morning between the hours of ten and twelve, and the letter was brought up from the receiving office half an hour after she had set forth on a picnic expedition under the nominal chaperonage of a young matron of her acquaintance. Fanny could not think it proper to make one of a party of merry-makers. She would not go herself, and tried timidly to dissuade Serena. But Serena seemed to be fast recovering the tone of her mind, and was bent on amusement. She might almost have been said to have been in outrageous spirits, gay to dissipation. Fanny lived in dread of her suddenly deciding to go to balls again, and impressed upon Major Kirkby the necessity of his preventing so imprudent a start. He made a hopeless gesture: “What can I do?”
“She must mind what
He shook his head.
“Oh, yes, yes!” Fanny cried. “If you were to forbid her—”
“Forbid her! I?” he exclaimed. “She would most hotly resent it! Indeed, Lady Spenborough, I dare not!”
“She could not resent it from you!”
He flushed, and stammered: “I have no right—When we are married—Not that I could ever seek to interfere with her pleasure! And surely,” he added, in an imploring tone, “it cannot be wrong, if she does it?”
She saw that he shrank from arousing Serena’s temper, and was too deeply sympathetic to press him further. She could only pray that Serena would stop short of public balls, and beg her to behave with discretion while under Mrs Osborne’s casual chaperonage. Serena, setting upon her copper curls the most fetching of flat-crowned villager-hats of white satin-straw with a cluster of white roses, cast her a wicked look out of the corners of her eyes, and said meekly: “Yes, Mama!”
So Serena, squired by her Major, sallied forth on a picnic expedition; and Fanny, presently glancing through the day’s mail and seeing one letter with Rotherham’s name on the cover, was obliged to contain her soul in patience until such time as Serena should return to Laura Place. This was not until dinner-time, and then, instead of immediately reading the letter, she put it aside, saying: “Fanny, have I kept you waiting? I do beg your pardon! Order them to serve dinner immediately: I’ll be with you in five minutes!”
“Oh, no! Do read your letters first! I could not but notice that one has Rotherham’s frank upon the cover, and you must be anxious to know how he receives the news of your engagement!”
“I am more anxious that you should not be kept waiting another moment for your dinner. I don’t think it’s of the least consequence whether Rotherham likes it or not: he cannot reasonably refuse his consent to it. I’ll read what he has to say after we’ve dined.”
Fanny could almost have boxed her ears.
But when Serena at last broke the wafer, and spread open the single sheet, the Marquis’s message proved to be a disappointment. Fanny watched Serena read it, herself quite breathless with anxiety, and could not forbear saying eagerly: “Well? What does he say? He does not forbid it?”
“My dear, how should he? He makes no comment upon it, merely that he will be at Claycross next week, and will visit Bath on Thursday, for one night, to discuss with me the winding up of the Trust. We will invite him to dine here, and Hector too.”
“But is that all he has to say?” demanded Fanny incredulously.
“You don’t know his style of letter-writing! This is a typical example of it. Oh, he thanks me for my felicitations, of course, and says that it will be proper for him to make the acquaintance of Major Kirkby before giving his formal consent to my marriage.”
“Then at least he doesn’t mean to be disagreeable about it!” said Fanny, considerably relieved.
But when, on the following Thursday, Rotherham was ushered into the drawing-room, this comfortable conviction left her. He looked to be in anything but a complaisant mood. The sardonic lines about his mouth were marked, and a frown drew his black brows into a bar across his face. He was dressed with propriety, in an evening coat and knee-breeches, but, as usual, there was a hint of carelessness about his appearance, as though the pattern of his waistcoat or the set of his neckcloth was a matter of indifference to him. He greeted her un-smilingly, and turned to meet Serena.
She had chosen to dignify the occasion by arraying herself in a gown which had been made for her by Bath’s leading modiste, and never before worn. It was a striking creation, of black figured lace over a robe of white satin, the bodice cut low, and the train long. With it she wore her diamond earrings, and the triple necklace of pearls her father had given her at her coming-of-age. She looked magnificent, but the comment she evoked from the Marquis was scarcely flattering. “Good God, Serena!” he said, as he briefly shook her hand. “Setting up as a magpie?”
“Just so! I collect it doesn’t find favour with you?” she retorted, a spark in her eye.
He shrugged. “I know nothing of such matters.”
“No one, my dear Rotherham, having once clapped eyes on you, could doubt
With nervous haste, Fanny interrupted this promising start to one of the interchanges she dreaded, “Lord Rotherham, I must introduce Major Kirkby to you!”
He turned to confront the Major, whom he had not previously seemed to notice. His hard eyes surveyed him unrecognizingly. He put out his hand, saying curtly: “How do you do?”
Never, thought Fanny, could two men have formed a stronger contrast to each other! They might have served as models for Apollo and Vulcan, the one so tall and graceful, classically featured, and golden-haired, the other swarthy and harsh-faced, with massive shoulders, his whole person suggesting power rather than grace. In looks, in deportment, in manners there could be no comparison: the Major far outshone the Marquis.
“We have met before, sir,” the Major said.
“Have we?” said Rotherham, the bar of his brows lifting slightly. “I’ve no recollection of it. When, and where?”
“Upon more than one occasion!” replied the Major, steadily meeting that hard stare. “In London—seven years ago!”
“Indeed? If it is seven years since we met, I must hold that to be a sufficient excuse for having forgotten the circumstance. Did you form one of Serena’s court?”
“Yes. I did,” said the Major.
“Ah, no wonder, then! I never disintegrated the mass into its component parts.”
This time it was Serena who intervened. “I informed you, Rotherham, that the attachment between us was of long-standing date.”
“Certainly you did, but you can hardly have expected me to have known that it was of such long-standing date as that. I had, on the contrary, every reason to suppose otherwise.”
Serena flushed vividly; the Major held his lips firmly compressed over hard-clenched teeth; Fanny flung herself once more into the breach. “I have not felicitated you yet, Lord Rotherham, upon your engagement. I hope you left Miss Laleham well?”
“Well, and in great beauty,” he replied. “You remind me that she desired me to convey all sorts of messages to you both. Also that I stand in your debt.”
“In my debt?” she repeated doubtfully.
“So I must think. I owe my first introduction to Miss Laleham to you, and consider myself much obliged to you.”
She could not bring herself to say more than: “I wish you both very happy.”
“Thank you! You are a notable matchmaker. Lady Spenborough: accept my compliments!”
She had never been more thankful to hear dinner announced.
While the servants were in the room, only indifferent subjects were discussed. It was second nature to Serena to promote conversation, and to set a party going on the right lines. No matter how vexed she might be, she could not fail in her duties as a hostess. Fanny, seated opposite to her, nervous and oppressed, wondered and admired, and did her best to appear at ease. She had never yet been so in Rotherham’s presence, however. At his most mellow, he made her feel stupid; when he sparred with Serena for an opening, she felt quite sick with apprehension. The Major saw it, and, chancing to meet her eye, smiled reassuringly at her, and took the earliest opportunity that offered of sliding out of a discussion of the restored King of Spain’s despotic conduct, and turned to ask her quietly if she had succeeded in her search for a birthday present likely to appeal to the taste of her youngest sister. She responded gratefully, feeling herself protected; and Serena, seeing her happily rengaged in abusing the Bath shops, and describing her hunt for a certain type of work-box, was content to let drop the subject of Spain, which she had chosen because it was one on which the Major could speak with authority. Rotherham sat for a
