Imprudent Lady (27 page)

Prudence observed, and she too looked at Dammler with a question in her eyes. The first opportunity she had after the reception line broke up she said to him, “You should have warned me it was to be a mourning party and I would have worn black like everyone else. I feel a very peacock among the crows."

“My cousin is old-fashioned, but even
she,
I am sure, does not expect a young lady to wear black to a drum."

“Except perhaps to a “hum drum,” she replied, looking about the room, where everyone sat in silence. No one had yet gone to dance or play cards.

“You look lovely, Prudence,” he said, taking in every detail of her toilette.

“Oh thank you. My shoulders are much admired here in Bath, but I
do
wish I had brought a shawl, preferably black."

Dammler felt a pulse of anger at this remark. “Who in Bath particularly admires them?"

“The gentlemen,” she answered pertly. “I can't recall that I ever received a compliment on my shoulders from a lady."

“I suppose ladies who wear immodest gowns lay themselves open to that sort of impertinence,” he said angrily.

She was too shocked to answer. Her gown she knew was beautiful and not immodest—certainly not to a person accustomed to London styles, as Dammler was. “You are hard to please, milord,” she said when she had her speech back. “You have upbraided me before for wearing grandmother's gowns, but I hadn't thought you would object to this."

“I object to gentlemen making impertinent speeches to you, and I object to your inviting them."

“I cannot think I invited this particular impertinence,” she said, and turned angrily away.

Luck was not with Dammler that evening. The first person to come up to Prudence was Springer, and the first words to leave his mouth were, “How stunning you look this evening, Miss Mallow. What a marvelous gown."

Dammler did not hear the rest of the speech, but he heard that, and he knew that Prudence knew it, too, which irked him. He hurried after them, and by a dexterous bit of maneuvering toward two chairs, he got Prudence to himself. “I'm sorry about that,” he said, quite humbly. “My nerves are a bit on edge."

“It's no wonder, if this is the way you've been spending your time.” She looked around the room at this spectacle that was called a party and suddenly laughed at the incongruity of Dammler's being here. “Are we permitted to speak aloud, or should I be whispering?” she asked.

“You may speak, but don't laugh—just smile."

“A pity Uncle hadn't brought his paints. It looks as if he would have a roomful of models, not moving a muscle the whole night long."

“It may not be a gay party, but you must own it is eminently respectable,” he pointed out.

“Must the two be mutually exclusive?"

“At one of my cousin's drums, I'm afraid so. Shall we dance?"

“By all means, if it gives us an excuse to leave this wake. But we daren't go
alone.
How do we get permission, and five or six chaperones?"

“I'll speak to Lady Cleff."

The Countess duly announced dancing for the youngsters, and Prudence went with Dammler to the tiniest dancing parlour she had ever been in. The marquis took her arm, with a jealous glance at Springer, who followed close behind them.

“If there are to be more than six couples in here, we will enjoy an indecent degree of intimacy,” Prudence said.

“Certainly
I
plan to enjoy it,” Dammler answered, before he set a guard on his tongue.

“Oh, ho, your celibacy is getting to you. You will be in pinching the dowagers before the night is over, and breaking your thumbs on their stays."

This talk bordered on the edge of what Dammler had decided to avoid. He knew his own propensity to talk too freely and feared from the permissible levity he would sink into indecency. “I don't think so, Miss Mallow,” he said rather stiffly. “We are to lead off."

Little conversation was possible during the country dance, and at its end they changed partners. Mr. Springer was waiting for Prudence. She fared better than Dammler, who was obliged to partner a Miss Milligan who taught at a local lady's seminary. She regaled him with an often-repeated tale of woe regarding a vicious girl who had spread lies that she was beat at school. They then changed partners again, and at the end of three dances the fiddler required a rest, and a glass of beverage that looked depressingly like pure lemonade.

Dammler found his way across the room to Prudence's side. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“About as much as you were with Miss Milligan. I gathered from your consoling expression she was telling you ‘the lie'."

