The Determined Bachelor (3 page)

“Ah, your dear little children!” Sir Basil fairly beamed at the mention of them. Those who knew the Baronet well would have been amazed to see him look so happy at the mention of children. He was normally no more interested in babies than he was in the cultivation of turnips, but at the moment he had his own reason for seeming to love them and for pressing his brother into a detailed account of his own. “I suppose they are just beginning to talk, are they? And to show their dear little natures?”

As it happened, Lord Hargate was excessively fond of his children, and he now showed himself more than happy to
narrate their most recent triumphs in the matter of learning to talk and to play with their dolls. His account lasted for some little while, and at the end of it, Sir Basil (who had endeavoured to keep a rapt expression upon his face during the whole of the lengthy and tedious narrative), declared:

“Why, Hargate, I believe you must be the happiest of men! Fancy having so much to be cheerful about! I wish
I
could boast so much good fortune. The life of a bachelor is very lonely sometimes, and though I have much to occupy me in my work, I admit there are times when I long for a little of these homely comforts which seem to surround
you
. Ah, for the patter of little feet above one's head! What a lucky fellow you are, to be sure.”

Lord Hargate smiled his delightful agreement. He had never displayed much perception in the matter of human conduct, and never having interested himself in the ideas of the tastes of his brother, he was not amazed to hear himself thus envied. What could be more natural, after all, than that Sir Basil should wish to emulate him in everything? Through the slow fog of his mind, which was further thickened by his recent nap and the bottle of port he had drunk to induce him into it, began to creep the thin ray of an idea. He had not formerly questioned the purpose of his younger brother's return. It was not his habit to question very much, but rather to take life more or less as it presented itself to him, without any presumption that it could be changed by his own efforts. But his wife, who was of a very different turn of mind, had managed to persuade him that all men should be married, and that any who were not thus happily attached, should be made to do so at once. Having no great ambitions of his own, Lord Hargate had come in the eleven years of his marriage to adopt those of Lady Hargate, and now, staring at his brother, he began to smile ingenuously.

“Oh, I see what you are about, Basil! By Jove, what a splendid idea! You have come back to be married, and wish Louisa and me to find the lady for you!”

Nothing could have been further from Sir Basil's mind. For five and thirty years he had managed to escape the toils of matrimony, and he had no intention whatsoever of sacrificing his blissful solitude at this late date. He had his own reasons for praising the state of marriage, and of parenthood, Just now, but they had nothing to do with wishing them upon
himself
. He saw, however, that his diplomatic overtures had been too subtle for Lord Hargate. He had better get to the
point at once, or risk venturing still farther into dangerous waters. With a modest expression, therefore, he hastily replied, “I could never impose so much upon you, Hargate. No, no—I fear I must envy you from a distance. I am not worthy of
your
felicity.”

“Nonsense, old boy!” came the instantaneous retort. “Nothing could be simpler! Louisa is an absolute miracle-worker. She'll have you married off in no time at all, and to some pretty fair young thing, I'll venture! Only leave it to her, and you'll be a happier man in no time.”

In vain did Sir Basil attempt to divert his brother's mind from this delightful prospect. Having once seized upon an idea, Lord Hargate found it difficult to let it go. So thoroughly had he been indoctrinated into his wife's way of thinking that matchmaking had become nearly as pleasurable an occupation to him as baccarat. His eyes began to clear, his voice took on a happy, lilting tone, and he even commenced rubbing his hands together in happy anticipation. Sir Basil had little opportunity, in the face of so much goodwill, to make himself clear. Even had he actually blurted out his real feelings and demanded on the spot the very favour he had traveled from France to procure, it is doubtful his brother would have heard him. He saw that he had much better let this little blaze of enthusiasm die down of its own accord before he absolutely doused it with the truth. Determining therefore, to be as genial as possible, he smiled at the troubles Lord Hargate was already preparing to take on his behalf. The shudder he felt upon even conceiving of himself as throttled by a wife was suffered inwardly, and he even managed to beckon up a grateful smile when, despite all his urgings to remain where he was, Lord Hargate went off in search of his lady, saying that he could not wait to tell her the news.

