Regency Buck (27 page)

“No, no, I keep my own sort,” Judith assured him. “When I want scent I do not go to my snuff-box for it, but to Mr. Brummell, who is going to make me a stick of perfume.”

“A stick of Mr. Brummell’s perfume, my love!” exclaimed Mrs. Marley. “Do you want to make us all envious? Do you not know that every lady among us wants one of those sticks?”

The Beau shook his head. “Very true, but you know I cannot be giving them to everyone, ma’am. That would be to have them held very cheap. The Regent, now, is dying to get hold of one, but one has to draw the line somewhere.”

“George is feeling peevish because he has caught a cold,” remarked Alvanley. “How did you come by it in this mild weather, George?”

“Why, do you know, I left my carriage this afternoon on my way from town, and the infidel of a landlord put me into a room with a damp stranger!” replied Brummell instantly.

It seemed the next day as though Peregrine had caught the Beau’s cold. He complained of the sore throat, and coughed a little, but trusted that a day’s sport (which he had been promised) would soon set matters to rights. Judith could place no such dependence on the effect of a raw December day, but it was useless to expect Peregrine to remain indoors for no more serious reason than a slight chill. He went off with Petersham, Alvanley, and Mr. Forrest to shoot over some preserves a few miles distant from Worth.

Mr. Brummell put in no appearance until midday. The exigencies of his toilet occupied several hours; he had been known to spend as many as two on the nice arrangement of his clothes, to which, however, he gave not another thought once he had left his dressing-room. Unlike most of the dandies he was never seen to cast an anxious glance at a mirror, to adjust his cravat, nor to smooth wrinkles from his coat. When he left his room he was, and knew himself to be, a finished work of art, perfect in every detail from his beautifully laundered linen to his highly polished boots.

Mrs. Marley also kept her room until a late hour, but the three young ladies were up in good time, and spent the morning in exploring the house under the guidance of the housekeeper, and in strolling about the gardens and shrubbery until they were called in to partake of scalloped oysters, cold meats, and fruit in one of the dining-parlours.

The sportsmen were expected to be back by three o’clock, so that it was not surprising that Miss Fairford should blushingly decline the offer of being driven out for an airing after luncheon. The Earl made the suggestion: it was met by a dismayed look and a stammered excuse, Miss Fairford hardly knowing what to say, from the fear, on the one hand, of offending her host, and, on the other, of not being present when Peregrine returned to the house. The Earl looked amused at her confusion, but forbore to tease, as Judith was half afraid he would, and said with only the faintest suggestion of a laugh in his well-bred voice: “You had rather be writing a letter to your mama, I daresay.”

“Oh yes!” said Miss Fairford thankfully. “I think I ought certainly to do that!”

He turned away to address Judith. “Does Miss Taverner care to drive out with me?”

She assented to it gladly; as they left the room together the Earl looked back, and said with the hint of a smile: “Let me have your letter when it is finished, Miss Fairford, and I will frank it for you.”

An hour spent in being driven about the country brought Miss Taverner back with glowing cheeks and in happy spirits. The Earl had been in his most pleasant mood, a sensible companion, entertaining her with easy talk, and teaching her how to loop a rein and let it run free again in his own deft fashion.

They returned quite in charity with each other to find Lady Albinia, Mrs. Marley, and Mr. Brummell seated in one of the drawing-rooms with a lady and two gentlemen who had driven over from a neighbouring estate to pay a call at Worth.

Upon the entrance of the Earl and his ward a greater animation seemed to enter into these visitors. Compliments were exchanged, and the lady lost no time in presenting her son to Miss Taverner. The elder of the two gentlemen, who had been talking to Mr. Brummell, had less interest in the heiress, and very soon returned to Brummell. The Beau was sitting with a look of pained resignation on his face, which was accounted for by Lady Albinia, who in making the necessary introductions turned to the Earl and said: “You see the Fox-Matthewses are come to call on us, my dear Worth. So obliging of them! They have been sitting with us more than half an hour. I do not believe they will ever go.”

