Cotillion (25 page)

“No, really, Kit!” protested Mr. Standen. “Doing it too brown! Couldn’t have!”

“But indeed she did! First she was married to the Duke of Hamilton, and when he died she married the Duke of Argyll!”

“Oh, when he
died
!” said Freddy, glad to have this point elucidated. “No reason why she shouldn’t. Not but what this little ladybird won’t marry a Duke, let alone a couple of ‘em. Well, I put it to you, Kit! I don’t know how it was when these Gunning-girls of yours were on the town, but the only Duke I can think of who hasn’t been married for years is Devonshire, and it’s not a bit of use laying lures for him, because it’s common knowledge he tried to fix his interest with the Princess Charlotte, and it ain’t likely he’d take Olivia Broughty instead!”

“Of course I don’t mean that she should marry a Duke!” replied Kitty. “Only it would be too dreadful if she was
sold
—for one can call it nothing else!—to such a creature as Sir Henry Gosford!” She saw that these words had made a profound impression, and said triumphantly: “You are shocked, but I assure you—”

“I should dashed well think I am shocked!” interrupted Freddy. “You aren’t going to tell me that fellow visits Meg?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then where the deuce did you meet him?”

“I didn’t meet him! Meg pointed him out to me once, when we were driving in the Park, but she only said that he was a horrid old rake, and she did not even give him a common bow in passing! It is Olivia who has told me all about him, and I do think you must have felt for her, Freddy, had you been here! She is being quite persecuted with his attentions, and because he is so rich, and Lady Batterstown has not put Olivia in the way of receiving more eligible offers, Mrs. Broughty encourages his advances! Indeed, she positively forces him upon Olivia! How it will end I dare not think, for Olivia regards him with the greatest repugnance, and yet she is so much afraid of her Mama that she knows not what to do, and says that she fears sometimes that she may be compelled to do something desperate—though
what
this could be I don’t know. I cannot think that she would take the terrible step of putting a period to her existence!”

“Well, there ain’t any need for you to think it,” said Freddy, quite unmoved by this flight. “No wish to vex you, but Gosford ain’t the only buck throwing out lures to the girl!”

She said innocently: “No, no, she has received not one offer, Freddy!”

Mr. Standen, feeling himself quite unequal to the task of explaining to her the precise nature of the offers likely to be received by Miss Broughty, gave it up. He might have pointed out that dazzling beauties, unaccepted by the
ton
, and permitted to appear in public accompanied only by a cousin of unmistakeable vulgarity who showed only too ready a disposition to efface herself if a modish buck ogled her charge, did not commonly achieve brilliant alliances, but, on the contrary, were more in the habit of being offered
cartes blanches
by such connoisseurs as Mr. Westruther. Freddy was well aware of his cousin’s pursuit of the fair Olivia. He did not think that the attentions of such a notable Corinthian were distasteful to her; but he was very sure that however ardent Jack’s passion for her might be it would not carry him to the altar in her company. Whether he would succeed in mounting her as his latest mistress was a question which had not hitherto exercised Mr. Standen’s mind, since it had in no way concerned him. He now hoped very much that Mr. Westruther’s circumstances were not affluent enough to tempt Mrs. Broughty, for he perceived, nebulously but with dismay, that such a liaison would be attended by quite hideous complications. Mr. Standen, being blessed with sisters, entertained not the slightest doubt that Kitty, befriending Olivia, would be the recipient of all the secrets of her bosom. At the best, a certain crusading instinct in Miss Charing would undoubtedly lead her to kick up the devil of a dust, he thought. At the worst—but here Mr. Standen’s powerful reasoning broke down, and he floundered in a sea of conjecture.

He had not forgotten that Kitty had confessed to him, on the road to London, that in coming to town she had a scheme in mind which she preferred not to disclose. There were moments when he thought he had a very fair idea of what this might be. He had been faintly surprised to learn from her that she hated Mr. Westruther, for her youthful adoration of so magnificent a personage had been common knowledge in the family. As far as he could be said to have considered the matter at all, Freddy had supposed that the childish passion had worn itself out. But having been privileged to observe Kitty’s demeanour when Mr. Westruther chanced to be present he no longer felt very sure of this. His Aunt Dolphinton, yielding to an uncertain temper, had informed him waspishly that Kitty had accepted his offer in a fit of pique; and while he paid very little heed to this at the time he soon began to think that it might be the truth. He could not otherwise account for Miss Charing’s affectionate demeanour towards him when, and only when, Mr. Westruther was present. Jack had accompanied them to the ball at the Pantheon, but so far from evincing any desire to dance with him, Kitty had accorded him one only of the waltzes he demanded, and had excused herself from attempting to perform the steps of the quadrille under his guidance. “No, the next country-dance, if you please!” she said.

