These musings were cut short by the sound of a heavy footstep in the corridor. Recognizing at once his brother’s tred, Sir Basil started up. The wide, welcoming smile which he had carefully arranged upon his features was destined to fall almost instantly, however.
“By Jove!” cried he, rising from his chair as the door swung open to admit Lord Hargate. That gentleman being constructed along very solid lines, his figure nearly filled the doorway. Lord Hargate was not so tall as his younger brother, but nearly twice as broad. Across his vast paunch was stretched a waistcoat of a very brilliant shade of blue, threaded through with silver and crimson. His collar points nearly brushed his ears, his cravat was knotted about a dozen times, and his scrawny calves, which seemed every moment in danger of collapsing beneath the immense weight of his frame, were done up in scarlet hose. Hargate had not inherited the same dignity of feature as had his sibling, and across the whole of his wide and almost feminine countenance was spread an idiotic grin.
“By Jove!” cried Sir Basil again, a little more restrained this time, for he had been taken aback by the increased proportion of his brother’s figure, and suspected, from the bright flush on that gentleman’s cheeks, that he had already imbibed a good deal of wine that day. “How good to see you, Hargate, after all these years!”
“ ’Mensely good, ’mensely good!” agreed the elder heartily, staggering a little in his progress toward the Baronet. There were such embraces exchanged as Sir Basil could tolerate, considering the strength of spirits on his brother’s breath, and then His Lordship collapsed into the nearest armchair.
“ ’Mensely good!” he repeated, beaming foolishly. “And t’ what my dear brother, do we owe this honour? I thought you were in France. Paris, ain’t it?”
Sir Basil managed to suppress his amazement at this marked indication of his brother’s information, or perhaps memory.
“Paris—yes. I have been His Highness’s envoy to the French court these last four years.”
Lord Hargate looked only half enlightened.
“But did you not receive my letter?” inquired the Baronet, beginning to feel that he was moving in a dream.
“Letter? No, no, I do not recollect anything about a letter. Was there one?”
Sir Basil sighed. Evidently, marriage had done little to improve the powers of his brother’s mind.
“I sent a message some days before I left to warn you of my visit. I have been called home on pressing business and hoped I might impose upon you and my sister-in-law for a day or two.”
“Ah!” No greater reaction seemed forthcoming, and Sir Basil pressed on:
“Well! You seem very well. I have not seen you since the old man’s death. Four years ago, that was.”
Lord Hargate’s expression suddenly brightened.
“Four years ago! Good Heavens! It don’t seem that long! Have you really been away four years? Well, well! I suppose you have.”
And as if something in his brain had been given a brisk shake, Lord Hargate suddenly snapped to life. With the keenest interest he demanded:
“What do they feed you in France, eh? I hear the cuisine is dashed good there. But you look slender as a knife, if you don’t mind my saying so. Ought to feed yourself properly, you know, old boy. Don’t want to waste away to nothing.”
Sir Basil smiled dryly. Here was the brother he knew.
“No fear of that, Hargate. I am fed perfectly well.”
“Ah! Well, your coat is exceptionally handsome. Did you have it tailored there? Bit plain for my taste, but a nice bit of cloth, you know. I hear the Frenchies are pretty well with lady’s finery, but when it comes to men, they cannot hold a candle to our old Hingham on Bond Street.”
Sir Basil responded with a smile that he had never heard the French tailors condemned, and then endeavoured to steer the conversation in another direction. But his brother would not leave off interrogating him about the life at Court, and whether the ladies were very pretty, and what sort of neck cloth was in fashion, and whether the wine was better on the other side of the Channel. Though seeming to have very little curiosity about any more serious matter, these points were of infinite interest to him. Sir Basil would have liked to have got straight to the point—his own point, at any rate—but saw at once that he must humour his brother’s curiosity, and providing as many anecdotes as he could muster about life at the Tuileries, he strove to do just that. Having passed nearly half an hour in this fashion, he ventured on to another topic.