Mr. Fox-Matthews was talking in a consequential way of the beauties of the Hampshire scenery. He would scarcely allow it to have its equal, unless perhaps one took the Lake District into account. It was soon seen that having been travelling there in the summer he now desired nothing better than to be allowed to describe the Lakes to everyone, and to tell those who had not had the good fortune to journey so far that they had missed something very fine. He did not know whether Mr. Brummell had visited the Lakes; if he had not he should certainly make the effort.

Mr. Brummell looked him over with that lift of the eyebrow which could always depress pretension. “Yes, sir, I
have
visited the Lakes,” he said.

“Ah then, in that case—And which of them do you most admire, sir?”

Mr. Brummell drew in his breath. “I will tell you, sir, if you will accord me a few moments.” Then, turning to address a footman who had come in to make up the fire, he quietly desired the man to send his valet to him. Mr. Fox-Matthews stared, but the Beau remained quite imperturbable, and maintained a thoughtful silence until the entrance of a neat man in a black coat, who came anxiously up to him, and bowed.

“Robinson,” said Mr. Brummell, “which of the Lakes do I admire?”

“Windermere, sir,” replied the valet respectfully.

“Ah, Windermere, is it? Thank you, Robinson. Yes, I like Windermere best,” he said, turning politely back to Mr. Fox-Matthews.

Mrs. Fox-Matthews, swelling with indignation, rose, and declared it to be time they were taking their leave.

Peregrine’s cough, when his sister next saw him, did not appear to have benefited much from a morning spent in the fresh air. It still troubled him, and during the days that followed grew perceptibly worse. His throat was slightly inflamed, and although he would not hear of consulting a doctor, or admit that he felt in the least sickly, it was evident that he was far from being in perfect health. There was a languor, a heavy look about the eyes which worried his sister, but he ascribed it all to having caught a chill, and believed that the air at Worth might not quite suit him.

“The air at Worth,” Judith repeated. “The air—” She broke off. “What am I thinking? I deserve to be beaten for indulging such a wild fancy! Impossible! Oh, impossible!”

“Well, what are you thinking?” inquired Peregrine, with a yawn, “What is impossible? Why do you look so oddly?”

She knelt down beside his chair and clasped his hands. “Perry, how do you feel?” she asked earnestly. “Are you sure that it is no more than a chill?”

“Why, what else should it be? What’s in your mind?”

“I hardly know, hardly dare to wonder. Perry, when that man picked a quarrel with you—I am speaking of Farnaby—were you not surprised? Did it seem to you reasonable?”

“What has that to do with it?” he asked, opening his eyes at her. “Ay, I daresay I was a trifle surprised, but if Farnaby was foxed, you know—”

“But was he? You did not say so.”

“Lord, how should I know? I did not think so, but he may have been.”

She continued to clasp his hands, looking anxiously up into his face. “You were fired on the day you came over Finchley Common, a shot you believed might have killed you, had it not been for Hinkson. Twice you have been in danger of your life! And now you are ill, mysteriously so, for you have no chill, Perry, and you know it, but only this dry cough, which is growing worse, and the sore throat!”

He stared, sat up with a jerk, and then burst into a laugh that brought on a fit of coughing. “Lord, Ju, you’ll be the death of me! Do you think I am being poisoned? Why, who in the world should want to put me away? Of all the nonsensical notions!”

“Yes, yes, it
is
nonsensical, it must be!” she said. “I tell myself so, and yet am unconvinced. Perry, have you not considered that if anything should happen to you the greater part of your fortune would be mine?”

This set him off into another fit of laughing. “What! are you trying to make away with me?” he asked. “Be serious, Perry, I beg of you!”

“Lord, how can I be? I never heard such a pack of nonsense in my life. This is what comes of reading Mrs. Radclyffe’s novels! It is a famous joke, I declare!”

“What is a famous joke? May I share it?”

Judith looked quickly round. The Earl had come into the room, and was standing by the table, inscrutably regarding them. How much he had heard of their conversation she could not guess, but she coloured deeply, and sprang up, turning her head away.

“Oh, it is the best thing I have heard these ten years!” said Peregrine. “Judith thinks I am being poisoned!”

“Indeed!” said the Earl, glancing in Judith’s direction. “May I know who it is Miss Taverner suspects of poisoning you?”