“But I do not please! How can you be so impolite?” She laughed. “Oh, must I stand on ceremony with you? No, I have known you for too many years, and I don’t scruple to tell you that I daren’t trust myself to you in a quadrille, for you know, Jack, I made sad work of that waltz with you! To own the truth, I don’t care to dance waltzes or quadrilles with anyone but Freddy.”

So Mr. Westruther, bowing in mock-humility, allowed himself to be fobbed off with a country-dance; and was presently afforded an excellent opportunity, had he cared to avail himself of it, of observing how merrily Miss Charing twirled about the hall with Mr. Standen. But as he chose rather to flirt outrageously with Meg, Miss Charing could not be sure that he did observe it. When they stood up together in the country-dance, she no longer sparkled, and three times answered him at random. Called to order, she begged pardon, and said she had not been attending.

“Thinking of Freddy, no doubt,” said Mr. Westruther sardonically.

“No, I can’t plead that excuse. My mind was merely wandering.”

Since the ladies whom Mr. Westruther chose to honour with his attentions did not commonly allow their minds to wander when he was talking to them, he was momentarily taken-aback. Recovering, he laughed. “A heavy set-down! Can it be that I have had the ill-fortune to offend you, Kitty?” She was not obliged to reply to this, as they were separated just then by a movement of the dance. When they came together again, she asked him if he did not think Freddy a beautiful dancer.

“Certainly: the best in town,” he responded. “One might say that it is his only accomplishment—unless you hold his tailoring to be an accomplishment?”

“That is not a proper mode in which to speak of Freddy to me!” she countered forthrightly. “Don’t be absurd, Kitty!”

She disregarded this, but said seriously: “I think Freddy has what is better than accomplishments—a kind heart!”

“Or do you mean a yielding disposition?” said Mr. Westruther, quizzing her. “Poor Freddy!” She flushed. “He is your cousin, and you may sneer at him if you choose, but you shall not do so to me, Jack!”

“You are mistaken: the emotion that fills my breast is not contempt, but compassion.”

For the second time in her life, Miss Charing was conscious of a strong desire to slap that handsome, mocking face. She controlled it, saying in a repressive tone: “I believe that he may yet surprise you.”

“He
has
surprised me,” replied Mr. Westruther.

Miss Charing could only be glad when the dance ended.

