The note of amusement had left his voice; she ventured to raise her eyes, and saw something very like a frown on his face. “Are you d-dreadfully angry?” she blurted out.
The frown cleared. “Anger is too fatiguing an emotion, my dear. I was wondering how best to cure you.”
“C-cure me? You can’t. It’s in the b-blood,” said Horatia frankly. “And even Mama don’t disapprove of gaming. I didn’t understand it quite p-perfectly at first, and I d-daresay that is why I lost.”
“Quite possibly,” assented Rule. “Madam Wife, I am constrained to tell you—in my character of indignant husband—that I cannot countenance excessive gaming.”
“Don’t, oh
“Don’t distress yourself, Horry,” recommended the Earl. “To be the last arrival is always effective.” But he spoke to space. Horatia had gone.
His wife’s gyrations, however much perturbation they might occasion Lady Louisa, were watched by others with very different feelings. Mr Crosby Drelincourt, whose world had assumed a uniformly dun hue from the moment of his cousin’s betrothal, began to observe a ray of light breaking through the gloom, and Lady Massey, taking note of the young Countess’s every exploit and extravagance, patiently bided her time. Rule’s visits to Hertford Street had become more infrequent, but she was far too clever to reproach him, and took care to be her most charming self whenever she saw him. She was already acquainted with Horatia—a circumstance she owed to the kind offices of Mr Drelincourt, who made it his business to present her to the Countess at a ball—but beyond exchanging curtsies and polite greetings with Horatia whenever they chanced to meet she had not sought to increase the friendship. Rule had a way of seeing more than he appeared to, and it was unlikely that he would permit an intimacy between his wife and his mistress to grow up without interference.
It seemed to be Mr Drelincourt’s self-appointed duty to make presentations to his new cousin. He even presented Robert Lethbridge to her, at a drum at Richmond. His lordship had been out of town when the Earl and Countess of Rule returned from their honeymoon and by the time he first clapped eyes on the bride she had already—as young Mr Dashwood so brilliantly phrased it—Taken the Town by Storm.
Lord Lethbridge saw her first at the drum, dressed in satin
He stood against one wall of the long saloon, and his eyes rested on the bride with a curious expression in them, hard to read. Mr Drelincourt, observing him from a distance, ranged alongside, and said with a titter: “You are admiring my new cousin, my lord?”
“Profoundly,” said Lethbridge.
“For my part,” shrugged Mr Drelincourt, never one to conceal his feelings, “I find those eyebrows positively grotesque. I do not call her a beauty. Decidedly I do not.”
Lethbridge’s glance flickered to his face; his lips curled imperceptibly. “You ought to be delighted with her, Crosby,” he said.
“Pray allow me to present you to the Paragon!” said Mr Drelincourt crossly.” But I warn you, she stammers hideously.”
“And gambles, and drives gigs up St James’s,” said his lordship. “I never hoped for better.”
Mr Drelincourt looked sharply round at him. “Why—why—”
“What a fool you are, Crosby!” said Lethbridge. “Present me!”
“Really, my lord, really! Pray how am I to take that?”
“I had not the least intention of being enigmatic, believe me,” replied Lethbridge acidly. “Make me known to this excellent bride.”
“You are in a devilish humour, my lord, I protest,” complained Crosby, but he moved towards the group about Horatia. “Cousin, permit me! May I present one who is all eagerness to meet you?”
Horatia had very little desire to meet any crony of Mr Drelincourt’s, whom she cordially despised, and she turned with obvious reluctance. But the man who stood before her was not at all like Crosby’s usual companions. None of the absurdities of the Macaroni marred the elegance of his person. He was dressed with magnificence, and he seemed to be considerably older than Mr Drelincourt.
“Lord Lethbridge, my Lady Rule!” said Crosby. “You perceive him quite agog to meet the lady about whom the whole town is talking, dear cousin.”
Horatia, spreading her skirts in a curtsy, flushed a little, for Mr Drelincourt’s words stung. She arose swimmingly and extended her hand. Lord Lethbridge received it on his wrist and bent with incomparable grace to salute it. A flicker of interest awoke in Horatia’s eyes: his lordship had an air.
“Our poor Crosby has always such a happy turn of phrase,” murmured Lethbridge, and won a glimpse of a dimple. “Ah, precisely! Let me lead you to that couch, madam.”
She took his arm and went with him across the saloon. “C-Crosby detests me,” she confided.
“But of course,” said his lordship.
She frowned, rather puzzled. “That isn’t very c-civil, sir. Why should he?”
His brows rose in momentary surprise; he looked critically at her, and laughed. “Oh—because he has such execrable taste, ma’am!”
It did not seem to Horatia as though this was the reason he really had in mind, and she was about to inquire deeper into the matter when he changed the subject. “I need hardly ask, ma’am, whether you are
“N-no, I am not,” replied Horatia. “I l-like it.”
“Delightful!” smiled his lordship. “You infect even such jaded spirits as mine with enthusiasm.
She looked a little doubtful. What he said was excessively polite, but the tone he used held a tinge of light mockery which baffled while it intrigued her. “J-jaded spirits usually seek the c-card-room, sir,” she remarked.
He was gently fanning her with the cabriolet-fan he had taken from her hand, but he paused, and said with a quizzical look: “Ah—and so sometimes do enthusiastic ones, do they not?”
“S-sometimes,” admitted Horatia. “You have heard all about me.”
By no means, ma’am. But when I learn of a lady who never refuses a wager, why, I desire to know more of her.”
“I am certainly very p-partial to games of chance, sir,” said Horatia wistfully.
“One day you shall play your cards against me,” said Lethbridge, “if you will.”
A voice spoke immediately behind them. “Do not play with Lord Lethbridge, Ma’am, if you are wise!”
Horatia looked over her shoulder, Lady Massey had entered the saloon through a curtained archway, and was standing leaning her hand lightly on the back of the couch.
“Oh?” Horatia said, glancing at Lethbridge with new interest. “Will he fleece me?”
Lady Massey laughed: “Why ma’am, I to tell you that you are talking to the most hardened gamester of our times? Be warned, I implore you!
“Are you?” inquired Horatia, regarding Lethbridge, who had risen at Lady Massey’s approach, and was watching her with and indefinable smile. “Then I should l-like very m-much to play with you, I assure you!”
“You will need iron nerves, ma’am,” Lady Massey said banteringly. “If he were not here I might tell you some shock-ing tales about him.”
At that moment Lord Winwood, who was strolling towards the doorway, caught sight of the group by the couch, and promptly bore down upon his sister. He executed a bow in Lady Massey’s direction, and bestowed a nod on Lethbridge. “You’re very obedient, ma’am. Servant, Lethbridge. I’ve been looking all over for you, Horry. Promised to present
Horatia got up “Well b-but—”
The Viscount took her hand to draw it through his arm, and as he did so pinched her fingers significantly. Understanding this brotherly nip to mean that he had something of importance to say to her, Horatia sketched a curtsy to Lady Massey, and prepared to walk away with the Viscount, only pausing to say seriously: “P-perhaps we shall try a throw against each other some day, my lord.”
“Perhaps,” Lethbridge bowed.
