The scowl still lingered on her brow. “I’m g-going to luncheon with Lady M-Mallory,” she informed him.
“It is not yet time for luncheon,” he replied.
“No, but I have to change my g-gown.”
“That is naturally important,” agreed the Earl.
“Well, it is,” she insisted.
The Earl held the door into the library open. Up went Horatia’s chin. “I m-may as well tell you, my lord, that I’m feeling c-cross, and when I’m cross I don’t talk to p-people.”
Across the wide stretch of hall the Earl’s eyes met and held hers. “Horry,” he said pleasantly, “you know how much I dislike exertion. Don’t put me to the trouble of fetching you.”
The chin came down a little, and the smouldering eyes showed a certain speculative interest. “C-carry me, do you m-mean? I wonder if you would?”
The gravity of Rule’s expression was dispelled by a slight look of amusement. “And I wonder whether you really think that I would not?” he said.
A door at the end of the hall, leading to the servants’ quarters, opened, and a footman came out. Horatia shot a triumphant glance at the Earl, set one foot on the bottom stair, hesitated, and then swung round and walked back into the library.
The Earl closed the door. “You play fair, Horry, at all events,” he remarked.
“Of c-course,” said Horatia, seating herself on the arm of a chair and once more tossing her ill-used hat aside. “I did not m-mean to be disobliging, but when you talk me over with your sister it makes me f-furious.”
“Are you not rather leaping to conclusions?” suggested Rule.
“Well, anyway, she said she had been t-telling you that you ought to beat me,” said Horatia, kicking her heel against the chair-leg.
“She is full of good advice,” agreed his lordship. “But I haven’t beaten you yet, Horry, in spite of it.”
Slightly mollified, the bride remarked: “No, b-but I think when she says things about m-me you might defend m-me, sir.”
“You see, Horry,” said his lordship with a certain deliberation, “you make that rather difficult.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Horatia flushed to the roots of her hair, and said, stammering painfully: “I’m s-sorry. I d-don’t m-mean to behave outrageously. W-what have I done n-now?”
“Oh, nothing really very desperate, my dear,” Rule said non-committally. “But do you think you could refrain from introducing a wild animal into Polite Circles?”
A giggle, hastily choked, escaped her. “I was afraid you’d hear about that,” she confessed. “B-but it was quite an accident, I assure you, and—and very diverting.”
“I haven’t the least doubt of that,” Rule replied.
“Well, it truly was, M-Marcus. It jumped on to Crosby’s shoulder and p-pulled his wig off. But nobody m-minded at all, except Crosby. I’m afraid it isn’t a very well-trained monkey.”
“I’m afraid it can’t be,” said Rule. “Some such suspicion did cross my mind when I found it had—er—visited the breakfast-table before me the other morning.”
“Oh dear!” Horatia said contritely. “I am very sorry. Only Sophia Colehampton has one, and it goes everywhere with her, so I thought I would have one too. However, I d-don’t really like it m-much, so I think I won’t keep it. Is that all?”
He smiled. “Alas, Horry, it is only the beginning. I think—yes, really I think you must explain some of these.” He drew the sheaf of bills out of his pocket and gave them to her.
On top lay a sheet of paper covered with Mr Gisborne’s neat figures. Horatia gazed in dismay at the alarming total. “Are they—all mine?” she faltered.
“All yours,” said his lordship calmly.
Horatia swallowed. “I d-didn’t mean to spend as m-much as that. Indeed I c-can’t imagine how it can have come about.”
The Earl took the bills from her, and began to turn them over. “No,” he agreed, “I have often thought it very odd how bills mount up. And one must dress, after all.”
“Yes,” nodded Horatia, more hopefully. “You do understand that, d-don’t you, Marcus?”
“Perfectly. But—forgive my curiosity, Horry—do you invariably pay a hundred and twenty guineas for a pair of shoes?”
“What?” shrieked Horatia. The Earl showed her the bill.
She stared at it with dawning consternation. “Oh!” she said. “I—I remember now. You s-see, Marcus, they—they have heels studded with emeralds.”
“Then the matter becomes comprehensible,” said his lordship.
“Yes. I wore them at the Subscription-ball at Almack’s. They are called venez-y-voir, you know.”
“That would account, no doubt,” remarked Rule, “for the presence of the three young gentlemen whom I found—er—assisting at your toilet that evening.”
