“Only just now you were admiring the sparkle in another pair of eyes,” she challenged him.
She had a full rich voice, with just a hint of an Irish lilt. He shook his head, and, releasing the lock of hair, took her hand and carried it to his lips in a practised manner. His eyes caressed her face.
“There are no eyes but yours.”
“Very pretty.” She raised the fan that was dangling from her wrist, and lightly tapped him on the cheek with it. “But who was she, the babe you were talking to?”
He shrugged. “No one of importance. A friend of my younger sister’s.”
“She’s pretty,” said the lady, her eyes following Susan round the room for a few moments. “Do you not admire her colouring?”
“If I do,” he said with a drawl, “it is only because your own is very similar.”
“Her figure is graceful,” continued his companion, “and she carries herself well. I believe she might even appear quite creditably on the stage.”
He laughed softly. “Where you know very well she would be outshone by one Maria McCann, the toast of Dublin, and of London, too.”
“Not yet of London,” she corrected him. “You must give me a little more time here before that can be true.”
“All the time in the world,” he promised. “But need it be spent here in Town, and in acting? I have a tolerable house in the country, or we might take one in Brighton, if you’d prefer it. I am open to suggestion.”
“But I am not,” she replied, softening the firm reply with a smile which dimpled her cheek. “Acting is my livelihood, I must remind you.”
“That could be changed.” He rested his arm along the back of her chair.
“For how long?” The smile was still there, but now there was a fixed quality about it. “I have not been long in London, but long enough to hear of Beau Eversley’s amours.”
“You should never heed gossips, my dear,” he drawled, moving his arm until it just touched her barely concealed shoulders.
“No? Then what should I do?”
“‘Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.’” he quoted, promptly.
She laughed, a soft musical sound that set a more rapid beat to his pulses.
“I could remind you of the reply to that. ‘If all the world and love were young, and truth in every shepherd’s tongue’ — no, sir. Give up my acting I will not, for you nor any man. When you have all done with me—” her voice dropped to a serious tone — “I still have that left; my work, and my consolation.”
“Who could possibly ever have done with you, enchantress? And what need have you of consolation?”
For a moment, the blue eyes darkened with suffering. “There are things in a woman’s life — in every woman’s life—” She broke off, resuming as if to herself — “Have you never speculated, Mr. Eversley, on the two faces of an individual? One face is for the world. Most people never see beyond that, to the other.”
“I was obliged to keep company with the philosophers in my youth. Do not, I beg you, expect me to renew that early and most uneasy acquaintance. There are so many more things we might talk about — or, better still, we need not talk at all. We could eat, for instance.” He waved his hand over the table, which was amply spread with meats and choice fruits, and had a basket of dark red roses as a centre-piece.
She turned a vivid look upon him, all trace of her former grave manner completely vanished.
“Yes — we will eat a little, and drink a little—”
“And perhaps even love a little,” he finished, softly, taking up his glass again.
A SURPRISE FOR THE BEAU
A few days later, Beau Eversley looked in at his parents’ house in Curzon Street.
He was greeted enthusiastically by his sister Georgiana, who flung her arms about him in abandon.
“Steady!” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and prudently removed the lapels of his well-tailored coat from her clutches. “I’ve no wish to look as though I’ve been in a bear-garden.” He held her at arms’ length, surveying her with quizzical affection. “Well, I must say you don’t look as though your years with Miss Fanchington had done you any lasting harm. What do you say, Mother?”
Viscountess Eversley lifted her gaze from the paper she had been studying. The frown cleared from her face as her eyes rested on her eldest son.
“She is well enough; but she will have to put by some of her hoydenish ways if we are to bring her into Polite Society. I am glad you are come, Hugh, for perhaps you can make her see some reason about this list.” She tapped the paper before her. “It’s too absurd! The child wants to invite every girl who was ever at school with her, to her coming-out party!”
“Why not?” asked Beau Eversley, straightening his cravat. “I shouldn’t think anyone else will want to come.”
Georgiana exclaimed in disgust and Lady Eversley gave him a reproachful glance.
“Don’t quiz her, I beg! It only wastes time, and I do want to get something settled, for the invitations must go out within the next day or two.”
“I warn you I don’t look for the honour of one.”
“Of course not! As though I am such a goose as to send a formal invitation, to my own brother!” exclaimed Georgiana, laughing.
“You do mean to come, though, Hugh, do you not?” asked his mother, sharply.
“It’s more than I bargain for; coming-out parties are not much in my line,” he replied, carelessly.
“Oh, but you must come!” insisted Georgiana. “All the family will be there — you couldn’t possibly stay away, you can’t be serious!”
“Even Fredrick and George are to come, although it means abandoning their studies for a day or two,” put in Lady Eversley.
“What you should say, ma’am, is because it means abandoning their studies,” corrected her son. “I can think of no other reason to bring two such unlikely starters as my brothers to do the polite to a gaggle of young ladies fresh from Miss Fanchington’s tender care.”