“An unfortunate incident,” he allowed, still on his best behaviour. Prudence had hoped for a little frivolity from him to dilute the tedium of the evening, and raked her mind for something to get him started.

“This is quite a change from your regular evenings out in London,” she essayed.

It was not a successful gambit, being the very topic he wished to avoid. “A less mixed company,” he admitted cautiously.

“I should say so. What possessed you to go along with this? You .are like a fish out of water."

“I hope I know how to behave in any company."

“I hope so, too, but I doubt your staying power. You must confess a rolling drunkard or a nice vulgar Cit would liven us up no end."

“I don't know why you think I
dislike
being in respectable company."

“Oh, Dammler, what
are
you up to?” she asked in honest bewilderment. “Next you will be saying you never had such a fine time."

“I can honestly say there is nowhere I would rather be,” he told her with a glowing eye that somewhat mitigated his strange behaviour earlier. From his look there seemed little doubt why he enjoyed the party.

“And nothing you would rather be drinking than a glass of orgeat, I suppose?” she parried, accepting a fluted glass of the almond-flavoured drink. Springer and Miss Milligan joined them, and ruined the promising chat

“Delicious punch,” Miss Milligan complimented the host. “I do believe your aunt has put a drop of wine in it."

“Possibly a drop,” Dammler agreed.

“Delicious. How lovely to be out in such charming company. Very lively we are become in Bath these days. I really should not stay late. I must be in the classroom tomorrow at eight-thirty as usual. No rest for the wicked. But I shall leave early."

“Do you have a drive home, ma'am?” Springer asked, thinking to make an early exit himself from the dull drum.

“Lady Cleff sent her carriage for me, and it will take me home. So very kind of her."

“I will be happy to take you, and I must leave early myself,” Springer continued.

After more talk, the fiddler scraped his bow and the dancing resumed. No party ever extended beyond midnight at Lady Cleff's home. When Miss Milligan spoke of leaving early, she meant eleven o'clock, but as the sparse food was served at that hour, she stayed to partake of it, and got her wrap at eleven-thirty.

“May I give you a lift home, Miss Mallow?” Springer asked.

“Miss Mallow will be returning with her mother,” Dammler told him.

“Thank you, Ronald. I shall wait for Mama,” Prudence added in a kinder tone.

He was charged to deliver two other ladies home, and the party was in a fair way to breaking up.

“Your friend has some peculiar notions—offering to take you home,” Dammler said aside to Prudence.

“You would have done the same—about two hours earlier—had your situations been reversed,” she replied. “And I should have gone with you, too."

Her last phrase pleased him, and he thawed sufficiently to say, “It was bad, wasn't it?"

“No, Dammler. It was
horrid.
And horrid of me to say so, too, but then I hope I don't have to keep up a good face to
you."

“At least I was in your company for one evening. That made it worthwhile to
me."

Yes, pretty fine speeches, Prudence thought. “But what is to prevent you from being in my company as much as you wish? And so well chaperoned, too, that I could not pester you with my unsuitable conversation, or lure you with my immodest gown. Next time don't feel you require your cousin plus a bishop and two judges. Lady Cleff will always be sufficient to keep me in line."

He longed to answer her in kind, or better to sweep her into his arms and kiss that saucy smile. When had Prudence become such an accomplished flirt? “My cousin may be enough to hold you in check; I require the full weight of clergy and the law."

“You have set yourself a new standard, I gather?"

“Yes."

“And are quite determined to stick to it?"

“I am."

"Tant pis,"
she said with a toss of her head, and turned to join Clarence and her mother.

Provoking girl, he thought, watching her go. No, provocative girl. She is doing it on purpose to bait me, but she won't succeed.

Across the room, Prudence was similarly occupied in considering Dammler's behaviour. He had become as stiff and proper as a martinet. The old lightness and fun had gone from him, and she couldn't understand it. In off-guard moments, she noticed his eyes looking at her longingly, so why was he being distant? If he had come to offer for her, why didn't he do it?