“B-but there is nothing in that, Rule!” objected Horatia, lifting her downcast head. “It is quite the thing for gentlemen to be admitted as soon as the under-dress is on. I know it is, b-because Lady Stokes d-does it. They advise one how to p-place one’s p-patches, and where to bestow one’s flowers, and what p-perfume to use.”
If the Earl of Rule found anything amusing in being instructed by his bride in the art of dalliance the only sign he gave of it was the very faintest quiver of the lips. “Ah!” he said. “And yet—” he looked down at her, half-smiling—“And yet I believe I might advise you in these matters to even better purpose.”
“B-but you’re my husband,” Horatia pointed out.
He turned back to the bills. “That is undoubtedly a handicap,” he admitted.
Horatia appeared to consider the subject closed. She peered over his arm. “Have you f-found anything else dreadful?” she inquired.
“My dear, are we not agreed that one must dress? I don’t question your expenditure—though I confess I succumbed to curiosity over the shoes. What—shall we say—puzzles me a trifle—”
“I know,” she interrupted, sedulously regarding her feet. “You w-want to know w-why I haven’t paid them myself.”
“My inquisitive disposition,” murmured his lordship.
“I c-couldn’t,” said Horatia gruffly. “That’s w-why!”
“A very adequate reason,” said that placid voice. “But I thought I had made provision. My lamentable memory must be at fault again.”
Horatia set her teeth. “I m-may deserve it, sir, but p-please don’t be odious. You know you m-made provision.”
He laid the bills down. “Pharaoh, Horry?”
“Oh n-no, not all of it!” she said eagerly, glad to be able to produce an extenuating circumstance. “B-Basset!”
“I see.”
The note of amusement had left his voice; she ventured to raise her eyes, and saw something very like a frown on his face. “Are you d-dreadfully angry?” she blurted out.
The frown cleared. “Anger is too fatiguing an emotion, my dear. I was wondering how best to cure you.”
“C-cure me? You can’t. It’s in the b-blood,” said Horatia frankly. “And even Mama don’t disapprove of gaming. I didn’t understand it quite p-perfectly at first, and I d-daresay that is why I lost.”
“Quite possibly,” assented Rule. “Madam Wife, I am constrained to tell you—in my character of indignant husband—that I cannot countenance excessive gaming.”
“Don’t, oh don’t” implored Horatia, “m-make me promise to p-play only whisk and silver pharaoh! I c-couldn’t keep it! I will be m-more careful, and I’m sorry about those shocking bills!—Oh gracious, only look at the time! I must go, I p-positively must go!”
“Don’t distress yourself, Horry,” recommended the Earl. “To be the last arrival is always effective.” But he spoke to space. Horatia had gone.
His wife’s gyrations, however much perturbation they might occasion Lady Louisa, were watched by others with very different feelings. Mr Crosby Drelincourt, whose world had assumed a uniformly dun hue from the moment of his cousin’s betrothal, began to observ
e a ray of light breaking through the gloom, and Lady Massey, taking note of the young Countess’s every exploit and extravagance, patiently bided her time. Rule’s visits to Hertford Street had become more infrequent, but she was far too clever to reproach him, and took care to be her most charming self whenever she saw him. She was already acquainted with Horatia—a circumstance she owed to the kind offices of Mr Drelincourt, who made it his business to present her to the Countess at a ball—but beyond exchanging curtsies and polite greetings with Horatia whenever they chanced to meet she had not sought to increase the friendship. Rule had a way of seeing more than he appeared to, and it was unlikely that he would permit an intimacy between his wife and his mistress to grow up without interference.
It seemed to be Mr Drelincourt’s self-appointed duty to make presentations to his new cousin. He even presented Robert Lethbridge to her, at a drum at Richmond. His lordship had been out of town when the Earl and Countess of Rule returned from their honeymoon and by the time he first clapped eyes on the bride she had already—as young Mr Dashwood so brilliantly phrased it—Taken the Town by Storm.
Lord Lethbridge saw her first at the drum, dressed in satin soupir etouffe, with a coiffure en diademe. A patch called the Gallant was set in the middle of her cheek, and she fluttered ribbons a l’attention. She certainly took the eye, which may have been the reason for Lord Lethbridge’s absorption.