“But enough about my own life, Hargate! You must tell me about yourself. You seem prosperous enough, and, I take it, happy?”
Lord Hargate’s smile faded. “Prosperous, old chap? Oh, nothing like! I wish I could say I was. But everything is so dashed expensive these days. It is all I can do to keep my poor Louisa properly clad, and the carriages in decent style. Why, it seems to me that Father was never so hard-up as I always feel! Just at the moment, by the nonce, I am particularly out of pocket. Louisa had just done redecorating the house again, and the other evening at White’s I was unlucky enough to lose fifty thousand pounds to that cad Marlborough. I cannot fathom how he manages it, but he never fails to rob me, and he is twice as rich as I, at least!”
“Fifty thousand pounds!” Sir Basil could not help crying out, “You lost fifty thousand pounds in one evening? Good God, man, you ought not to be allowed in a card room!” Especially not, he added to himself, since you have about as much wit at baccarat as you have at conversation. I cannot blame Marlborough for robbing you, as it is so easy.
“Ah, but you must not blame me, Basil,” Lord Hargate was saying with a whimper, “for I am ever in hopes of making up what I have lost. I have a horse entered at Ascot for the Winter races which I am sure shall more than compensate me for my losses at cards. And in the meantime,” he added, brightening, I suppose you could not advance me thirty or forty thousand until the next quarter?”
Sir Basil stared back in amazement. Could he believe his own ears? He had not crossed the Channel and traveled in a springless coach all day in order to sign over his fortune to his profligate brother. Quite the contrary. He had come in hopes of being granted a rather generous favour himself. Remembering this suddenly, he managed to turn his shocked expression into a kinder one.
“Oh, if only I could, my dear brother, you may be sure that I would. But if you remember correctly, I received only a pittance of your inheritance from our father’s settlement, and have, besides that, a mere nothing from the Crown to compensate me for my labours on the Regent’s behalf. A mere thirty or forty thousand pounds must last me all year.” This sounding too brusque a dismissal, Sir Basil added hastily, “However, I shall be glad to help you in any other way I can. Marlborough owes me one or two little favours himself, and I believe I may be able to persuade him to forestall his payment for a while, till it suits you to pay.”
Lord Hargate looked a little mollified at this. Indeed, his prompt expressions of gratitude were so vociferous and extravagant that they might have repelled his brother still further had not that gentleman a very real desire to make Hargate aware of his indebtedness.
“And your lovely bride?” he quickly interrupted. “I trust she is as bright and gay as ever?”
“Ah, Louisa!” exclaimed Lord Hargate after a moment, for he had not recognized at first this depiction of Lady Hargate. “Yes, yes, she is very well, thank you, although she complains daily of migraines, and tells me she had not felt well this last year. I believe it is the children, you know. She is such a delicate creature, and cannot abide their noisy playing.”
“Ah, your dear little children!” Sir Basil fairly beamed at the mention of them. Those who knew the Baronet well would have been amazed to see him look so happy at the mention of children. He was normally no more interested in babies than he was in the cultivation of turnips, but at the moment he had his own reason for seeming to love them and for pressing his brother into a detailed account of his own. “I suppose they are just beginning to talk, are t
hey? And to show their dear little natures?”
As it happened, Lord Hargate was excessively fond of his children, and he now showed himself more than happy to narrate their most recent triumphs in the matter of learning to talk and to play with their dolls. His account lasted for some little while, and at the end of it, Sir Basil (who had endeavoured to keep a rapt expression upon his face during the whole of the lengthy and tedious narrative), declared:
“Why, Hargate, I believe you must be the happiest of men! Fancy having so much to be cheerful about! I wish I could boast so much good fortune. The life of a bachelor is very lonely sometimes, and though I have much to occupy me in my work, I admit there are times when I long for a little of these homely comforts which seem to surround you. Ah, for the patter of little feet above one’s head! What a lucky fellow you are, to be sure.”