Sir Basil, left alone once more, stared dolefully into the fire. What a tedious business this was turning out to be! Little had he imagined, when he had received that astounding letter from his solicitor some weeks before informing him that he had been named guardian to a twelve-year-old child he had neither seen nor spoken to, that he might also fall mercy to his sister-in-law's matchmaking ruses. Suddenly the weariness of twelve hours' upon the road overcame him. As he watched the amber and crimson flames flicker in the grate, the elegant lids began to droop a little above the keen gray eyes. That mind, which was said to have outwitted some of the most
conniving brains in Europe, found itself powerless in the face of the latest development. How could he persuade his sister-in-law that he wished her not to marry him off, but rather to undertake the care of his ward? It was a delicate matter at best, and one which, exhausted as he was by the aggravations of travel and the accumulated strain of nerves, had better have been put off until another day. But Sir Basil was not destined to be allowed any respite, for in a very few moments the door to the library was again thrust open, and there, in the full glory of her yellow ringlets and the combined arts of every dressmaker in London, stood Lady Hargate.

Chapter II

Louisa Hargate was thirty-two. When she had been in the full flower of girlhood, coddled by a doting father and a mama who would deny her nothing, she had been called lovely. Her beauty was of that type, however, which does not take kindly to the passing years. Her nose was too small and tended upward at the tip, her mouth was a trifle full and nearly always formed into a pout, and those ingredients of beauty which are thought sufficient for a girl of eighteen, consisting of a blooming complexion and shining yellow curls, had not survived her twentieth birthday. Her eyes were large and blue, however, and had they shone with that inner animation of spirit and intelligence which can sometimes make a homely face seem beautiful, she might still have preserved some degree of handsomeness. But as it was, her gaze was as glassy as a doll's, for Lady Hargate's mind was seldom employed in any occupation greater than choosing a gown from one of her closets, and her thoughts were nearly always turned inward, upon herself. In eleven years of marriage, she had made so little progress toward adulthood that she still affected the look and manner of a debutante. The effect, in combination with her style of dress (tending as it did toward multitudinous frills and furbelows and ornamented by innumerable pastel ribbons), made her look like a silly woman, which indeed was an opinion not unwidely held. At the moment of her entrance into her husband's study, however, the usual blank expression of her eyes had given way to an animated sparkle nearly approaching excitement.

Lord Hargate's news, that his brother had arrived from France and was desirous of a wife, had come at the most
propitious moment, for Lady Hargate had just been weeping over her misfortune in leading so dull a life, in which nothing seemed ever to occur. She was sick to death, she had informed her maid, of every frock in her closet, and had not even any interest in buying a new one, for what would it avail her? She alone, of all the people of her acquaintance, had not been invited on a hunting party. Though it was well known that Lady Hargate abhorred the out-of-doors and was terrified of large animals, she felt herself absolutely maligned by this oversight of her acquaintances. And, as if that were not enough, it seemed that Lady Huntington had been selected above herself to preside over the membership at Almack's, with My Lady Jersey and My Lady Southington, and that shrew, the Princess Lieven. In truth, it was beyond her capacity of understanding how life could be so unjust and thrust her into so miserable a state of loneliness and ennui.

The appearance of her husband at the door of her boudoir had done little to soothe her. The sight of him, in fact, only served to remind her of her misfortunes. She ought to have listened to her mama and married Baron Orthwaite instead. Hargate was a fat, stupid, unbearable brute, and had made her bear three children, which had nearly killed her. And yet the pain of giving birth had been nothing, she was sure, as compared to the hardships of later motherhood. The mere sight of her children was a daily reminder that she was no longer a girl and that life was every moment slipping through her fingers.

