Cotillion (30 page)

Calling in Hans Crescent with every intention of taking Olivia out in his curricle to Richmond, he had found the Chevalier very much at home in the drawing-room, captivating Mrs. Broughty as much as her daughter. This circumstance was easily explained: everything about the Chevalier bespoke the man of birth and fortune. If his handsome face, and sweetness of manner, attracted Olivia, it was his air of affluence which made him acceptable to Mrs. Broughty. No one could have accused him of boasting of his aristocratic connections, but in his conversation he betrayed an intimate knowledge of the French world of fashion; while a passing, careless reference to his uncle, the Marquis, and another to a chateau in Auvergne, had the effect of impressing Mrs. Broughty strongly in his favour. A young Frenchman, visiting England for his pleasure, and related to the lady who was betrothed to Lord Legerwood’s eldest son, bore all the outward appearance of a desirable parti; and if he was not perhaps as wealthy as Sir Henry Gosford he was no doubt quite wealthy enough to come to agreeable terms with Olivia’s Mama.

But Mr. Westruther, ushered into the drawing-room, and dominating the company with his height, and his air of easy assurance, received a sufficiently warm welcome from Mrs. Broughty. She stood a little in awe of him; she was flattered by his attentions to her daughter, for although she might be in some doubt of the Chevalier’s position she had no doubt at all of Mr. Westruther’s. He was an acknowledged leader of fashion; he belonged to that select world which haughtily refused to admit her into its ranks; and he was so much petted and courted that to have won his favour was a triumph for any lady. She was uncertain of only two circumstances: the size of his fortune, and the precise nature of his intentions. Mr. Westruther, well-aware of this, made no effort to enlighten her on either point, the first of which, he guessed, was the one of paramount importance. Mr. Westruther had his own notion of the circumstances under which the enterprising lady had induced the late Oliver Broughty to marry her; and he did not suppose that she would scruple to sell any of her daughters into elegant prostitution, provided that the price offered were high enough. Probably she would prefer to marry Olivia to the aged Sir Henry Gosford; but if Olivia were to prove intractable it was not likely that her Mama would repulse other, less respectable, offers. Not that Mr. Westruther had the smallest intention of negotiating any kind of bargain with a woman whom he comprehensively despised. He found Olivia enchanting, but he wanted no unwilling mistress. He was not the only man casting out lures to the lovely creature, but until he found the Chevalier ensconced in the drawing— room in Hans Crescent he knew himself to be without serious rival.

He paused for a moment on the threshold, raising his quizzing-glass, smiling at Olivia, raising an eyebrow at the Chevalier, sweeping Mrs. Broughty with the indulgent, mocking glance which both enraged and impressed her. “Ma’am!” He made his bow to Mrs. Broughty. “Your very obedient! Miss Broughty, your slave! Chevalier!” A nod sufficed for the Chevalier, but when Olivia held out her hand he took it, and held it, saying laughingly: “ ‘Most radiant, exquisite, and ummatchable beauty,’ can I persuade you to drive out with me?”

Miss Charing, had she been present, would undoubtedly have been able to have supplied Olivia with the context of these mock-heroics; Olivia, by far less well-read, was cast into adorable confusion, looking at once flattered and frightened, and murmured: “Oh, pray—! How foolish of you! It is so very obliging of you, but it is not in my power to accept! We are in the expectation of receiving friends.”

“Alas!” he said lightly. “My luck is quite out. Shall I go away at once, or may I sit with you for a few minutes?”

Mrs. Broughty, crying out against the suggestion that he should depart, pressed him to take refreshment. He declined it, but sat down, stayed talking lazily for a quarter of an hour, and then rose, saying that he must no longer keep his horses standing. “How came you here, d’Evron? Can I offer you a seat in my curricle? You have not set up your own carriage, I fancy?”

“No; it seems not worth the pain. In general, I hire a vehicle; today I came here in what I am informed I must call a hack. I have that correctly?”

“Oh, perfectly! Your command of the English tongue compels one’s admiration. If you came in a hack, you must certainly allow me to convey you back to Duke Street. Farewell, sovereign cruelty! I shall hope for better fortune the next time I come to visit you!”

