Georgette Heyer - Regency Romance Classics - Georgette Heyer Collection

Bancroft was speechless with rage.

"There is another matter," continued Philip amiably. "Once before I had occasion to complain of your manner. I do so again. And I find the colour of your ribbons most distasteful to mine eye."

Bancroft sprang up, his chair grating on the polished floor.

"Perhaps you'll have the goodness to name your friends, sir?" he choked.

Philip bowed.

"This time, yes. It is a little debt I have to pay. M. le Comte de Saint-Dantin and M. de Bergeret will act for me. Or De Vangrisse yonder, or M. le Duc de Vally-Martin."

"The first named will suffice," snapped Bancroft. "My friends will wait on them as soon as may be." With that he flounced away to the other end of the room.

Philip walked back to De Vangrisse and perched on the arm of his chair.

De Bergeret cast his dice and nodded at Philip.

"The deed is done?"

"Most satisfactorily," answered Philip. "Throw, Paul, you can beat that."

"Not I! Jules has the devil's own luck to-night. If it is not an impertinence, are you to meet M. Bancroft?"

"Of course. Oh, peste !"—as De Vangrisse cast his dice.

"What did I tell you? May I second you?"

"A thousand thanks, Paul. But Saint-Dantin and Jules have consented to act for me."

"Well, I shall come as a spectator," said De Vangrisse. "Jules, another hundred! I'll not be beaten by you!"

Le Vallon, who had watched the brief encounter between his friend and Philip with great curiosity, now edged across to where Bancroft was standing.

Bancroft turned.

"Come apart a moment," he said. His voice was still trembling with passion. He and Le Vallon drew near to the window.

"You saw that damned fellow come up to me just now?"

"But yes! I watched very closely. What did he want with you?"

"He came to impose his will—his will!—on mine. Curse his impudence!"

"Why? What did he say?" asked Le Vallon inquisitively.

Bancroft did not answer.

"I want you to act for me," he said abruptly. "He—insulted me, and I've sworn to teach him a lesson."

Le Vallon drew back a little.

"What? You seek to kill him? Kill le petit Anglais ?" His tone was dubious.

"No, not quite that. I've no wish for trouble. He has too many friends. I'll teach him to leave me alone!"

"Oh, yes! But..." Le Vallon pursed his lips.

"But what?" barked Bancroft.

"It is said that he is a not-to-be-despised swordsman. He pinked Armand de Sedlamont with great ease."

"Pooh!" said Bancroft. "Six months ago—"

"I know, I know, but he has changed."

Bancroft scowled.

"Well, will you act for me or not?"

Le Vallon drew himself up.

"M'sieur, I do not entirely appreciate your manner."

Bancroft laughed uneasily.

"Oh, come, Le Vallon! Don't take offence! That puppy has so annoyed me that I can scarce keep my temper. Where's De Chambert?"

"Playing at lansquenet with De Farraud. And I think we had best mingle with the others. I do not care to appear conspicuous."

Bancroft caught at his arm.

"But you will second me?"

"I shall be honoured," bowed Le Vallon. "And I hope you will succeed in showing my fine gentleman his place."

Later in the evening Saint-Dantin sauntered over to where Philip sat, perched on the edge of the table, toasting some of his friends. Saint-Dantin joined the gathering and laid a hand on Philip's shoulder. Philip, who was drinking, choked.

" Malédiction! Oh, 'tis you, Louis! What now?"

"There is a rumour that you go to fight ce cher Bancroft, Philippe."

"Already?" Philip was startled. "Who told you?"

" Personne. " Saint-Dantin smiled. "It is whispered here and there. And Bancroft looks so black at you. It's true?"

"Of course it's true! Did I not say I should do it? His seconds are to wait upon you and Jules."

"How very fatiguing!" sighed Saint-Dantin. "But quite amusing. One jubilates. Bancroft is not at all liked. He is so entreprenant . An' I mistake not, you will have an audience," he chuckled.

"What?" Philip gripped his wrist. "I won't have an audience!"

Saint-Dantin blinked, loosening the clasp on his wrist.

" Pas si éclatant , Philippe," he said. "You twist and turn like a puppet on wires! I only know that at least five here to-night swear they'll see the fight."

"But it is monstrous!" objected Philip. "I forbid you to divulge the whereabouts of the meeting."

"Oh, entendu ! But the secret will out."

"How am I to keep a steady wrist with a dozen ogling fools watching?" demanded Philip.

"You must keep it steady," said De Chatelin. "My money's for you, petit Anglais !"

Philip looked genuinely perturbed.

"Henri, it is iniquitous! It is not a public exhibition that I engage in! One would say we were gladiators!"

" Reste tranquille ," grinned De Vangrisse. "We are all backing you, mon petit ."

"I trust you'll not forget to inform His Majesty of the rendezvous," said Philip, resorting to bitter sarcasm. "And have you engaged a fiddler to enliven the meeting?"

" Philippe se fâche ," teased De Chatelin. "Quiet, little fighting cock!"

"I shall write an ode!" threatened Philip direfully.

"Ah no, that is too much!" cried De Vangrisse with feeling.

"And I shall read it to you before I engage. Well?"

"It is a heavy price to pay," answered Paul, "but not too heavy for the entertainment."

Table of Contents

Cleone sat on a stool at Sir Maurice's knee and sighed. So did Sir Maurice, and knew that they sighed for the same thing.

"Well, my dear," he said, trying to speak cheerfully, "how is your mamma?"

"The same as ever, I thank you," answered Cleone.

Sir Maurice patted her hand.

"And how is little Cleone?"

"Oh, sir, can you ask? I am very well," she said, with great sprightliness. "And you?"

Sir Maurice was more honest.

"To tell the truth, my dear, I miss that young scamp."

Cleone played with her fingers, her head bent.

"Do you, sir? He should be home again ere long. Do you—do you yet know where he is?"

"No. That does not worry me. My family does not write letters."

"Mr. Tom—has not told you, I suppose."

"No. I've not seen Tom for some time.... The boy has been away six months now. Gad, but I'd like to see him walk in at that door!"

Cleone's head sank a little lower.

"Do you think—harm could have come to him, sir?"

"No. Else had I heard. Faith, it's our own fault, Cleone, and we are grumbling!"

"I never—"

"My dear, don't pretend to me! Do you think I don't know?"

Cleone was silent.

"We sent Philip to acquire polish. Heaven knows what has happened to him! Would you care greatly if he returned—without the polish, child?"

"No!" whispered Cleone.

"Nor should I. Strange! But I should prefer it, I confess."

"Do you think—do you think he—he will be—very elegant, Sir Maurice?"

He smiled.

"I fear not, Cleone. Can you see our Philip tricked up in town clothes, apeing town ways?"

"N—no."

There was silence for a few minutes.

"Sir Maurice."

"My dear?"

"Mamma has a letter from my aunt, Lady Malmerstoke."

"So? And what does she say therein?"

"She—she wants me to go to her for the season."

Sir Maurice looked down at her.

"And you are going?"

"I don't—know. I—do not wish to leave you, sir."

"That is very kind of you, child. But I'd not have you stay for my sake."

"It's no such thing, sir. I do not want to go."

"Why, Cleone, not for the season? Think of the balls and the routs."

"I don't—care about it." It was a forlorn little voice, and Sir Maurice patted her hand again.