He stood against one wall of the long saloon, and his eyes rested on the bride with a curious expression in them, hard to read. Mr Drelincourt, observing him from a distance, ranged alongside, and said with a titter: “You are admiring my new cousin, my lord?”
“Profoundly,” said Lethbridge.
“For my part,” shrugged Mr Drelincourt, never one to conceal his feelings, “I find those eyebrows positively grotesque. I do not call her a beauty. Decidedly I do not.”
Lethbridge’s glance flickered to his face; his lips curled imperceptibly. “You ought to be delighted with her, Crosby,” he said.
“Pray allow me to present you to the Paragon!” said Mr Drelincourt crossly.” But I warn you, she stammers hideously.”
“And gambles, and drives gigs up St James’s,” said his lordship. “I never hoped for better.”
Mr Drelincourt looked sharply round at him. “Why—why—”
“What a fool you are, Crosby!” said Lethbridge. “Present me!”
“Really, my lord, really! Pray how am I to take that?”
“I had not the least intention of being enigmatic, believe me,” replied Lethbridge acidly. “Make me known to this excellent bride.”
“You are in a devilish humour, my lord, I protest,” complained Crosby, but he moved towards the group about Horatia. “Cousin, permit me! May I present one who is all eagerness to meet you?”
Horatia had very little desire to meet any crony of Mr Drelincourt’s, whom she cordially despised, and she turned with obvious reluctance. But the man who stood before her was not at all like Crosby’s usual companions. None of the absurdities of the Macaroni marred the elegance of his person. He was dressed with magnificence, and he seemed to be considerably older than Mr Drelincourt.
“Lord Lethbridge, my Lady Rule!” said Crosby. “You perceive him quite agog to meet the lady about whom the whole town is talking, dear cousin.”
Horatia, spreading her skirts in a curtsy, flushed a little, for Mr Drelincourt’s words stung. She arose swimmingly and extended her hand. Lord Lethbridge received it on his wrist and bent with incomparable grace to salute it. A flicker of interest awoke in Horatia’s eyes: his lordship had an air.
“Our poor Crosby has always such a happy turn of phrase,” murmured Lethbridge, and won a glimpse of a dimple. “Ah, precisely! Let me lead you to that couch, madam.”
She took his arm and went with him across the saloon. “C-Crosby detests me,” she confided.
“But of course,” said his lordship.
She frowned, rather puzzled. “That isn’t very c-civil, sir. Why should he?”
His brows rose in momentary surprise; he looked critically at her, and laughed. “Oh—because he has such execrable taste, ma’am!”
It did not seem to Horatia as though this was the reason he really had in mind, and she was about to inquire deeper into the matter when he changed the subject. “I need hardly ask, ma’am, whether you are ennuyée to the point of extinction with such affairs as these?” he said, indicating with a wave of his hand the rest of the company.
“N-no, I am not,” replied Horatia. “I l-like it.”
“Delightful!” smiled his lordship. “You infect even such jaded spirits as mine with enthusiasm.
She looked a little doubtful. What he said was excessively polite, but the tone he used held a tinge of light mockery which baffled while it intrigued her. “J-jaded spirits usually seek the c-card-room, sir,” she remarked.
He was gently fanning her with the cabriolet-fan he had taken from her hand, but he paused, and said with a quizzical look: “Ah—and so sometimes do enthusiastic ones, do they not?”
“S-sometimes,” admitted Horatia. “You have heard all about me.”
By no means, ma’am. But when I learn of a lady who never refuses a wager, why, I desire to know more of her.”
“I am certainly very p-partial to games of chance, sir,” said Horatia wistfully.
“One day you shall play your cards against me,” said Lethbridge, “if you will.”
A voice spoke immediately behind them. “Do not play with Lord Lethbridge, Ma’am, if you are wise!”
Horatia looked over her shoulder, Lady Massey had entered the saloon through a curtained archway, and was standing leaning her hand lightly on the back of the couch.
“Oh?” Horatia said, glancing at Lethbridge with new interest. “Will he fleece me?”
Lady Massey laughed: “Why ma’am, I to tell you that you are talking to the most hardened gamester of our times? Be warned, I implore you!
“Are you?” inquired Horatia, regarding Lethbridge, who had risen at Lady Massey’s approach, and was watching her with and indefinable smile. “Then I should l-like very m-much to play with you, I assure you!”