Chapter XII

kitty, however much Mr. Westruther might disconcert her, was not ill-pleased by the results of her strategy. She had certainly arrested his attention. If he disbelieved the story of the engagement (and he gave every sign of disbelieving it), the tacit refusal of both parties to it to own the truth, coupled with Kitty’s apparent lack of interest in his activities, compelled him to alter his tactics. He did not doubt his ability to put an end to the comedy at any moment of his own choosing, for he was well aware that she had adored him for years; but he did not mean to let her, or his Great— uncle Matthew, dictate terms, or force his hand. Nothing in his life had annoyed him more than Mr. Penicuik’s ultimatum. He certainly meant to marry one day; he as certainly meant country-bred, innocent Kitty to be his wife, believing that either to him or to her would Mr. Penicuik’s fortune be bequeathed; but he was not a pawn on any chessboard of Mr. Penicuik’s making; and, for he was a gamester, he would have forgone every penny of that considerable fortune rather than have obeyed such a summons as he had received. Moreover, he was betting upon a certainty: Kitty was his for the lifting of a finger. He feared no competition from any one of his cousins, and if he had been surprised to learn of her engagement to Freddy it had been momentarily: an instant’s reflection showed him what must have been her reason. He was amused by it; he could even appreciate it; and although he meant to punish her a little, he bore her no ill-will for such a flash of spirit. But however negligible a rival Freddy might be, Mr. Westruther was not so lost in self— esteem that he did not recognize the danger of Kitty’s succumbing to the flattery of other and more personable suitors. A pretty girl—and Mr. Westruther had been surprised to discover how very pretty Kitty could be when she was tricked out in all the elegancies of fashion—presented to society by the Standens, carrying with her the aura of large expectations, would not lack admirers. However much Mr. Penicuik might pride himself on abiding by his pledged word, Jack would not have wagered any considerable sum on the chance of his abiding by it, were Kitty to present herself at Arnside on the arm of a really brilliant suitor. Mr. Westruther, introducing the Chevalier d’Evron to her in a spirit of pure mischief, had his own reasons for discounting danger from that quarter; her encouragement of Dolphinton’s absurd attentions he did not understand but was able to shrug away; there were other bachelors, by far more eligible, whom it would be unwise to despise. One, in particular, a youthful peer, had shown unmistakeable signs of developing a
tendre
for so lively and unaffected a damsel; and a noted connoisseur, not indeed in the first blush of his youth but none the less attractive for that, had not only solicited her to dance upon the occasion of her debut at Almack’s, but had followed up this mark of his approval by sending her flowers upon the next day. It was time for Mr. Westruther to move, even though he had no intention of dancing so easily to the tune of Miss Charing’s impertinent piping. It was one thing to be amused by the schemes of a child he had known from her cradle-days; quite another to yield to them. He could sympathize with her desire to visit London, but he would have been better pleased had she remained, rather like a Sleeping Beauty, at Arnside. Marriage in the immediate future he wished to avoid; but if Kitty doubted his intention to make her ultimately his wife it would be as well to fix his interest securely with her. None knew better than he how to charm and to tantalize until his victim had no eyes for another than himself. His conquests were many; and if no lady had actually died of unrequited love, one at least (but it was generally acknowledged that her sensibility was immoderate) had suffered a decline on his account. The appearance on her horizon of an even more captivating admirer had happily arrested the fell disease; but anxious parents took inordinate pains to shield their susceptible daughters from the fleeting attentions of a most destructive flirt.

Sustaining two set-downs from Miss Charing, who twice found excuses for refusing invitations to drive out with him in the curricle drawn by his famous chestnuts, Mr. Westruther sent her, by the hand of his groom, a ravishing tan of ivory, pierced, gilded, and painted with delicate medallions by the hand of Angelica Kauffman. Accompanying this gift, was a letter so adroitly phrased that Kitty knew not how to refuse the fan. It was the betrothal-present, Mr. Westruther wrote, of her oldest friend, who dared to subscribe himself by affection, if not by blood, her ever-loving cousin, Jack.

“Well!” exclaimed Meg, not quite pleased. “I am sure he has never given
me
anything one half as pretty! He must certainly have had a run of luck! The most expensive trifle, my dear Kitty!”

Pressing her hands to her hot cheeks, Kitty said: “I must not accept such a valuable gift!”

“Good gracious, why should you not? You can scarcely refuse it, my love! Quite unexceptionable, I assure you! ‘Your ever-loving cousin’—! Very prettily phrased, upon my word!”

So when Mr. Westruther renewed his invitation to his cousin-by-affection to drive with him to Richmond Park, to see the primroses there, bursting into pale flower under the shade of immemorial trees, it seemed to Miss Charing that she could only accept, with becoming pleasure. The luck favoured Mr. Westruther; the appointed day was one of bright sunshine. It encouraged Miss Charing to wear a Villager-hat of satin straw, with flowers at one side, and an apple-green ribbon passed beneath her chin, and tied in a skittish bow under her ear; and to carry a frivolous parasol, bestowed upon her by Meg. Mr. Westruther found himself thinking, as he handed her into his curricle, that her appearance was such as must satisfy the most exacting of men.

It was his custom to drive abroad with a diminutive Tiger perched up behind him, but on this occasion he had dispensed with the services of this youth. He told Kitty, with the flicker of a smile, that such chaperonage could not be thought necessary for such near relations (by affection) as themselves. She agreed to it, but warily. Yet not the most querulous critic could have called in question Mr. Westruther’s conduct from start to finish of this expedition. He was the big cousin who had enchanted her childish fancy; he might laugh at her, but he refrained from laughing at Freddy; if he never once referred to her engagement, at least he gave no sign of disbelieving it. Only at the end of an afternoon for which Kitty thanked him with real gratitude did he lower the mask for an instant. The laugh sprang to his eyes; he looked down into her face for a moment, lightly pinched her chin, and said, the words a caress: “Foolish, doubting, little Kitty! There, in with you, my child! I cannot leave my horses to go with you!”