Lord Hargate smiled his delightful agreement. He had never displayed much perception in the matter of human conduct, and never having interested himself in the ideas of the tastes of his brother, he was not amazed to hear himself thus envied. What could be more natural, after all, than that Sir Basil should wish to emulate him in everything? Through the slow fog of his mind, which was further thickened by his recent nap and the bottle of port he had drunk to induce him into it, began to creep the thin ray of an idea. He had not formerly questioned the purpose of his younger brother’s return. It was not his habit to question very much, but rather to take life more or less as it presented itself to him, without any presumption that it could be changed by his own efforts. But his wife, who was of a very different turn of mind, had managed to persuade him that all men should be married, and that any who were not thus happily attached, should be made to do so at once. Having no great ambitions of his own, Lord Hargate had come in the eleven years of his marriage to adopt those of Lady Hargate, and now, staring at his brother, he began to smile ingenuously.
“Oh, I see what you are about, Basil! By Jove, what a splendid idea! You have come back to be married, and wish Louisa and me to find the lady for you!”
Nothing could have been further from Sir Basil’s mind. For five and thirty years he had managed to escape the toils of matrimony, and he had no intention whatsoever of sacrificing his blissful solitude at this late date. He had his own reasons for praising the state of marriage, and of parenthood, Just now, but they had nothing to do with wishing them upon himself. He saw, however, that his diplomatic overtures had been too subtle for Lord Hargate. He had better get to the point at once, or risk venturing still farther into dangerous waters. With a modest expression, therefore, he hastily replied, “I could never impose so much upon you, Hargate. No, no—I fear I must envy you from a distance. I am not worthy of your felicity.”
“Nonsense, old boy!” came the instantaneous retort. “Nothing could be simpler! Louisa is an absolute miracle-worker. She’ll have you married off in no time at all, and to some pretty fair young thing, I’ll venture! Only leave it to her, and you’ll be a happier man in no time.”
In vain did Sir Basil attempt to divert his brother’s mind from this delightful prospect. Having once seized upon an idea, Lord Hargate found it difficult to let it go. So thoroughly had he been indoctrinated into his wife’s way of thinking that matchmaking had become nearly as pleasurable an occupation to him as baccarat. His eyes began to clear, his voice took on a happy, lilting tone, and he even commenced rubbing his hands together in happy anticipation. Sir Basil had little opportunity, in the face of so much goodwill, to make himself clear. Even had he actually blurted out his real feelings and demanded on the spot the very favour he had traveled from France to procure, it is doubtful his brother would have heard him. He saw that he had much better let this little blaze of enthusiasm die down of its own accord before he absolutely doused it with the truth. Determining therefore, to be as genial as possible, he smiled at the troubles Lord Hargate was already preparing to take on his behalf. The shudder he felt upon even conceiving of himself as throttled by a wife was suffered inwardly, and he even managed to beckon up a grateful smile when, despite all his urgings to remain where he was, Lord Hargate went off in search of his lady, saying that he could not wait to tell her the news.
Sir Basil, left alone once more, stared dolefully into the fire. What a tedious business this was turning out to be! Little had he imagined, when he had received that astounding letter from his solicitor some weeks before informing him that he had been named guardian to a twelve-year-old child he had neither seen nor spoken to, that he might also fall mercy to his sister-in-law’s matchmaking ruses. Suddenly the weariness of twelve hours’ upon the road overcame him. As he watched the amber and crimson flames flicker in the grate, the elegant lids began to droop a little above the keen gray eyes. That mind, which was said to have outwitted some of the most conniving brains in Europe, found itself powerless in the face of the latest development. How could he persuade his sister-in-law that he wished her not to marry him off, but rather to undertake the care of his ward? It was a delicate matter at best, and one which, exhausted as he was by the aggravations of travel and the accumulated strain of nerves, had better have been put off until another day. But Sir Basil was not destined to be allowed any respite, for in a very few moments the door to the library was again thrust open, and there, in the full glory of her yellow ringlets and the combined arts of every dressmaker in London, stood Lady Hargate.
