“But you were engaged to him?”
This had to be answered without a moment’s pause. “Yes,” said Arabella; “I was engaged to him.”
“And he is going out as minister to Patagonia almost immediately?”
“He is going, I know.”
“I suppose you will go with him?”
This was very hard. She could not say that she certainly was not going with him. And yet she had to remember that her coming campaign with Lord Rufford must be carried on in part beneath her aunt’s eyes. When she had come to Mistletoe she had fondly hoped that none of the family there would know anything about Mr. Morton. And now she was called upon to answer these horrid questions without a moment’s notice! “I don’t think I shall go with him, aunt; though I am unable to say anything certain just at present. If he behaves badly of course the engagement must be off.”
“I hope not. You should think of it very seriously. As for money, you know, you have none of your own, and I am told that he has a very nice property in Rufford. There is a neighbour of his coming here tomorrow, and perhaps he knows him.”
“Who is the neighbour, aunt?” asked Arabella, innocently.
“Lord Rufford. He is coming to shoot. I will ask him about the property.”
“Pray don’t mention my name, aunt. It would be so unpleasant if nothing were to come of it. I know Lord Rufford very well.”
“Know Lord Rufford very well!”
“As one does know men that one meets about.”
“I thought it might settle everything if we had Mr. Morton here.”
“I couldn’t meet him, aunt; I couldn’t indeed. Mamma doesn’t think that he is behaving well.” To the Duchess condemnation from Lady Augustus almost amounted to praise. She felt sure that Mr. Morton was a worthy man who would not probably behave badly, and though she could not unravel the mystery, and certainly had no suspicion in regard to Lord Rufford, she was sure that there was something wrong. But there was nothing more to be said at present. After what Arabella had told her Mr. Morton could not be asked there to meet her niece. But all the slight feeling of kindness to the girl which had been created by the tidings of so respectable an engagement were at once obliterated from the Duchess’s bosom. Arabella, with many expressions of thanks and a good-humoured countenance, left the room, cursing the untowardness of her fate which would let nothing run smooth.
Lord Rufford was to come. That at any rate was now almost certain. Up to the present she had doubted, knowing the way in which such men will change their engagements at the least caprice. But the Duchess expected him on the morrow. She had prepared the way for meeting him as an old friend without causing surprise, and had gained that step. But should she succeed, as she hoped, in exacting continued homage from the man—homage for the four or five days of his sojourn at Mistletoe—this must be carried on with the knowledge on the part of many in the house that she was engaged to that horrid Patagonian Minister! Was ever a girl called upon to risk her entire fate under so many disadvantages?
When she went up to dress for dinner on the day of his expected arrival Lord Rufford had not come. Since the interview in her aunt’s room she had not heard his name mentioned. When she came into the drawing-room, a little late, he was not there. “We won’t wait, Duchess,” said the Duke to his wife at three minutes past eight. The Duke’s punctuality at dinnertime was well known, and everybody else was then assembled. Within two minutes after the Duke’s word dinner was announced, and a party numbering about thirty walked away into the dinner-room. Arabella, when they were all settled, found that there was a vacant seat next herself. If the man were to come, fortune would have favoured her in that.
The fish and soup had already disappeared and the Duke was wakening himself to eloquence on the first entrée when Lord Rufford entered the room. “There never were trains so late as yours, Duchess,” he said, “nor any part of the world in which hired horses travel so slowly. I beg the Duke’s pardon, but I suffer the less because I know his Grace never waits for anybody.”
“Certainly not,” said the Duke, “having some regard for my friends’ dinners.”
“And I find myself next to you,” said Lord Rufford as he took his seat. “Well; that is more than I deserve.”
XXXVII
How Things Were Arranged
“Jack is here,” said Lord Rufford, as soon as the fuss of his late arrival had worn itself away.
“I shall be proud to renew my acquaintance.”
“Can you come tomorrow?”
“Oh yes,” said Arabella, rapturously.
“There are difficulties, and I ought to have written to you about them. I am going with the Fitzwilliam.” Now Mistletoe was in Lincolnshire, not very far from Peterborough, not very far from Stamford, not very far from Oakham. A regular hunting man like Lord Rufford knew how to compass the difficulties of distance in all hunting countries. Horses could go by one train or overnight, and he could follow by another. And a postchaise could meet him here or there. But when a lady is added, the difficulty is often increased fivefold.
“Is it very far?” asked Arabella.
“It is a little far. I wonder who are going from here?”
“Heaven only knows. I have passed my time in playing cat’s cradle with Sir Jeffrey Bunker for the amusement of the company, and in confidential communications with my aunt and Lady Drummond. I haven’t heard hunting mentioned.”
“Have you anything on wheels going across to Holcombe Cross tomorrow, Duke?” asked Lord Rufford. The Duke said that he did not know of anything on wheels going to Holcombe Cross. Then a hunting man who
