The Determined Bachelor (14 page)

“
He
must only consider me a very rude and very offensive governess!”

Lady Cardovan gazed at her in amusement. “You must never underestimate yourself, my dear. On the contrary, you ought to be your own most enthusiastic supporter.”

But just what you intended by this peculiar comment, was destined to remain a mystery, for just at that moment Nicole appeared, having been measured from head to toe, looking impatient with the business of being a
grande dame
.

“Well, my pet!” Lady Cardovan greeted her. “Are you quite through?”

The little girl's eyes widened as she nodded and moved toward them.

“And thoroughly full of pins, too! I never knew ladies had to be stuck so full of pins in order to have a new frock!”

“That is the way of it, child—all great beauty must be suffered for, and suffered keenly. But have a piece of cake, it will make you feel better.”

This remedy proving not only very effective but very welcome, another piece was forced upon the willing victim, and after that had been devoured, a bowl of raspberries and cream offered and accepted. Having made short work of this modest repast, Miss Lessington took her place upon the sofa with Lady Cardovan and commenced prying her with questions about the Regent.

“Why,” she inquired in a prim voice, “must I curtsey right down to the ground for him, if he is only a Prince? Oughtn't I to save that for His Majesty?”

“You must curtsey as low as possible to both of them, my dear, whenever you see them,” responded Lady Cardovan indulgently,
“for they are both sovereigns, and deserving of our deepest respect.”

Nicole digested this advice with gravity, and then demanded to know if the King would be having tea as well?

“I think not, child,” laughed the Countess. “The King is ill, and takes tea by himself.”

Whereupon Nicole wished to know what ailed him, and there followed a thorough, if somewhat contracted, history of the Georgian reign. The child's eyes grew wide upon hearing that King George was ill in his head, rather than his body, and seemed to meditate upon this point during all the rest of their visit. As they were driving home in Sir Basil's town carriage, however, she inquired if the King behaved like a certain Mr. Rumple in Lincolnshire. Mr. Rumple had been a most ridiculous fellow, and her Papa had told her that he too was sick in the head.

“But I do hope not,” she exclaimed earnestly, “for it would be perfectly awful if His Majesty liked to turn cart-wheels in the street, and grinned at everyone going past!”

“Oh, I don't believe the King is like that!” replied Anne, laughing, “or we should all know about it. In any case, kings do not go about alone, but have always a huge retinue attending them. They are dignified and awesome, even when they are ill.”

Nicole seemed mollified by this and took up her usual line of chatter, observing everything and everyone they passed, remarking upon the buildings and the citizens with equal delight. A great fat gentleman with a proud bearing drawing up beside them on his horse as they were stopped at the junction of Curzon and St. James's streets, fell under her scrutiny. He happened to glance at the carriage, and was evidently taken aback by the pair of beady black eyes assessing him as if he were a statue, for he instantly whipped his horse about and made off through the tangle of vehicles and street vendors which customarily interrupts the smooth flow of traffic at that crossing.

Anne observed the little scene, and could not help smiling to herself. What was it about a child's eyes that had the power to disconcern the most self-possessed of mortals? Men in particular seemed to fall beneath their inquiring gaze; or perhaps it was simply that men detested being looked at like mere mortals. They seemed, at least most of those gentlemen whom Anne had been acquainted with in her lifetime, to need to be thought of as so vastly superior to everyone else,
that only a blushing, bashful glance could make them easy. The idea made her conjure up the picture of Sir Basil as he had stood before the mantel during their one real exchange. Certainly
he
had not been able to meet her gaze directly, but was always occupied in fiddling with some trinket, or pacing about, or staring off into thin air. He had barely met her eyes once, and then with that dreadful ironic smile, which made her think he was actually looking past her at some other person. But then,
he
was not a fair example of his sex. Sir Basil must always be thought so far above the rest of the human race as not to have any equals upon earth. Anne smiled at the idea.

“I do wish we had not to go to my cousins' this evening,” Nicole was saying, in an uncharacteristically whining tone. “I should do
anything
if we could stay at home.”

Anne glanced up, still smiling at her own thought.

“Oh, dear, I had quite forgot!”

“I do not think they are very nice children,” Nicole said in a prim voice. “They are dreadfully mussy and rude, and do not like me in any case.”

“Nonsense! It is only that they do not know you very well.” But even as she said this, Anne secretly agreed with her charge. There could not have been three less appealing young people in London. However little Anne was disposed to condemn children, she could not help but do so. Or perhaps it was her own reaction to their parents which coloured her view of them. Lord and Lady Hargate had spared no pains, at their first meeting, to make her feel uncomfortable and unwanted. She had sat in the corner for an hour whilst the others conversed, and not one word was addressed to herself. Tea had been passed around, and only by a stroke of fate had she received a cup. Sir Basil must be credited with this, for he had brought it to her himself, with a little apologetic look, which, however, had instantly given way to his usual haughty expression. Altogether, she could not imagine a more disagreeable manner of spending an evening than at Hargate House. Only the consciousness that she must do whatever lay in her power to dispel Nicole's dislike of them, prevented her joining in the child's complaints.

“You ought to make an effort to play with them, my dear. They are only shy and awkward, and do not know how to let you know they like you.”

“I do not know why
I
should go to any trouble,” sniffed
the little girl. “Besides, I am quite sure Sir Basil detests them, too.”

“Why! What can make you think so?”

“I saw how he wrinkled up his nose when they came into the room, laughing and hooting, and he would not give Clara his cheek to kiss, but pretended not to see her.”

“Oh, I do not think that is the case,” responded Anne, conscious of the verity of Nicole's words. “Sir Basil must be fond of his little niece and nephews, even if he does not like them quite so well as he likes
you
.”