While the youngsters and savages had been dancing, Elmtree and the Countess had made great advances in their friendship. They were two chunks cut from the same bolt, and hadn't a flaw to find in each other. Elmtree had received gracious permission to paint her, and the very next morning was agreed upon as the first of the three sittings. Prudence felt a great fear she would be called upon to chaperone them, and to make it more inconvenient, the picture was to be painted here, at the Countess’ home.

“I will want a corner of the room in the background,” she was saying. “The Purple Saloon, I think, with Papa's picture in the background.

“We can do better than that for a symbol,” Clarence informed her. “Some heraldic emblem or crest. We won't want any room in the background. Your colouring calls for a solid curtain of blue, to bring out your bright cheeks, with the family crest for a symbol."

The Countess considered this, and found it not wanting in taste. It was agreed, but when Clarence mentioned that he would go to Beecher Hill one day and paint some Nature, the Countess was visited by inspiration. “Gainsborough,” she said. “You will paint me surrounded by Nature, as Gainsborough painted my mother."

“A green curtain would do as well as a blue, with the orange cheeks,” Clarence said. Certainly frees, grass and shrubs would merge into a curtain of undifferentiated green in his rendition. It was settled that the green curtain of Beecher Hill would provide the backdrop for tomorrow's painting session.

“You will come with me, Dammler,” she decreed.

“Why do we not all go and make a picnic of it?” he suggested, to secure Prudence's company.

Mrs. Mallow hastily excused herself, but Prudence agreed to go, and the next morning under a lead grey sky they went to Beecher Hill to paint sunny Nature.

The Countess proved an admirable model. She asked what Clarence was doing with every movement of the brush, and was appreciative of ochre shadows and the impossibility of foreshortening. Her hands seemed to fall naturally into the correct pose without a word being said. The two went on so merrily that Dammler ventured to mention that he and Miss Mallow might go for a stroll until it was time to eat.

“Yes, run along,” the Countess said. “You disturb Mr. Elmtree with your fidgetting and prattle. An artist needs peace and quiet to work."

“How very well they rub along,” Dammler said as they began to walk away. “My cousin spoke last night of going up to London next Season. I think Elmtree has been getting to her."

“Hussy. I should stay behind to protect my uncle. I was never before allowed to abandon him to such peril as a titled widow. But she may find herself at point non plus.
He
speaks of buying up a little cottage in Bath."

“Do you suppose we've unwittingly brought about a match?"

“Let us wait and see if the magnum opus pleases. She may not like having a button nose and a sylph-like figure."

“She can console herself with the family crest."

“I don't know that it will be a consolation. Uncle has never painted a lion rampant before. He will likely turn it into a pussy cat, and don't think for a moment he will disfigure the unicorn by including the horn. That will be removed entirely.” She strayed behind a bunch of thorn bushes as she talked, and her companion pointed out that it might be better if they stayed in sight of their relations.

“Why?” she asked.

“My cousin is a Trojan for propriety,” he said, but his only reason for mentioning it was to let her see his own new awareness of decorum.

It seemed so foolish to Prudence, after the degree of latitude pertaining to their former intercourse, that she laughed outright. “I believe the Divines have got to you, Dammler. I fully expect to see you standing up to take the reading at the Abbey next Sunday.” She scampered out of the protection of her uncle, and Dammler followed at no dragging pace, but intent on being punctilious to every minutia of respect.

“You will be a sad disappointment to your friends if you carry on so in London,” Prudence warned him with a teasing smile. She did not like this new Dammler nearly so well as the old, and was determined to change him back.

“I mean to discontinue association with such friends as would be disappointed,” he answered carefully.

“Do you indeed? So I am to be cut, am I?"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I am
trying
to be a perfectly honourable and respectable gentleman, Prudence, and you are not of much help."

She pouted. “You did not treat me so formally before. Why must you change?"

“To please you. Why do you think I languish in that barracks of a place my cousin has, with no agreeable company, going to lectures and discussions on the Reformed calendar, but to please you?"

“Please
me?
I wouldn't do such things myself. Why should I expect it of you?"

"I
have a past to expiate."