Elisabeth Kidd (28 page)

The days before
the ball had flown, however, in a flurry of activity. Charles escorted the two Fairfaxes to Park Lane to view Lord Elgin’s celebrated marbles; he
carried Antonia’s parcels home from a shopping expedition, in spite of
her admonition that fashionable gentlemen never did so and of Miss
Cloris Beecham’s quizzical look when she chanced to see him doing it;
and he purchased a delicate amethyst pendant on a gold chain, which Isabel had admired in a shop window, and presented it to her as a
“coming-out present.”

Then, with Carey’s unexpected reappearance, life became even more
frenetic, and Antonia had no leisure to brood over anything weightier on
her mind than her feathered bonnet. Lieutenant Fairfax was silent only
when he slept, which was infrequently. His energy was boundless, and
when he was not proposing an expedition to any form of entertainment that took his fancy, from the Equestrian Display at Astley’s Royal
Amphitheatre to the pantomime at Sadler’s Wells, he passed his time
with his Harrovian friends at Manton’s Shooting Gallery or at Tattersall’s,
inspecting carriage horses with a knowing eye and the thought that, now
he was fixed in town for a spell, it might be well to look into making a few
purchases.

Carey was able to find entertainment in everything he did, but no less amusing to him were the personal tangles that everyone had managed to
get themselves into when he was not there to steer them clear of such
coils. The first of these was forced upon his notice by the sight of
Octavian Gary, standing beside a pillar at a ridotto given by Lady Sefton
and, unaware of being observed, watching Isabel dance with Harley
Chatham-Hill. Isabel moved her head to show off her new filigree
earrings and, with an animated expression, to tell her partner that Carey
had brought them back from Spain for her. Octavian smiled.

“Octavian—dear friend!” Carey gushed, startling his newest dear friend,
whom he then dragged around to the other side of the pillar. “Why didn’t you tell me! Why didn’t she tell me,
por Dios!”

“Tell you what?” Octavian asked warily.

“Why, that you’re nutty on Isabel, of course! Or don’t she know?
Admittedly, she can’t see what’s right under her nose without her
spectacles, but.... you ain’t suffering from a deep and unrequited passion,
are you?”

“How did you find out?” returned Octavian, disregarding Carey’s
interpretation of his state of mind.

“Well, there’s a cork-brained question, when you’re standing here— there, anyway—looking at her like she was some kind of vision.”

“She is,” Octavian told him, unable to suppress his smile.

“Delusion, more like!” Carey retorted. But he looked around the pillar
again and conceded, “Well, she’s a taking little thing, I suppose. But look
here, Octavian—it’s true, ain’t it?” Octavian nodded. “Then why ain’t you engaged? We could at least end this farce of her having to finish out
the season—for all the world as if she was a race horse! Why ain’t you at
least dancing with her, instead of Chatham-Hill—that’s the second time,
incidentally.”

Octavian explained. “Harley is merely a
...
ah, a diversionary tactic.
Have I that right? Harley is a safe friend, and an obliging one, who serves
both to fend off gentlemen Isabel has no wish to encourage and to keep
me informed of her well-being without my being seen to pay her undue
attentions.”

“Why shouldn’t you pay her attentions?”

“It appears that Mr Charles Kenyon disapproves of me—I have no prospects and, worse, in Mr Kenyon s eyes, no ambition—and that Miss
Fairfax therefore disapproves of me equally. At any rate, that is the reason
Isabel believes is behind my being less welcome in Mount Street lately
than heretofore. Also, she holds out hope—Isabel does, I mean—that her
aunt will eventually find Lord Kedrington’s attractions superior to Mr
Kenyon’s, but she insists that Miss Fairfax be allowed to see this for
herself.”

“Well,” Carey remarked caustically, “you’re being mighty obliging to
Tonia, I must say! I’m in her black books myself these days for having called Charles a tuppenny nabob. I didn’t know I’d set up her bristles quite so fiercely, but I can’t say a word about him now—nor about
Kedrington, either, for then she just looks bored and says she’s sure what
he does is no business of hers. She ain’t exactly the one to depend on
for
....  But
never mind that. I’m here now. I’m head of the family, by
God, and I can give you my permission to get leg-shackled, if that’s what you want.”

Octavian shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you’re another reason we must be patient. How could your sister help but think we were only
waiting for you to return—not to mention my taking advantage of your
being my brother’s best friend—to, er, outflank her?”

“Well, we’ll just have to bring her around of her own account.”

“How?”

Carey looked thoughtful. “Don’t know exactly. But something
will present itself; it’s bound to.”

But before he could even begin his campaign, it received a setback early one morning which sent Carey storming into his sister’s room.

“I’ve been waiting hours for you to get up, Tonia!” he complained with
only slight exaggeration. “Charles came around—before I’d even had my
breakfast,
fijate!
—to tell me you... Tonia, you’ve never accepted him!”

“But, darling, I don’t understand. He said he would talk to you about our plans.”

“He did. Came to ask my permission to pay his addresses, for all the world as if I were your guardian. Fustian! I told him I had nothing to say
about it, that you were old enough to make your own decisions.
Dios
, I
believed it, too! And then he tells me he sort of hoped I’d say that,
because you’d already said yes. Tonia, I thought you’d learned your
lesson!”

Antonia stiffened. “Well, I don’t know why you should think any such
thing! Charles is a good, kind man who...who wants nothing more
than to make me happy. Besides, I—I love him.”

“Well, if that’s true, there’s no more to be said. It just goes to show how
you can bamboozle some people.”

Carey turned to go, but, reluctant to
give in so easily, asked, “What about Kedrington, Tonia? Didn’t you—maybe you didn’t, I don’t know, but Isabel says he was—well, that he had a tendre for you, as they say.”