She threw her brother an angry, reproachful look, and went past the Earl to the door. “Peregrine is jesting. I believe him to have taken something that has not agreed with him, that is all.”

She went out, and the Earl, looking after her in silence for a moment, presently turned back to Peregrine, and, laying a silver snuff-box on the table, said: “This is yours, I fancy. It was found in the Blue Saloon.”

“Oh, thank you! Yes, it is mine,” said Peregrine, picking it up and idly flicking it open. “I did not know I had so much snuff in it, however; I thought it had been no more than half full. You know, Petersham found it to be a very good mixture. You heard him say so. I wish you would try it!”

“Very well,” said the Earl, dipping his finger and thumb in the box.

Peregrine, much gratified, also took a pinch, and inhaled it carelessly. “I like it as well as most,” he said. “I do not see what there is to object to in it.”

The Earl’s eyes, which had been fixed watchfully on his face, fell. “Petersham’s praise should be enough to satisfy you,” he said. “I know of no better judge.”

“Judith says it is a sort no gentleman of taste could use,” complained Peregrine. “If
you
think that I suppose I had better throw it all away, for I daresay Petersham was only wishing to be civil.”

“Miss Taverner is prejudiced against scented snuffs,” replied the Earl. “You need not be afraid of using this sort.”

“Well, I am glad of that,” said Peregrine. “You know, I have a whole jar of it at home, and it would be a pity to waste it.”

“Certainly. But I hope you keep your jar in a warm room?”

“Oh, it is in my dressing-room! I do not keep a great deal of snuff, you know. I do not have a room for it, as you do. In general, I buy it as I need it, and keep it where it may be handy.”

The Earl returned some indifferent answer, and soon left the room in search of Judith. He found her presently in the library, choosing a volume from the shelves. She looked over her shoulder when he came in, coloured faintly, but said in a calm voice: “You have such an excellent library: I daresay many thousands of volumes. At Beverly we are sadly lacking in that respect. It is a great luxury to find oneself in a library as well stocked as this.”

“My library is honoured, Miss Taverner,” he answered briefly.

She could not but be aware of the gravity in both face and voice. He was looking stern; there was something of reserve in his tone, quite different from the easy, open manner she was growing used to in him. She hesitated, and then turned more completely towards him, and said with an air of frank resolution: “I am afraid there may be some misconstruction. I have been indulging an absurd flight of fancy, as I believe you may have heard when you came into the saloon just now.”

He did not answer immediately, and when he did at last speak it was with considerable dryness. “I think, Miss Taverner, you will be well advised not to repeat to anyone that you believe Peregrine’s indisposition to be due to the effect of poison.”

Her colour mounted; she hung down her head. “I have been very foolish. Indeed, I do not know what possessed me to blurt out so stupid a suggestion! I have been worried about him. That duel, which, thank God! was stopped, took such strong possession of my mind that I have not been easy ever since. It seemed so wanton, so senseless! Then you must know that he was attacked upon his way home from St. Albans, and escaped by the veriest miracle. I cannot rid myself of the fear that some danger threatens him. This indisposition seemed, in the agitation of the moment, to bear out my suspicion, and without pausing to consider I spoke the thought that darted through my head. I was wrong, extremely foolish, and I acknowledge it.”

He came towards her. “Are you worried about Peregrine? You need not be.”

“I cannot help myself. If I thought that my suspicions had in them the least vestige of truth I think I should be quite out of my mind with terror.”

“In that case.” said his lordship deliberately, “it is as well that there can be no truth in them. I have no doubt of Peregrine’s being speedily restored to health. As for his rather absurd duel, and his encounter on Finchley Common, such things may befall anyone. I counsel you to put them out of your mind.”

“My cousin did not take so light a view,” she said in a low voice.

She saw his face harden. “Have you discussed this matter with Mr. Bernard Taverner?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, certainly I have. Why should I not?”

“I could tell you several good reasons. I shall be obliged to you, Miss Taverner, if you will remember that whatever your relationship with that gentleman may be, it is I who am your guardian, and not he.”

“I do not forget it.”

“Excuse me. Miss Taverner, you forget it every time you bestow on him confidences which he has done nothing to deserve.”

She faced him with a dawning anger in her eyes. “Is not this a little petty, Lord Worth?”