ‘Horry, you’ll have to tell Rule. Damme, he’s a right to know!’

  ‘I c-can’t tell him!’ Horatia answered with suppressed passion. ‘Not again!’

  ‘Again?’ said his lordship. ‘What do you mean?’

  Horatia hung her head, and recounted haltingly the story of the ridotto at Ranelagh. The Viscount was delighted with at least one part of the story, and slapped his leg with glee.

  ‘Yes, b-but I didn’t know it was Rule, and so I had to confess it all to him next d-day and I won’t – I won’t make another c-confession! I said I w-wouldn’t see anything of Lethbridge while he was away and I can’t, I c-can’t tell him about this!’

  ‘I don’t see it,’ said the Viscount. ‘Plenty to bear you out. Coachman – what happened to him, by the way?’

  ‘D-drugged,’ she replied.

  ‘All the better,’ said his lordship. ‘If the coach came back to the stables without him, obviously you’re telling the truth.’

  ‘But it didn’t! He was too clever,’ said Horatia bitterly. ‘I had the c-coachman in this morning. He thinks it was the b-bad beer, and the coach was taken back to the tavern. So I said I had been forced to get a link-boy to summon me a hackney. And I d-didn’t think it was quite fair to send him off when I knew he and the footman had been d-drugged, so I said this time I wouldn’t tell Rule.’

  ‘That’s bad,’ said the Viscount, frowning. ‘Still, Pom and I know you hit Lethbridge on the head, and got away.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said mournfully. ‘Of c-course you would be bound to stand by me, and that’s what Rule would think.’

  ‘But hang it, Horry, why should he?’

  ‘Well, I – well, I w-wasn’t very nice to him b-before he went away, and he wanted me to g-go with him and I wouldn’t, and d-don’t you see, P-Pel, it looks as if I p-planned it all, and hadn’t really given up Lethbridge at all? And I l-left that horrid b-ball early, to make it worse!’

  ‘It don’t look well, certainly,’ admitted the Viscount. ‘Have you quarrelled with Rule?’

  ‘No. N-not quarrelled. Only – No.’

  ‘You’d best tell me, and be done with it,’ said his lordship severely. ‘I suppose you’ve been up to your tricks again. I warned you he wouldn’t stand for ’em.’