He quickly regretted having said this, for Antonia replied acidly, “I
daresay he will speedily find solace elsewhere. Indeed, I was under the
impression that he has already done so.”

“What? You don’t mean Bab? Hang it, Tonia, that’s only—oh, hang
it!” He stopped, remembering that he had no leave to tell her or anyone else the truth of the matter just yet. “Look, Tonia, I didn’t mean to rip up
at you like that. It’s just that it was a
...
a surprise, that’s all. If you really want Charles
...”
He stepped nearer to her and gave her a kiss and an
embarrassed hug, saying, “I only want you to be happy, too, Tonia.”

She smiled tearfully. “I know you do, darling. And I will be, I promise.”

Carey frankly doubted this, but at a temporary loss as to what he could
do about it, he refrained from expressing himself more forcefully. Instead,
he tracked Kedrington down in one of the less frequented corners of
Watier’s to put the matter to him.

The viscount had arrived an hour earlier and found his favourite
parlour deserted, except for a pair of elegantly shod and hosed legs
emerging from a wing chair facing the window. A second glance at the
right boot informed Kedrington of the identity of the solitary gentleman, but by then he had advanced too far into the room to be able to retreat
unobserved.

“Get out, whoever you are!” growled the occupant of the chair. A
white hand reached out to pick up a glass of brandy that rested on a side
table.

“Devilish good humour you’re in this afternoon, George,” Kedrington
replied affably, arranging himself in the window seat opposite Lord
Byron.

“Oh, it’s you, is it? I might have guessed. You move like a damned
Turk.”

“Like a damned Spaniard,” Kedrington corrected him. He glanced at
the brandy glass, and Byron, intercepting the look, scowled.

“Is there any more of that?” the viscount asked with a smoothness that
did not deceive the poet, but which served at least to erase the scowl.

“In the bookcase,” he said, waving a languid hand in that direction. Kedrington rose to find a glass, examined the label on the bottle with
satisfaction, and sat down again. There was a long silence while Kedrington
looked out of the window at the traffic in the street below, and Byron
settled deeper into his chair. He closed his eyes, and an expression of rare
serenity suffused his handsome countenance. After a moment, however, he bestirred himself and opened one lazy eye.

“Haven’t seen you for some time, Duncan. Have I?”

“No.”

Byron chuckled. “That’s what I like about you, you know. No wasted
words, no wasted motion. Pity in a way. You have the makings of a better
romantic hero than I could ever devise. Why this reluctance to take
advantage of your reputation?”

“I could not hope to compete with you, my dear George.”

“You’re not doing so badly,” Byron observed. “Who was the sunny
beauty I met at Almack’s? What’s her name—Fairford? Anxious mothers of dumpy daughters are reportedly eyeing her with some disfavour.”

“Fairfax. I was not aware that you had been presented.”

“I had not—strictly speaking.”

“Then I wonder you remember her amongst the multitude.”

“I couldn’t forget,” Byron replied with a twisted smile. “She was the
only one who was civil to me—and no more. Alvanley talks of the two of
you in one breath. Claims your only obstacle on the path to the altar is
some wealthy cit with a prior claim, but William credits the beauty with more taste than that.”

It was Kedrington’s turn to scowl. “Alvanley talks too much.”

“Probably. But it’s the only fun he has, poor fellow.”

Kedrington laughed and deprecated Byron’s lack of tact. “You’re a
dubious sort of friend, George, especially to those of us who still have some conscience left.”

“But I make a dependable enemy. No one has ever been able to sully
that reputation.”

A double-breasted blue coat appeared in the doorway at that moment,
and a soft voice said, “Ah, Kedwington! I beg your pardon—I was
looking for Yarmouth.”

“Not here!” Byron snarled.

“No matter,” the voice assured him. Entering fully into the room, Lord
Petersham was revealed in a pair of baggy cossack-style pantaloons which,
like the rest of his odd costume, hung unusually well from his slender frame. “Wanted to see you, too, Kedwington.”

Petersham pulled a chair up to Kedrington, disregarding Byron’s
withering look, and said he believed the viscount to be acquainted with a
certain Mrs Curtiz.

“George Bewwy tells me she has an Assam blend that is unique. You must intwoduce me to her, my dear fellow.”

Byron snorted, but Lord Alvanley, coming into the room at that
moment and overhearing, said, “I’ll do it! Anything to get into that
house. What’s the matter with you, George? A touch of dyspepsia, or
have you been reading the reviews of your latest opus?”

“Who invited you in here, Alvanley?”

“Why, no one,” replied his lordship, unperturbed. “The door was
open, so I walked in. The door is still open, you may observe, and as I
passed Kedrington’s protégé Fairfax downstairs, I expect your peace will
shortly be cut up by a still ruder intrusion. Best take yourself over to the
Alfred, dear boy, and join the bishops. Short of mummies, there’s no more peaceful company to be found anywhere.”

Byron rose awkwardly, snatching at a book which his movement jolted
off the side table. Kedrington caught it as it fell and handed it to him.
Their eyes met briefly and Kedrington said in a low voice, “The door is
open at Brook Street, too, George.”

“Oh, Rogers will let me in,” Byron said, indifferently, “and he lives just
down the street. I can stumble that far.”

He went out and could be heard stomping down the stairs, but
Alvanley and Petersham, accustomed to these displays of petulance, had
already forgotten him and were discussing snuff boxes. Lord Petersham
had one for every day of the year as well as for all kinds of weather, but
when Alvanley described a carved lacquered box on display at Rundell
and Bridge’s, he admitted he had not seen it and insisted upon doing so at once. Both gentlemen bade Kedrington good-day and departed, leaving the viscount in the solitary state coveted by Byron. He smiled, knowing he
would not enjoy it any longer than George had, and wondered what was
keeping Carey.