Chapter II
Louisa Hargate was thirty-two. When she had been in the full flower of girlhood, coddled by a doting father and a mama who would deny her nothing, she had been called lovely. Her beauty was of that type, however, which does not take kindly to the passing years. Her nose was too small and tended upward at the tip, her mouth was a trifle full and nearly always formed into a pout, and those ingredients of beauty which are thought sufficient for a girl of eighteen, consisting of a blooming complexion and shining yellow curls, had not survived her twentieth birthday. Her eyes were large and blue, however, and had they shone with that inner animation of spirit and intelligence which can sometimes make a homely face seem beautiful, she might still have preserved some degree of handsomeness. But as it was, her gaze was as glassy as a doll’s, for Lady Hargate’s mind was seldom employed in any occupation greater than choosing a gown from one of her closets, and her thoughts were nearly always turned inward, upon herself. In eleven years of marriage, she had made so little progress toward adulthood that she still affected the look and manner of a debutante. The effect, in combination with her style of dress (tending as it did toward multitudinous frills and furbelows and ornamented by innumerable pastel ribbons), made her look like a silly woman, which indeed was an opinion not unwidely held. At the moment of her entrance into her husband’s study, however, the usual blank expression of her eyes had given way to an animated sparkle nearly approaching excitement.
Lord Hargate’s news, that his brother had arrived from France and was desirous of a wife, had come at the most propitious moment, for Lady Hargate had just been weeping over her misfortune in leading so dull a life, in which nothing seemed ever to occur. She was sick to death, she had informed her maid, of every frock in her closet, and had not even any interest in buying a new one, for what would it avail her? She alone, of all the people of her acquaintance, had not been invited on a hunting party. Though it was well known that Lady Hargate abhorred the out-of-doors and was terrified of large animals, she felt herself absolutely maligned by this oversight of her acquaintances. And, as if that were not enough, it seemed that Lady Huntington had been selected above herself to preside over the membership at Almack’s, with My Lady Jersey and My Lady Southington, and that shrew, the Princess Lieven. In truth, it was beyond her capacity of understanding how life could be so unjust and thrust her into so miserable a state of loneliness and ennui.
The appearance of her husband at the door of her boudoir had done little to soothe her. The sight of him, in fact, only served to remind her of her misfortunes. She ought to have listened to her mama and marrie
d Baron Orthwaite instead. Hargate was a fat, stupid, unbearable brute, and had made her bear three children, which had nearly killed her. And yet the pain of giving birth had been nothing, she was sure, as compared to the hardships of later motherhood. The mere sight of her children was a daily reminder that she was no longer a girl and that life was every moment slipping through her fingers.
Poor Lord Hargate could hardly have known, as his wife looked sweetly up at him, with tears shining in her eyes, what was in her thoughts. His only desire was to see her look cheerful again, and as he recounted his news, he had the pleasure of watching the tears dry up in her eyes, and her little mouth form itself into a trembling smile. Could this be true? Could Sir Basil actually have returned, and did he indeed wish her to help him find a wife? All at once ideas began to course through her brain. Sir Basil had attained a certain renown in London for his wondrous handling of the French. His name had become nearly as famous as Wellington’s among the ton. To appear beside him in society could not but add luster to her own reputation, especially if it was known that she was his intimate friend and had been particularly requested to procure him a wife. Only think what envy she would cause amongst her friends! The idea made Lady Hargate as blissful as a lark in June. No sooner had she heard the news than she was smiling all over her face and calling for a fresh gown.
“Only think,” she told her husband as they descended the stairs together, “how fortunate we were not to have gone hunting!”
The sight of Sir Basil, if it were possible, raised Lady Hargate’s spirits even more. To the delight of seeing a new face was added the satisfaction of remembering how well-formed her brother-in-law’s was. He was tall and well-made and had an elegant bearing, and his coat was made out of the best piece of broadcloth she had ever seen. His greeting, which was very gallant, instantly ingratiated him.
The Determined Bachelor Page 2