Nicole gave her governess a piercing look, which declared, more clearly than any words, that she knew she was being told an untruth. Helpless against so keen a pair of eyes, Anne could only look into her lap and smile. The sight of their own house, however, just now coming into view, saved her from any further dissimulation.

Chapter XI

If Anne had foreseen a dull and painful evening, she was at least mistaken in what form that dullness, and that pain, would take.

The party commenced amicably enough in Regent's Terrace, and for that blessing Anne was forced to be grateful, for very little else in the evening's entertainment pleased her. But Sir Basil's spirits seemed inordinately good when they met downstairs to await the carriage together. By this, it is meant that he actually bestowed a smile upon the two ladies as they came in, and seemed desirous of making conversation with them rather than staring off into space in his usual abstracted manner. True, his sallies were a little forced, commencing with an inquiry into the ladies excursion to Grove House as if he were inquiring about a funeral they had attended instead of a fitting. He looked very sober when Nicole replied that she had been “stuck full of pins” and had consumed a quantity of cake.

“I hope you did not, Nicole, indeed! For you shall have the stomach ache for your efforts, as well as several pinpricks!”

Anne did not know whether he meant to be funny or no, but having considered the matter a moment, determined he was incapable of humour, unless it were sardonic or lofty. Still, he behaved genially to both ladies, and even went so far as to compliment Anne upon her gown, an old lavender silk she had had for several seasons and which her mother had wished to give to a servant girl, for being too drab. Anne did not for a moment believe he liked the gown any better than Mrs. Calder, nor that he took any interest whatsoever in her
appearance, but she could hardly hate him for complimenting her, and very soon she found herself feeling almost cordial toward him.

“Foolish girl!” she laughed to herself as the Baronet handed her into the barouche. “Vain creature, for changing your opinion of him so suddenly, only because he has professed himself fond of your frock, which of course is an outright untruth!”

But Sir Basil persisted in being so amiable all during the drive to Grosvenor Square that she could not help softening toward him. She could not recollect his ever speaking so many words upon one occasion. He seemed, indeed, to be incapable of silence, recounting here an amusing incident at court, and pointing out there a famous monument, with a history of it for his ward. Nicole's eyes were all lit with delight: Anne could hardly help liking the Ambassador for making so concerted an effort to be amusing, if only because it had so brilliant an effect upon the child.

“Do you know,” said he musingly as they were going past St. James's Cathedral, “that when I was a child—about your age, Nicole—I used to be taken by my father to that cathedral every Sunday morning for matins. There was a bishop at that time, a great fat fellow, immensely tall and overbearing, who was very fond of plums. At least, I suppose he was fond of plums, for I used to see him devouring them by the basketful directly after the sermon, while the oration was being spoke. Imagine, eating plums in his own cathedral!”

And Sir Basil chortled to himself, in a way which made Anne doubt for the first time her conviction that he had never been a little boy himself. Indeed, the laugh was utterly devoid of selfconsciousness, a quality which marked every gesture and glance of the Baronet. For that one instant his cold, piercing eyes were lively and amused. She almost fancied she could see the child of twelve, tall and lean for his years, perhaps awkward in his movements, gaping up at the bishop and knowing he was a secret devourer of plums.

“How many did he eat?” demanded Nicole with her usual practicality.

“Oh, a great many, I suppose—to grow so fat.”

“Is he still there?”

“Why, I do not know! What do you suppose? But in any case, we shall see for ourselves tomorrow, for it is Sunday, and we shall go together to find out.”

Nicole had no time to inquire any more deeply into the
matter, for they were just drawing up before Hargate House and instantly his manner changed. From the bright, almost youthful amusement which had been in his face (and which, as Anne was quick to note, distinctly improved his visage), Sir Basil's features gathered themselves into his more customary gravity. The carriage door swung open, the party descended, and there ended the most enjoyable part of the evening.

In a moment they were within the mansion—or rather, in several moments, for the butler seemed to have disturbed his nap to let them in—and in due course they were ushered in to the family drawing room. This apartment was the same in which they had been entertained before and, as Anne had noticed then, by far the least formal one in all the house. But if it was informal—if it seemed to have been overlooked in Lady Hargate's most recent decorating endeavours, lacking all those campaign desks and gaudy incidental furnishings which speckled the rest of the place—it was no more comfortable. The furniture was a haphazard collection—chiefly gilt—with about two dozen straight-backed chairs that would have more befitted a ballroom than a sitting room. The sofa was likewise covered in a cloth of red and gold brocade, and the only two comfortable-looking chairs in the whole place were pushed back into a corner, nearly screened from view by a gigantic moth-eaten fern. Everything was covered with dust and let out a dank smell, as if the room had not been aired out in half a dozen years.

The scene which greeted their eyes on coming into the room, however, was more notable for its activity than its furnishings. The phlegmatic nurse was sprawled in a chair, and barely glanced up as they came in. Her eyes were focused somewhere in the air; she seemed to take no interest in the game which occupied her charges. This was loud and rowdy, and appeared to be centered upon a doll which, lacking head and limbs, was being tossed back and forth like a ball amid piercing squeals and yells.

Anne glanced once at the Baronet and could not help smiling upon seeing his expression—so vivid a combination of horror and contempt that no words could have illucidated his feelings more clearly. Nicole only looked woebegone, and clung more firmly than ever to her governess's hand.

As no one seemed capable of uttering a word, and their presence continued to be ignored by the room's inhabitants, Anne took it upon herself to open her mouth. Her cough was
not audible above the din, however, and so she fairly yelled out: