Джорджетт Хейер: Charity Girl

She adhered strictly to this admirable course when she disclosed to Desford that she had promised to attend a party on the last night of his visit, taking with her her two elder sons, as many of her daughters as she thought proper, and any of the guests she would no doubt have staying with her at Hazelfield and who did not despise quite a small, country ball. “I shall be obliged to go,” she said, in the resigned voice of one who did not expect to derive any pleasure from the offered festivity. “And Emma and Mortimer mean to go too. Theresa has cried off, but that won’t surprise Lady Bugle, for she knows very well that Theresa is increasing. The Montsales don’t wish to go either, and there’s no reason why they should when I must go, and can chaperon Mary for them. Ned and Gil mean to go, but Christian don’t: he hasn’t started to dangle after pretty girls yet. And if you don’t fancy it, Desford, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t remain here, and play whist with the Montsales and John Thimbleby! In fact, I strongly advise you to do so, because it’s my belief you’ll think the Bugles’ party a dead bore.”

“Think it a dead bore when that glorious creature will be present?” ejaculated Mr Gilbert Emborough, who had entered the room in time to hear the last part of this speech. “Nothing could be a bore when she is there!”

“Come, this is most promising!” said Desford. “Who is this glorious she? Am I acquainted with her?”

“No, you ain’t acquainted with her,” replied Gilbert, “but you have seen her! What’s more, you were much struck—well, anyone would be!—and you asked Ned who she was.”

“What, the ravishing girl I saw at the races?” exclaimed Desford. “My dear aunt, of course I will go with you to this ball! The most exquisite piece of nature I’ve seen in a twelve-month! I hoped Ned might present me to her, and very unhandsome I thought it of him that he didn’t do so.”

Gilbert gave a crack of laughter. “Afraid you’d cut him out! See if I don’t roast him for it!”

“But who is she?” demanded the Viscount. “I didn’t properly hear what Ned said, when I asked him that question, for at that moment we were joined by some friends of his, and by the time we had parted from them the next race was about to start, and I thought no more about the Beauty.”

“Shame!” said his cousin, grinning at him.

“Her name is Lucasta,” said Lady Emborough. “She’s the eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Bugle: he has five of ‘em, and four sons. Certainly a very handsome girl, and I daresay she may make a good marriage, for she has all the men in raptures. But if her portion is above five thousand pounds I shall own myself astonished. Sir Thomas’s fortune is no more than genteel, and he hasn’t the least notion of trying to sconce the reckoning.”

“Poor Lucasta!” said the Viscount lightly.

“You may well say so! Her mama brought her out in the spring, and there was never anything so unfortunate! Would you believe it?—within three days of her being presented at Court Sir Thomas received an express letter from Dr Cromer, informing him that old Lady Bugle had been suddenly taken ill! So, of course, they were obliged to post home in a great hurry, because she was very old, and even though one knew she was as tough as whitleather there is always the chance that such persons will be perfectly stout one day, and dead the next. Not that she did die the next day: she lasted for more than two months, which naturally made it impossible for her mama to take Lucasta to balls and assemblies until they are out of black gloves. This dance Lady Bugle has got up is to be quite a small affair. She gives it in honour of Stonor Bugle’s engagement to the elder Miss Windle. A good enough girl in her way, but it’s not an alliance I should welcome for one of my sons!”

“I should think not indeed!” said Gilbert. “Why, she’s downright knocker-faced!”

Lady Emborough called him sharply to order for so rudely exaggerating Miss Windle’s appearance; but when, on the following evening, the Viscount was presented to the lady he could not feel that Gilbert had been unjust. But he felt also that her homeliness would not have struck him so forcibly had not Lady Bugle caused her to stand side by side with Lucasta Bugle, to receive the guests.

Lucasta was certainly something quite out of the ordinary way, for besides a countenance of classic beauty her figure was good, and her teeth, when she smiled, were seen to be very even, and as white as whalebone. She had luxuriant hair, which only jealous rivals stigmatized as gingery: it was, in fact, the colour of ripening corn; and her proud mama had frequently been known, when accepting compliments on her burnished curls, to whisper confidentially that they had never to be papered. She seemed to have acquired habits of easy intercourse, in spite of the abrupt curtailment of her first season, for she betrayed none of the signs of shyness which so often made it difficult for their partners at a ball to talk to girls who had only just emerged from the schoolroom. Her manners were assured; she had a fund of social chitchat at her tongue’s end; she was all delight and cordiality towards her mama’s guests; she was animated, and laughed a great deal; and seemed to be an expert in the art of light-hearted flirtation.

The Viscount had the honour of standing up with her for the dance that was forming when the Emborough party arrived, and since he was more expert in this art than she was he gratified her by responding in the most obliging way to the encouragement he received to pay her just the sort of compliments he judged likely to be the most acceptable. His cousin Edward, indignantly observing the progress he was making into the Beauty’s good graces, and the arch, laughing looks which she threw at him, was torn between envy of his address, and cynical reflections on the advantages attached to being the heir to an Earldom. For these he took himself severely to task, telling himself, with dogged loyalty, that the divine Lucasta was merely trying to put a stranger at his ease. But when Gilbert, who had never contrived to grow higher in the Beauty’s esteem than had his elder brother, encountered him for a fleeting moment, and said, with a malicious wink: “Des is devilish taken with her, ain’t he?” he was unable to disagree. All he could think of to say was that he was sure it was no wonder. But when he saw his divinity waltzing, a little later in the evening, with Desford, he would, had he not been a very goodnatured young man, have taken his cousin in violent dislike. The waltz was still considered by old-fashioned persons to be an improper dance, and was seldom played at country assemblies. One or two dashing hostesses has caused it to be played, but Ned, having painstakingly mastered the steps, had found that he had wasted his time: Lucasta never waltzed.

He had not expected that it would figure amongst the country dances and the boulangers offered to the company in the Bugles’ establishment, but Lady Bugle, hopeful that Lady Emborough would bring to her little party her tonnish nephew, had warned the musicians to be prepared to strike up for one, and had told Lucasta that if the Viscount did happen to ask her to dance it with him she might do so.

“For there can be no objection to your doing so here, my love, amongst our particular friends. In London, of course, the case would be different—until, as I need scarcely remind you, you have been approved by the Patronesses of Almacks; but I should be excessively mortified if any of our guests thought it a dowdy party, and if dear Lady Emborough does bring Lord Desford to it you may depend upon it that he will expect to hear waltzes played, for he is quite one of the Pinks of the Ton, you know!”