are spoilt, Richard. You have too much money, you have done everything you wished to do before you are out of your twenties; you have been courted by match-making Mamas, fawned on by toadies, and indulged by all the world. The end of it is that you are bored to death. There! I have said it, and though you may not thank me for it, you will admit that I am right.”
“Quite right,” agreed Sir Richard. “Hideously right, Louisa!”
She got up. “Well, I advise you to get married and settle down. Come, Mama! We have said all we meant to say, and you know we are to call in Brook Street on our way home. George, do you mean to come with, us?”
“No,” said George. “Not to call in Brook Street, I daresay I shall stroll up to White’s presently.”
“Just as you please, my love,” said Louisa, drawing on her gloves again.
When the ladies had been escorted to the waiting barouche, George did not at once set out for his club, but accompanied his brother-in-law back into the house. He preserved a sympathetic silence until they were out of ear-shot of the servants, but caught Sir Richard’s eye then, in a very pregnant look, and uttered the one word: “Women!”
“Quite so,” said Sir Richard.
“Do you know what I’d do if I were you, my boy?”
“Yes,” said Sir Richard.
George was disconcerted. “Damn it, you can’t know!”
“You would do precisely what I shall do.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh—offer for Melissa Brandon, of course,” said Sir Richard.
“Well, I wouldn’t,” said George positively. “I wouldn’t marry Melissa Brandon for fifty sisters! I’d find a cosier armful, ’pon my soul I would!”
“The cosiest armful of my acquaintance was never so cosy as when she wanted to see my purse-strings untied,” said Sir Richard cynically.
George shook his head. “Bad, very bad! I must say, it’s enough to sour any man. But Louisa’s right, you know: you ought to get married. Won’t do to let the name die out.” An idea occurred to him. “You wouldn’t care to put it about that you’d lost all your money, I suppose?”
“No,” said Sir Richard, “I wouldn’t.”
“I read somewhere of a fellow who went off to some place where he wasn’t known. Devil of a fellow he was: some kind of a foreign Count, I think. I don’t remember precisely, but there was a girl in it, who fell in love with him for his own sake.”
“There would be,” said Sir Richard.
“You don’t like it?” George rubbed his nose, a little crestfallen. “Well, damme if I know what to suggest!”
He was still pondering the matter when the butler announced Mr Wyndham, and a large, portly, and convivial-looking gentleman rolled into the room, ejaculating cheerfully: “Hallo, George! You here? Ricky, my boy, your mother’s been at me again, confound her! Made me promise I’d come round to see you, though what the devil she thinks I can do is beyond me!”
“Spare me!” said Sir Richard wearily. “I have already sustained a visit from my mother, not to mention Louisa.”
“Well, I’m sorry for you, my boy, and if you take my advice you’ll marry that Brandon-wench, and be done with it. What’s that you have there? Madeira? I’ll take a glass.”
Sir Richard gave him one. He lowered his bulk into a large armchair, stretched his legs out before him, and raised the glass. “Here’s a health to the bridegroom!” he said, with a chuckle. “Don’t look so glum, nevvy! Think of the joy you’ll be bringing into Saar’s life!”
“Damn you,” said Sir Richard. “If you had ever had a shred of proper feeling, Lucius, you would have got married fifty years ago, and reared a pack of brats in your image. A horrible thought, I admit, but at least I should not now be cast for the role of Family Sacrifice.”
“Fifty years ago,” retorted his uncle, quite unmoved by these insults, “I was only just breeched. This is a very tolerable wine, Ricky. By the way, they tell me young Beverley Brandon’s badly dipped. You’ll be a damned public benefactor if you marry that girl. Better let your lawyer attend to the settlements, though. I’d be willing to lay you a monkey Saar tries to bleed you white. What’s the matter with you, George? Got the toothache?”
“I don’t like it,” said George. “I told Louisa so at the outset, but you know what women are! Myself, I wouldn’t have Melissa Brandon if she were the last woman left single.”
“What, she ain’t the spotty one, surely?” demanded Lucius, concerned.
“No, that’s Sophia.”
“Oh, well, nothing to worry about then! You marry the girl, Ricky: you’ll never have any peace if you don’t. Fill up your glass, George, and we’ll have another toast!”
“What is it this time?” enquired Sir Richard, replenishing the glasses. “Don’t spare me!”
“To a pack of brats in your image, nevvy: here’s to ’em!” grinned his uncle.
Chapter 2
Lord Saar lived in Brook Street with his wife, and his family of two sons and four daughters. Sir Richard Wyndham, driving to his prospective father-in-law’s house twenty-four hours after his interview with his own parent, was fortunate enough to find Saar away from home, and Lady Saar, the butler informed him, on her way to Bath with the Honourable Sophia. He fell instead into the arms of the Honourable Cedric Brandon, a rakish young gentleman of lamentable habits, and a disastrous charm of manner.
“Ricky, my only friend!” cried the Honourable Cedric, dragging Sir Richard into a small saloon at the back of the house. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to offer for Melissa! They say good news don’t kill a man, but
“Would you buy yourself a pair of colours, if I gave you the money?” asked Sir Richard.
“Sober, yes; drunk, no!” replied Cedric, with his wholly disarming smile. “I’m very sober now, but I shan’t be so for long. Don’t give me a groat, dear old boy! Don’t give Bev a groat! He’s a bad man. Now, when I’m sober I’m a good man—but I ain’t sober above six hours out of the twenty-four, so you be warned! Now I’m off. I’ve done my best for you, for I like you, Ricky, but if you go to perdition in spite of me, I’ll wash my hands of you. No, damme, I’ll sponge on you for the rest of my days! Think, dear boy, think! Bev and your very obedient on your doorstep six days out of seven—duns—threats—wife’s brothers done-up—pockets to let—wife in tears—nothing to do but pay! Don’t do it! Fact is, we ain’t worth it!”
“Wait!” Sir Richard said, barring his passage. “If I settle your debts, will you go to the Peninsula?”
“Ricky, it’s you who aren’t sober. Go home!”
“Consider, Cedric, how well you would look in Hussar uniform!”
An impish smile danced in Cedric’s eyes. “Wouldn’t I just! But at this present I’d look better in Hyde Park. Out of the way, dear boy! I’ve a very important engagement. Backed a goose to win a hundred-yard race against a turkey-cock. Can’t lose! Greatest sporting event of the season!”
He was gone on the words, leaving Sir Richard, not, indeed, to run, as advised, but to await the pleasure of the Honourable Melissa Brandon,
She did not keep him waiting for long. A servant came to request him to step upstairs, and he followed the man up the wide staircase to the withdrawing-room on the first floor.
Melissa Brandon was a handsome, dark-haired young woman, a little more than twenty-five years old. Her