“They are very charming girls,” said his sister, heatedly, “and there is no need for you to take that superior tone about them! We are all aware of your preference for quite another kind of female—”
“Georgiana!” The snap in her mother’s voice made Georgy pull herself erect, as if she were still in Miss Fanchington’s presence. “You will mind your tongue, miss, or you will spend the next few days in your room on a diet of bread and water!”
“Yes, Mama. I beg your pardon.”
“So I should think. Let me remind you that a young lady of quality is never unmaidenly. I am sure you must have been told so, before this.”
“Yes, Mama,” answered Georgiana, meekly.
“Very well, then.” Lady Eversley turned her attention to her son. “But I trust you are only funning, Hugh, when you say you do not mean to be at your sister’s party. It is only right that you should, as you must certainly realize. Everyone has been invited — everyone of any significance, that is — and we are something short on gentlemen as it is.” She paused. “Barbara Radley will be coming.”
He shrugged. “So?”
She threw him a quick, appraising look. “Oh, nothing. Only last time you were in company with her, I heard that you actually danced with her twice.”
“The old pussies have been busy, as usual,” he said, stifling a yawn. “If they could not give an account of every bachelor’s dances and every female’s dress, God knows what they would find to talk about. Yes, now I come to think of it, I did dance with her twice, but it was only to avoid having to partner Miss Rumbold. If there’s one kind of female I abominate more than another, it’s the gushing kind.”
“That’s not all, though,” persisted his mother. “I fancied there was a period about six months ago when you were paying her a certain amount of attention. Nothing marked, I admit, except to one who knew you well.”
“I beg, ma’am, you will confine your attention to Georgiana’s affairs,” he replied, som
ewhat stiffly. “My own go on very well, I thank you.”
“Now, don’t get in your high ropes, my dear. Only I do think I should be able to drop you a little hint now and then. You know how very much your father and I would like to see you settled.”
The Beau inspected his fingernails, but said nothing. “If you have a preference for the Radley girl, I am sure no one could be more suitable — birth, fortune—”
“And she is pretty,” interposed Georgiana, coyly.
“I believe we were discussing your party,” drawled her brother, pulling out his watch and consulting it. “In any case, I can’t stay more than a minute or two. I have an engagement.”
“Oh, very well!” shrugged Lady Eversley. “I suppose you will take your own way, as always.” She turned her attention again to the list before her. “I don’t know the half of these people, Georgiana,” she complained, a trifle pettishly. “Who is Susan Fyfield? You’ve marked her name with a cross, I see.”
“Oh, yes, she’s—” began Georgy, but she was interrupted by her brother, who repeated the name, then chuckled.
Both Georgiana and her mother stared at him for a moment.
“You don’t know Susan, do you?” asked Georgy, incredulously.
“In a manner of speaking, yes; and then, again, no.”
“Well, if you’re to speak in riddles, I have done!” exclaimed his sister. “Either you do know her, or you don’t! Which is it?”
“Who is she my dear?” asked Lady Eversley, plaintively.
“Oh, she was my best friend at school — my very best, Mama!”
“Do I know her family? Fyfield, I think you said—”
Georgy shook her head impatiently. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Her parents are dead, and she lives with a widowed aunt in Duke Street.”
“Then I don’t know them,” said her mother, decidedly. “And I don’t think we can very well ask people with whom I am not acquainted. There will be enough—”
“Oh, never mind that now, Mama! I want to know what Hugh means.” She took her brother by the arm. “Do you really know Susan? Do tell me, Hugh!”
He shook her gently off, and inspected his sleeve in mock alarm. “I see you’re determined to ruin the set of this coat if I don’t tell you all. Very well. I met Miss Fyfield at old Horry Walpole’s — you may remember, Mother, my telling you I had called at Strawberry Hill one day last month.”
Lady Eversley nodded. Georgiana was silent for a moment; then she burst out, “But what was Susan doing at Strawberry Hill? One day last month, you say? But we were both at school, then, and I know she didn’t have permission to go out, or she would have told me of it—” She broke off, frowning.
“There was certainly no permission given for this outing. The young lady confessed as much. As for what she was doing there — well, she said she wished to have a closer look at the house. I must admit I didn’t find it an altogether convincing explanation.”
‘‘Wait a moment!” Georgy paused evidently turning something over in her mind. “There was one afternoon, I remember, when we were supposed to be walking in the school grounds, and Susan was missing — I looked for her, and couldn’t find her anywhere. Naturally, I kept quiet about it, for fear of getting her into trouble — Oh!” she stopped as a sudden thought struck her. “And now I know why she went to Strawberry Hill,” she finished, her eyes dancing with merriment.
“Then perhaps you will enlighten me,” said her brother.
“Oh, no! You are by far too conceited already! But you actually spoke to her, then? Did she go to the house and ask for Mr. Walpole while you were there?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing of the kind. She crept into the gardens unseen, and I surprised her lurking in the shelter of some trees, where Mr. Walpole and I were walking.”
Georgiana laughed. “How very like Susan! But she didn’t say one word to me of all this — though I understand very well why, in spite of the fact that in general we tell each other everything.”
“You grow mysterious, my child,” said her brother. “Pray explain yourself.”
“Not I! That is Susan’s secret. You must ask her yourself, when you see her at my party.”
