Elisabeth Kidd (15 page)

Miss Beecham could not, to more realistic eyes, be quite what the old
earl would approve, but Geoffrey had no doubt Clory could win his uncle
round, once he made clear to her the advantages of the social position she would occupy as his wife. He only wished that she did not feel obliged to tease him along, as so many young ladies did. It was very tiresome to be
continually fending off the onslaught of Miss Beecham’s other—that
was to say,
former
—beaux, who would wave to her as she passed or catch
her up on the path to exchange a few words.

Indeed, Geoffrey was rapidly approaching the edge of his tolerance
when he espied a fresh, and infinitely more menacing, threat to his hopes
in the person of a dark gentleman on an even darker horse, whom Cloris
had now caught sight of. A moment later, however, he perceived that
although Miss Beecham was staring at this gentleman, her admiration
was directed solely at his hat. The gentleman’s attention was directed not toward her at all, but toward one of the ladies in his company, who
laughed softly at something he said to her and leaned forward slightly to
repeat it to her older companion.

Baskcomb slowed the carriage to a tortoise’s pace as they approached
the Beecham party, allowing Isabel to wave happily at Cloris. When
presented to Lord Kedrington, Miss Beecham smiled dazzlingly and held
out a hand, which the viscount, with an amused glint in his grey eyes,
took and kissed lightly.

“The pleasure is wholly mine, my lord!” Clory replied to his greeting,
with a roguish look in her eyes, which made Lord Geoffrey squirm in his
saddle but appeared to have no effect whatever on Kedrington. “May I
make known to you my governess, Miss Blaine, my brother Oliver, Mr
Chatham-Hill, Mr
...
ah, I beg your pardon, Lord Geoffrey Dane.”

Bows were exchanged all around. Miss Blaine, accustomed to being treated as a convenience much like a spare umbrella or a repository for shoes to be mended, stammered slightly when Kedrington shook her hand and asked her kindly how she did. Geoffrey, seizing an opportunity to demonstrate to Miss Beecham that she was not the only fish on his
line either, bowed low over Miss Isabel Fairfax’s hand and favoured her
with one of his most charming smiles, which she returned with one of
her own. Mr Gary obligingly made way for Lord Geoffrey and turned
politely to Mrs Curtiz, while Mr Chatham-Hill and Mr Beecham, follow
ing the path of least resistance, dropped behind.

Miss Beecham enquired of Lord Kedrington how it was that she had not seen him at Almack’s last Wednesday.

“No one ever sees me at Almack’s, Miss Beecham,” he told her. “Pray
do not suppose yourself discriminated against.”

“I do not suppose it, my lord. But I should not care to be treated with strict egalité, either. It would be less than flattering to believe that you regarded me as merely another of your vast acquaintance!”

“I fear I am yet imperfectly instructed—having lived so many years
abroad, you understand—in the procedures of polite society,” the vis
count lied smoothly. “Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me how to
go on in future. What must I do?”

“Present yourself at Almack’s on Wednesday!” was Miss Beecham’s
prompt advice.

The viscount bowed. “I shall endeavour to do so, if that is your advice,
ma’am.”

So saying, he backed his horse away imperceptibly, and Cloris, unaware
that she was being dismissed, decided, after exchanging some further
words with Isabel, that it was time she were on her way.

“Oh, there is a dear friend of mine by the gate! I must not let her
escape. So happy to have met you, my lord—come along, Ollie. Geoffrey,
why do not you and Harley take a canter along the row—you look as if
you need a run. Frances, do mind my hat! Good-bye, Izzy. Good-bye!”

Miss Fairfax, however appreciative of this latest comic turn, neverthe
less watched Clory’s departure with little regret. On being first intro
duced to Miss Beecham’s escorts, Antonia had passed them each in
mental review as possible suitors for Isabel’s hand. Mr Beecham and Mr Chatham-Hill she had quickly dismissed as mere boys who, however
engaging they might be, lacked seriousness of purpose toward any adult
subject, and marriage was doubtless still a very long way from entering
their minds.

On the other hand, she could not be sorry that Lord
Geoffrey, however eligible he might be, had eyes only for Cloris. Not two
minutes of his company revealed him—inadvertently, perhaps—to be entirely without humour, let alone wit. Of course, Isabel was herself of a
serious cast of mind and might view the young man in a different light,
but Antonia was able to be pleasant to him only because she did not seem
likely to be given reason to consider him in the same thought as Isabel.

It was then that Antonia realised that she had been making judgements
based entirely on her own preferences. Mr Chatham-Hill was, after all,
precisely the right age for her young niece, and Lord Geoffrey might well
be happy to marry her under just those conditions—however abhorrent
to Antonia—that Isabel had set forth at Wyckham. She glanced at Isabel to see if she had made any note of Lord Geoffrey’s departure, but on the
way her glance caught Octavian Gary’s. He had moved closer to the
carriage and was gazing down at Isabel—who was quite unaware of it,
being engaged in conversation with Imogen—with a look of fond longing
tinged with a melancholy that Antonia immediately interpreted as recog
nition that his case was hopeless.

Gone suddenly was Antonia’s half-hearted resolve to assist Isabel in
her marital schemes. Instead, she instantly determined to promote
Octavian’s cause with all the persuasiveness she could muster, caring not
a whit that she was whistling prospective fortunes down the wind. Rather, she smiled at the vision—which came to her logically if prematurely—of Octavian and Isabel as the happy owners of a rose-covered cottage and a
pair of bouncing twins.

Thus engaged in reverie, she was unaware of a similar gaze more discreetly directed at her until Lord Kedrington enquired, as Baskcomb turned the carriage into Rotten Row, “Do you waltz, Miss Fairfax?”