Poor Lord Hargate could hardly have known, as his wife looked sweetly up at him, with tears shining in her eyes, what was in her thoughts. His only desire was to see her look cheerful again, and as he recounted his news, he had the pleasure of watching the tears dry up in her eyes, and her little mouth form itself into a trembling smile. Could this be true? Could Sir Basil actually have returned, and did he indeed wish her to help him find a wife? All at once ideas began to course through her brain. Sir Basil had attained a certain renown in London for his wondrous handling of the French. His name had become nearly as famous as Wellington's among the
ton
. To appear beside him in society could not but add luster to her own reputation, especially if it was known that she was his intimate friend and had been particularly requested to procure him a wife. Only think what envy she would cause amongst her friends! The idea made Lady Hargate as blissful as a lark in June. No sooner had she
heard the news than she was smiling all over her face and calling for a fresh gown.

“Only think,” she told her husband as they descended the stairs together, “how fortunate we were not to have gone hunting!”

The sight of Sir Basil, if it were possible, raised Lady Hargate's spirits even more. To the delight of seeing a new face was added the satisfaction of remembering how well-formed her brother-in-law's was. He was tall and well-made and had an elegant bearing, and his coat was made out of the best piece of broadcloth she had ever seen. His greeting, which was very gallant, instantly ingratiated him.

“What a splendid thing it is,” said he, bowing over her hand, “to see that the passing of four years has gone unremarked by
some
. I fear you will hardly recognize
me
, however, my dear Louisa.”

Lady Hargate dimpled prettily and replied that, on the contrary, she remembered him very well. “However, I am sure you have grown much finer since last I saw you, Brother. I must tell you, if you will not think it a vast impertinence, that I have never seen such pretty muslin as that about your neck.”

Lady Hargate sank into a sofa, arranging her skirts about her.

“Oh, I am afraid you have caught me out, dear lady,” replied the diplomat, resuming his seat, “for I fear I must be extremely travel-worn just
now
. You must forgive me, and only be assured that I should have stopped to change my clothes, only I was in such a hurry to call upon you and my brother that I hoped you would overlook my dusty boots.”

Lady Hargate had not noticed any dust upon Sir Basil's boots, but if she had, this pretty speech would certainly have appeased her. Her good humour was increased in the next minutes, for Sir Basil was so solicitous of her health, and had so many things to say to her, that he might almost have been a suitor for her hand. Indeed, it was not long before she had determined in her mind that he was in love with her, or, if not actually in love, yet a little infatuated. Far from being irked by this idea, Lady Hargate found it absolutely delightful. It put her in a better frame of mind than she had been in since the days of her own come-out, and she began to simper and flush in just the same way she had done then.

Sir Basil, we may be sure, had no idea of putting such notions into her head. It had been his intention only to flatter
her, and thereby put her in a receptive frame of mind for the favour he had to ask. He saw after a very few minutes that his compliments had done their work. His sister-in-law was regarding him with the roundest eyes, and seemed every moment in danger of toppling out of her chair in eagerness to catch his next words. He had often noticed female attention increased in exact proportion to the flattery they received. It was one of the many peculiarities of their sex.

“My brother,” said he after a while, when he felt there had been sufficient compliments on either side and that the real business of his visit might now be embarked upon, “has been telling me all about your dear little children. There are three, are there not?”

Sir Basil was puzzled to see Lady Hargate's face fall at this innocent remark.

“Yes, yes, there are three of them,” she replied impatiently, for she was eager to resume the pleasant train of conversation which had just been going forward.

“Ah!” exclaimed the Baronet in genial amazement. “Three! But I suppose you shall have more.”

Lady Hargate looked amazed. “More!” she exclaimed, “why in heaven should I want more!”

Lord Hargate, who had been silent heretofore, only beaming back and forth between his brother and his wife without any appearance of understanding them, now began to look uncomfortable and to shift about in his chair.