The Chevalier, perceiving that Mr. Westruther had no intention of leaving him in possession of the field, submitted gracefully, bowed over the ladies’ hands, and accompanied his ruthless benefactor out into the street. A compliment to Mr. Westruther on his horses was indifferently received, and failed to divert him from his purpose. “Yes, a match pair,” he replied. “And how have you been going on since I last saw you, my dear d’Evron? You contrive to amuse yourself tolerably well in London?”

“Indeed, I shall not know how to tear myself away! I have met with such kindness, and feel myself quite at home in consequence.”

“Your charm of manner has swept all before it,” said Mr. Westruther. “I am for ever being asked who is my delightful French acquaintance, and where he comes from.”

“Ah, this is some of the
taquinerie
for which you are famous, I think!”

“Not at all. I am sure the friends you have made in England are legion. Now, who was it who wished to know only the other day where you had hidden yourself? Hoped you had not fallen a victim to the influenza—Yes, of course! it was Lady Maria Yalding! To have made such a conquest as
that
is something indeed!”

“I cannot flatter myself so grossly,” responded the Chevalier quietly. “But you remind me of my obligations, sir: Lady Maria has been most kind, and I must not neglect her.”

“Just so,” agreed Mr. Westruther. “One sees the temptation, of course, but it would be folly not to withstand it.”

“I understand you, I suppose,” the Chevalier said after a moment, and in a mortified tone.

“I feel sure you do: so quick-witted, you Frenchmen! You must forgive my meddling: since I had the pleasure of bringing you and your cousin together I must think myself in some sort responsible for you. I should dislike excessively to see you tumble into one of the pitfalls with which society is so amply provided. Always so difficult for a foreigner to recognize them, isn’t it?”

“Do you mean to indicate, sir, that we have just left one of these pitfalls?” asked the Chevalier, taking the bull by the horns.

“Why, yes!” said Mr. Westruther, pulling up for the turnpike. “Charming, of course—quite the most ravishingly lovely little ladybird in town!—but no fortune, my dear d’Evron, and a mother who is a veritable harpy!”

“I am aware.”

“Naturally. She should have been an Abbess—ah, an
entremetteuse
, Chevalier! The fair Olivia is for sale to the highest bidder.”

“Sir Henry Gosford? The thought revolts!”

The pike was open, and Mr. Westruther set his pair in motion again, keeping them rigidly to a sedate pace, unusual in him. “Gosford, if Olivia will have him,” he agreed. “He is wealthy—a matter of primary importance to Mrs. Broughty; and he is besotted enough to offer marriage—not, I fancy, so important, but still desirable.”

“You appal me!” the Chevalier exclaimed. “It cannot be that the woman would allow that beautiful innocent to become a man’s mistress!”

Mr. Westruther laughed softly. “Unless I miss my bet, d’Evron, Mrs. Broughty, until she entrapped the late Broughty into marriage, was herself what we call a prime article—of Covent Garden notoriety, you know! I should suppose that that way of life may not appear to her so undesirable as it seems to appear to you.”

“Horrible! It is horrible to think of such a thing in connection with that girl!” the Chevalier said vehemently.

“My dear young friend, are you picturing the fair Olivia in the Magdalen?” said Mr. Westruther, with a touch of impatience. “There is not the least reason to suppose that she would not enjoy a varied and a luxurious career, and, in all probability, end her days in a state of considerable affluence. We do not all of us cast our mistresses naked upon the world, you know!”

“Sir!” said the Chevalier, trying to control his agitation. “You have been frank! I shall ask you to pardon me if I too speak without restraint! Is it thus that you desire mademoiselle?”

“It is certainly not as my wife,” replied Mr. Westruther, rather haughtily.

“I would do all within my power to prevent it!”

A slight smile crossed Mr. Westruther’s face. “But, then, there is really so little within your power, is there? If I were you—and this is the friendliest advice I can give you!—I would strive to forget Olivia, and continue to besiege Lady Maria’s citadel. I wish you very well at that, and will engage not to cast the least rub in your way. But you must not trespass upon my ground, you know. Not the smallest good can come of it, I do assure you. I am persuaded you did not come to London with the intention of marrying a penniless girl. Nor do I think you have sufficiently appreciated the determination of Mrs. Broughty. Perhaps you have no objection to the enquiries she will certainly make into your precise circumstances; but do, my dear d’Evron, consider what might be the consequences if some malicious person were to breathe into the lady’s ear a doubt—just a doubt!”