“You will need iron nerves, ma’am,” Lady Massey said banteringly. “If he were not here I might tell you some shock-ing tales about him.”
At that moment Lord Winwood, who was strolling towards the doorway, caught sight of the group by the couch, and promptly bore down upon his sister. He executed a bow in Lady Massey’s direction, and bestowed a nod on Lethbridge. “You’re very obedient, ma’am. Servant, Lethbridge. I’ve been looking all over for you, Horry. Promised to present a fellow to you.”
Horatia got up “Well b-but—”
The Viscount took her hand to draw it through his arm, and as he did so pinched her fingers significantly. Understanding this brotherly nip to mean that he had something of importance to say to her, Horatia sketched a curtsy to Lady Massey, and prepared to walk away with the Viscount, only pausing to say seriously: “P-perhaps we shall try a throw against each other some day, my lord.”
“Perhaps,” Lethbridge bowed.
The Viscount led her firmly out of earshot. “Good God, Horry, what’s all this?” he demanded, with pious intention but a complete absence of tact. “Keep away from Lethbridge: he’s dangerous. Damme, was there ever such a one for getting the wrong company?”
“I sh-shan’t keep away from him,” declared Horatia. “Lady M-Massey says he is a hardened g-gamester!”
“So he is,” said the ill-advised Viscount. “And you’re no pigeon for his plucking, Horatia, let me tell you.”
Horatia pulled her hand away, her eyes flashing. “And l-let me tell you, P-Pel, that I’m a m-married lady now, and I w-won’t be ordered about by you!”
“Married! Ay, so you are, and you’ve only to let Rule get wind of this and there’ll be the devil to pay. The Massey too! ’Pon my soul, if ever I met another to equal you!”
“W-well, and what have you against L
ady M-Massey?” said Horatia.
“What have I—? Oh Lord!” The Viscount tugged ruefully at his solitaire. “I suppose you don’t—no, exactly. Now don’t plague me with a lot of silly questions, there’s a good girl. Come and drink a glass of negus.”
Still standing by the couch, Lord Lethbridge watched the departure of the brother and sister, and turned his head to observe Lady Massey. “Thank you, my dear Caroline,” he said sweetly. “That was vastly kind of you. Did you know it?”
“Do you think me a fool?” she retorted. “When that plum drops into your hand, remember then to thank me.”
“And the egregious Winwood, I fancy,” remarked his lordship, helping himself to a pinch of snuff. “Do you want that plum to fall into my hand, dear lady?”
The look that passed between them was eloquent enough. “We need not fence,” Lady Massey said crisply. “You have your own ends to serve; maybe I can guess what they are. My ends I daresay you know.”
“I am quite sure that I do,” grinned Lethbridge. “Do forgive me, my dear, but though I have a reasonable hope of achieving mine, I’m willing to lay you any odds you don’t achieve yours. Now is not that outspoken? You did say we need not fence, did you not?”
She stiffened. “What am I to understand by that, if you please?”
“Just this,” said Lethbridge, shutting his enamelled snuffbox with a snap. “I don’t need your assistance, my love. I play my cards to suit myself, neither to oblige you nor Crosby.”
“I imagine,” she said dryly, “we all of us desire the same thing.”
“But my motive,” replied his lordship, “is by far the purest.”
Chapter Seven
Lady Massey, accepting Lethbridge’s snub with toler-able equanimity, had no difficulty in interpreting his last cryptic speech. Her momentary anger gave place immediately to a somewhat cynical amusement. She herself was hardly of the stuff that could plan the undoing of a bride for no more personal reason than a desire for revenge on the groom, but she was able to appreciate the artistry of such a scheme, while the cold-bloodedness of it, though rather shocking, could not but entertain her. There was something a little devilish in it, and it was the devil in Lethbridge that had always attracted her. Nevertheless, had Horatia been any other man’s wife than Rule’s she would have thought shame to lend herself even passively to so inhuman a piece of mischief. But Lady Massey, prepared before she set eyes on Horatia to resign herself to the inevitable, had changed her mind. She flattered herself that she knew Rule, and who knowing him could think for a moment that this ill-assorted union could end in anything but disaster? He had married for an heir, for a gracious chatelaine, certainly not for the alarums and excursions that must occur wherever Horatia went.
The Convenient Marriage Page 8