Джорджетт Хейер: Frederica

“You put me to shame, Lucretia,” he said. “As often as I disappoint you, you never disappoint me!”

“How you do love to joke me! Now, be serious, pray! It is about Chloë.”

“Oh, in that case you must hold me excused!” said his lordship. “I know nothing of schoolgirls, and my advice would be worthless, I fear.”

“Ah, you too think of her as a schoolgirl! Indeed, it seems almost impossible that she should be grown-up! But so it is: she’s all but seventeen; and although I had thought not to bring her out until next year, everyone tells me it would be wrong to postpone the event. They say, you know, that the dear Queen’s health is now so indifferent that she may pop off at any moment, and even if she doesn’t she won’t be equal to holding any Drawing-rooms next year. Which has me in a worry, because naturally I must present the sweet child — it is what poor Henry would have wished — and if the Queen were to die there can be no Drawing-rooms. As for presenting her at Carlton House, I wouldn’t for the world do so! I don’t know how we are to go on. Even if the Duchess of Gloucester were to take the Queen’s place — which, of course, the Prince Regent might desire her to do, for she has always been his favourite sister — it wouldn’t be the same thing. And who knows but what one might find that odious Lady Hertford in the Queen’s place?”

Alverstoke, who could think of few more unlikely contingencies, replied sympathetically: “Who indeed?”

“So I feel it to be my duty to present Chloë this season, whatever the cost!” said Mrs Dauntry. “I had hoped to have been so much beforehand with the world next year as to have been able to do the thing handsomely, but that, alas, can scarcely be! Dear child! When I told her that I should be obliged to present her in one of my own Court dresses, because the cost of such a dress as one would wish her to wear is utterly beyond my means, she was so good and so uncomplaining that it quite went to my heart! I couldn’t forbear to sigh: she is quite pretty that I positively long to rig her out to the best advantage! But if I must bring her out this season it cannot be.”

“In that case, my advice to you is to wait until next year,” responded Alverstoke. “Consoling yourself with the reflection that if there are no Drawing-rooms then none of the season’s fair come-outs will enjoy any experience which is denied her.”

“Ah, no! How could I be so improvident?” she countered. “Somehow I must contrive to present her this spring! A dance, too! But how to do that, situated as I am — ” She broke off, apparently struck by a sudden idea. “I wonder if Louisa means to bring Jane out this season? Sadly freckled, poor child, and such a deplorable figure! However, you may depend upon it that Louisa will make a push to present her creditably, though she is such a nip-cheese that I’m persuaded she will grudge every penny she is obliged to spend on the business. Indeed,” she added, softly laughing, “rumour has it that you are to give a ball in Jane’s honour!”

“Yes?” said his lordship. “But rumour , as I daresay you know, is a pipe — er — Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures — I forget the rest, but do let me assure you, dear Lucretia, that when invitations are sent out for a ball to be held here Chloë’s name will not be forgotten. And now you must allow me to escort you to your carriage: the thought of the devoted Harriet, patiently awaiting you, is beginning to prey upon my mind.”

“Stay!” said Mrs Dauntry, struck by yet another idea. “How would it be if Louisa and I cast our resources into a pool-dish, as it were, and gave a ball in honour of both our daughters? I am afraid that my lovely Chloë would quite outshine poor Jane, but I daresay Louisa won’t care for that, if she can but make and scrape a little.” She raised her hands in a prayerful gesture, and added, in a voice of nicely blended archness and cajolery: “Would you, dearest Vernon, if Louisa liked the scheme, permit us to hold the ball here, in your splendid ballroom?”

“No, dearest Lucretia, I would not!” replied his lordship. “But don’t repine! The occasion won’t arise, since Louisa wouldn’t like the scheme at all, believe me! Yes, I know that I am being so abominably disobliging as to make you feel faint: shall I summon the faithful Harriet to your side?”

This was a little too much, even for Mrs Dauntry. Casting upon him a deeply reproachful glance, she departed, her mien challenging comparison with that of Mrs Siddons, as portrayed by the late Sir Joshua Reynolds as the Tragic Muse.

The Marquis’s third visitor was Lady Jevington, who came, not to solicit his favour, but to adjure him not to yield to Lady Buxted’s importunities. She expressed herself in measured and majestic terms, saying that while she had neither expected him to lend his aid in the launching of her Anna into the ton , nor asked him to do so, she would be unable to regard it as anything but a deliberate slight if he were to perform this office for Miss Buxted, who did not (said Lady Jevington, with awful emphasis) share with her cousin the distinction of being his goddaughter. And if, she added, his partiality were to lead him to single out That Woman’s daughter Chloë, for this particular mark of favour, she would thenceforward wash her hands of him.

“Almost, Augusta, you persuade me!” said his lordship.

The words, spoken dulcetly, were accompanied by the sweetest of smiles; but Lady Jevington, arising in swelling wrath, swept out of the room without another word.

“And now,” the Marquis told his secretary, “it only remains for your protégée to demand a ball of me!”

In the face of these experiences it did not seem probable that the Marquis, who rarely felt it incumbent upon him to please anyone but himself, would respond to Miss Merriville’s appeal; nor did Charles Trevor venture to jog his memory. But, whether from curiosity, or because he found himself one day in the vicinity of Upper Wimpole Street, he did pay her a visit.

He was admitted to the house by an elderly butler, who conducted him up the narrow staircase to the drawing-room on the first floor, at a pace eloquent of age and infirmity, and announced him.

The Marquis, pausing on the threshold, and casting a swift look round, felt that his suspicion was confirmed: this unknown connection was demonstrably indigent; for the room was furnished without elegance, and was even a little shabby. Lacking experience, he failed to recognize the signs which would have informed less fortunately circumstanced persons that the house was one of the many hired for the season, and equipped as cheaply as possible.

It contained only one occupant: a lady, writing at a small desk, placed at right-angles to the window. She looked round quickly, directing at Alverstoke a gaze that was at once surprised and appraising. He saw that she was quite young: probably some three- or four-and-twenty years of age: her person well-formed; and her countenance distinguished by a pair of candid gray eyes, a somewhat masterful little nose, and a very firm mouth and chin. Her hair, which was of a light brown, was becomingly braided a la Didon ; and her gown, which she wore under a striped dress-spencer, was of fine cambric, made high to the throat, and ornamented round the hem with double trimming. Alverstoke, no stranger to the niceties of feminine apparel, saw at a glance that while this toilette was in the established mode it was neither dashing nor expensive. No one would describe it as up to the nines; but, on the other hand, no one would stigmatize the lady as a dowd. She wore her simple dress with an air; and she was as neat as wax.