“Only on the Serpentine,” Miss Fairfax replied instantly. “You, of
course—Spain having proved you not to be a demi-god—would be obliged
to wear a cork belt.”

The viscount gave an involuntary crack of laughter, drawing a sur
prised glance from Mrs Curtiz, and Antonia’s mocking “Hush!” did little
to curb his merriment. Presently, however, he was able to say more
collectedly, “I had a legitimate reason for asking that question, however, and Miss Beecham has put me in mind of it. Maria Sefton has obliged me by procuring vouchers for Almack’s for you and your niece, and of
course for Mrs Curtiz. If Isabel is reluctant to attend the assemblies
before her formal coming-out, she may postpone her appearance, but I
trust you will have no such scruples. When is her ball to be, by the way?”

“Why, on the ninth—no, I beg your pardon, the tenth of next month.
You will naturally be sent an invitation. But, my lord, you are too kind!
Almack’s! Indeed, you should not have troubled.”

“I assure you, it was no trouble—at any rate, not very much! I should
warn you, however, that there is a small condition. You must bear a visit
shortly from Lady Sefton—she is one of the patronesses, as you know—
who insists upon presenting the cards to you personally, and on the right
to look you over, since it appears she did not have that honour when you
were last in town.”

“I shall naturally be happy to receive her,” Antonia replied, recalling that Lady Sefton had not before made any effort to become acquainted with her, and being therefore grateful to Kedrington for convincing her, how
ever he may have achieved it, that she had missed something.

“I think you may like her,” Kedrington said, seeming to read her
thoughts. “She strikes some as being affected, but she has a kind heart. You will do well to befriend her—for Isabel’s sake, of course!”

“I thank you for the caution, if that is what it is. And it happens that
we have embarked on a course of dancing lessons. The waltz was not yet
fashionable when I was last in London, and although Isabel knows the steps, she had not been able to practise them at our country assemblies.
Mr Chatham-Hill and Miss Beecham have undertaken to instruct us.
Clory is very accomplished.”

“An accomplished flirt, I think.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Take care, my lord, lest she set her cap at
you
!”

He smiled. “I do not expect it. At this moment, she is wondering,
rather, what sort of a cap to put on her pretty head next.”

“I fear you will not be outshone on that score.”

“I do my humble best. Which of her entourage does she favour—Dane?”

“No more than any other, I believe. However volatile she may appear, I
suspect Cloris knows precisely what she wants. She is no self-deceiver and therefore could never deceive anyone else. One must admire her.”

“Indeed, for she is singular if that is true. Who was it said, ‘The reason
so few marriages are happy is that young ladies spend their time in
making nets, not in making cages’?”

“It was Swift, and very ungallant it is of you to think of it!”

“I am not generally thought ungallant.”

“Then something has gone sadly amiss with you of late, my lord, for you do not live up to your reputation so far as I can perceive!”

“Perhaps you may reform me.”

“I have no intention to do any such thing.”

“But will you not consider—

“Thank you, no!”

“How did you know what I was about to say?” he demanded, offended.

“I naturally assumed—”

“Never stoop to assumptions, Miss Fairfax. I might have wished to know the context of that infelicitous quotation, or perhaps merely to
enquire if you are attempting to set a new fashion of wearing only one
earbob.”

She reached her hand to first one ear, then the other, and snatched the lone ornament off, stuffing it quickly into her muff. “How provoking! I had quite forgot the silly thing, and I trust you will not point its absence
out to anyone else. I have no desire to make a further exhibition of
myself!”

“An admirable ambition, although not an easily attainable one, you
know. Fashion decrees that you shall reap what you have sown—however
little you may now desire the harvest.”

“Do me the kindness not to throw my past follies in my face, please. What was it you wished to know?”

“Whether you will not,” the viscount began again, unrepentant, “take pity upon a mere mortal so exposed to the insalubrious influences of
bachelor society, and so in need of the uplifting companionship and
guidance offered within the noble state of matrimony as I am, and bestow
your hand upon him?”

After a moment’s struggle with herself, Miss Fairfax replied in a like
spirit, “I thank you, sir, for the compliment you pay me in deeming me so creditable an influence upon your life, but I fear it is impossible for me to
do otherwise than decline your generous offer.”

There was another pause, during which Antonia endeavoured not to
look the viscount in the face.

“Well?” he said at last. “How was that?”

“Oh, much better!” she told him, breathlessly.

“Thank you,” he replied, gratified. “There is hope for me yet, I
perceive.”

At that moment, Isabel exclaimed, “Oh, who is that?” and Antonia’s mirth found release in a smile as she turned to see what her niece was
staring at.

They were being followed by a curricle with two gentlemen on the perch, both of whom were clothed, shod, and hatted to the finest degree
of elegance, the effect of which was unfortunately lost by reason of their
being crowded to either side of the perch by a large, equally well-manicured grey poodle seated between them.

“Alvanley and Poodle Byng!” Kedrington said, leaving little doubt of his opinion of the spectacle these gentlemen presented. “It would be best to avoid an encounter with them, but as I perceive the approach from our other flank of a certain Mrs Ebberley-Mercer, an ambitious gorgon with
three hopeful but dismal daughters, I am about to introduce you ladies to a pair of very fashionable, if somewhat eccentric, dandies.”

So saying, he lifted one hand slightly to the gentlemen. Lord Alvanley, a good-natured peer whose round face bore a perpetual smile, raised his hat to the ladies and hailed Kedrington cheerily, demanding to be told if
the viscount had for a fact been robbed on the Kennington Pike, as he
had been told.