“Which you most certainly will not do,” put in Lady Eversley, firmly. “Not only am I unacquainted with the girl’s family, but she sounds a most unsuitable friend for you, Georgiana! A girl who can get up to such starts must be lost to all sense of what is proper.”
“Nonsense, ma’am,” interrupted Hugh. “I dare say you would be shocked to learn of some of the rum starts your own daughters have got up to in their time.”
“Hugh!” exclaimed his sister, in horror. “If you dare breathe a word of anything I’ve told you in confidence—”
“What’s this?” queried Lady Eversley, suspiciously. “Nothing of interest, Mother,” replied Hugh, soothingly. “One or two silly childhood scrapes still weigh a little heavily on Georgy’s over-active conscience, that is all.” He drew closer to his sister, and added, in a low tone so that their mother could not hear, “But I may find myself remembering something more recent, if you don’t tell me why your little friend went to Strawberry Hill.”
“You are the greatest beast in nature!” whispered back Georgy, with feeling. “But if you must know, she went there because I had told her earlier that you would be visiting Mr. Walpole that day.”
“Good God!” said Beau Eversley, in a strangled tone.
TEARS AT THE PARTY
The Honourable Georgiana Eversley’s party was one of many that were given for young ladies of her age in that particular London Season. To attend one was to attend all. There would be the same fashionable company, the ladies expensively gowned in the new classical mode, the gentlemen wearing well-cut tail coats with the knee-breeches and silk stockings which were still de rigueur for evening wear. There would be an orchestra discreetly placed in a gallery or on a dais set above the ballroom which would be gay and fragrant with flowers. The guests would be received on the threshold by the young lady of the evening and her family, and afterwards they would pass on to greet other friends and acquaintances who were present. After a discreet interval, there would be dancing for the younger guests while the older women would sit gossiping in small groups, and their husbands disappear for a quiet game of cards with a few cronies in an adjoining room. Towards midnight, supper would be announced; the guests would range themselves around the flower-decked tables where glass and silver sparkled in the light of the chandeliers, and proceed to dispatch with greater or less alacrity the products of a famous catering house. In only one respect did Georgiana’s party differ from all the others: it was to be graced by the presence of Beau Eversley.
To Susan, this was a new world. From the moment that she entered the huge room amid a buzz of conversation and the soft playing of the orchestra in the background, she felt both elated and shy. Everything was larger than life. Her friend Georgiana looked magnificent in a pure white gown, the emeralds in her ears setting off the living beauty of her auburn hair. She greeted Susan in her usual enthusiastic way, and thrust her towards Lady Eversley, who was standing at her side.
“Mama, this is Susan Fyfield, my very special friend.”
Susan glanced in awe at the imposing lady in green satin with the ostrich plumes in her hair. Lady Eversley bowed slightly and smiled, but did not offer her hand. She repeated the civility to Susan’s aunt, who had been asked as a matter of form; it would not have been proper for Susan to attend the party alone.
“Sue, I can’t join you now, perhaps not for ages and ages!” whispered Georgy, hurriedly. “I must be here to receive all the guests, but one of my brothers will present some eligible partners to you when the dancing begins. Oh, and you will find some of the other girls from school somewhere in the room—” She glanced about her swiftly, then shook her head. “I can’t see anyone at present — but no doubt you’ll run across them! Now, where are those brothers of mine? Freddy!” She raised her voice just sufficientl
y to reach the ears of a young man of some fifteen years of age, who was standing a little distance away on his own, gloomily surveying the animated scene. “Freddy, come here a moment! I want to present you to a very particular friend of mine. Where is George?”
The boy turned his handsome tawny head, and approached a shade reluctantly. Under his mother’s watchful eye, however, he did what civility demanded; shaking hands with both Mrs. Fyfield and Susan, and conducting them to two vacant seats not too close to the orchestra.
This duty performed, he lingered uneasily, too polite to make his escape immediately, yet at a loss for conversation. Susan saw his predicament, and wished to help him, but could not herself think of anything to say. It was left to her aunt to fill the breach.
“How very like your sister you are!” she began.
Fredrick Eversley looked towards Georgiana. “Lud, ma’am, d’ye really think so?” he asked, anxiously. “Never mind — perhaps I’ll grow out of it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why you should wish to,” replied Mrs. Fyfield, while Susan laughed. “Miss Eversley is really an exceptionally striking young lady — such height, and so stately a carriage, and then that wonderful, glowing hair!”
“Carrots,” muttered Freddy.
“I beg your pardon?”
He started “Oh — I am sorry, ma’am. Not everyone admires the family hair, though — for my first few years at school, I was always known as Carrots.”
“Oh, well, schoolboys!” said Mrs. Fyfield indulgently. “They will always be making jest of something or other — not that I know much of boys, for I never had but one daughter. Still, evidently they grew tired of the joke as time went on, for you said it was only at first.”
“They didn’t exactly grow tired of it,” said Freddy judicially. “It was more that I persuaded them to think better of it by and by.” He regarded his fists thoughtfully.
The Clandestine Betrothal Page 4