The Frenchman stiffened, and paused for a moment before replying: “In effect, you are offensive, sir!”

“Oh, no, no!” Mr. Westruther said gently. “You mistake!”

“I must believe you to be my enemy!”

“Again you mistake. I am sufficiently—how shall I put it?—an
âme de boue
!—to derive considerable enjoyment from watching your progress, Chevalier! It commands my admiration. Indeed, I should be sorry to see it blighted, and I wish you all success with the Yalding. There will be certain difficulties, of course, but
she
is both headstrong and obstinate, while
you
are adroit, and I am persuaded you will overcome them, carrying her off, as it were, in Annerwick’s teeth. That will afford quite a number of persons enjoyment. You are not acquainted with Lady Maria’s papa? You are to be felicitated: an unlovable man! And here we are at Duke Street!”

“I must thank you, sir, for bringing me here!” said the Chevalier formally, preparing to alight.

“A pleasure, believe me!” smiled Mr. Westruther. “
Au revoir
, my dear sir!”

Two days later, when driving Kitty in the Park, at the fashionable hour, he was able to observe the fruits of his encounter with her cousin. London was still a little thin of company, but the unusually clement weather, which had brought the hunting season to an early close, had tempted many to return to town. Quite a number of notabilities were to be seen, riding or driving in the Park, and Kitty was kept very well-entertained by Mr. Westruther’s pithy descriptions of their identities, their manners, and their foibles. It was when they were approaching the Riding House on their second circuit that they met Lady Maria Yalding’s barouche. A press of vehicles had brought both the barouche and the curricle momentarily to a standstill, and they stood alongside each other for long enough for the occupants of each to have time for recognition, and greetings. Beside Lady Maria’s buxom form, splendidly attired in purple, above which her high-coloured face rose triumphant, sat the Chevalier, listening with an air of absorbed interest to what she was saying. Upon the lady’s hailing Mr. Westruther in her bluff, rather loud-voiced way, he glanced up quickly, met Mr.

Westruther’s eyes, and at once turned his attention to Kitty, saying, as he took off his hat, and sketched a bow: “Ah, well met, my dear cousin! I do not know, Lady Maria, if you are acquainted with Miss Charing?”

The protuberant eyes stared at Kitty. Lady Maria said: “Oh, yes! Met you somewhere, I believe, Miss Charing. Staying with Lady Buckhaven, aren’t you? Lovely weather, isn’t it? I say, Westruther, do you see the Angleseys are back in town? Just met Anglesey, with his girls. My dear Camille, what is holding us up for so long? Some fool trying to lionize, I daresay, with a badly broke horse! Oh, now we are off! Goodbye! Happy to meet you again some day, Miss— can’t remember names!”

Mr. Westruther allowed his pair to have their heads a little, and as they were on the fret Kitty was whisked off before she could reply to this brusque speech. She said, in a tone of strong displeasure: “What very odd manners, to be sure!”

“You need not regard her: all the Annerwicks are famed for their rudeness,” responded Mr. Westruther. “They are convinced, you see, that they are vastly superior to the rest of mankind, and so have no need to waste civility.”

“I am astonished that Camille should be so often in her company,” Kitty remarked, wrinkling her brow. “He escorted her to the play last night, you know: I saw him, for I was there with Freddy, and the Legerwoods. It is quite impossible that he should like her! But they must be upon excessively friendly terms for her to call him Camille in that odious way! It doesn’t seem to me at all the thing.”

“It should perhaps be explained to you that Lady Maria is a very rich woman.”

“That is what Freddy said, but I will not allow it to be true that Camille is a fortune-hunter!”

He was amused. “What a high flight!”

“It is odious, Jack! Surely you must perceive that!”

“Not at all. Think of the offers you yourself received when it became known you were an heiress!”

She coloured. “Indeed, I thought them odious too!”