The Random Gentleman
THE RANDOM GENTLEMAN
Elizabeth Chater
The Random Gentleman
Elizabeth Chater
Kindle Edition
Published by Chater Publishing
Publishing History
Fawcett Coventry 1981
Chater Publishing 2012
Copyright Elizabeth Chater 1981
Cover image “Courtship” by Edmund Leighton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chater Publishing would like to thank Jerry Chater for transcribing the following document.
For more information about the amazing life of Elizabeth Chater, please visit:
Elizabethchater.com.
For more books from Chater Publishing, please visit:
Chater Publishing
.
To Eve Lynn, wise and wonderful.
The Honorable Belinda Sayre tapped gently on the door of the library and was bidden to enter by a bellow from the voice which had made subalterns tremble when General the Right Honorable the Earl of Sayre had commanded his troops in the field. Not the least daunted, Belinda pushed open the door and stood upon the threshold, looking, as she was well aware, an enchanting picture of feminine loveliness. The rich golden hair which her admiring swains had likened to sunlight, guinea gold, and once, lamentably (but he was after all a younger son), to butter, was shining smooth and charmingly arranged by her devoted dresser. Her costume was perfect for a quiet morning in an elegant London town house, and her manner, at once merry and modest, was exactly calculated to win over the crustiest elderly martinet who ever huffed and puffed at a beloved granddaughter.
“You sent for me, Grandpapa?”
As expected, the parade-ground roar moderated to an indulgent purr as My Lord Sayre’s aging eyes took in the delectable vision in the doorway. “Come in, come in, Puss! Close the door behind you! I’ve a private and important matter to discuss with you, and don’t wish to be interrupted.”
Big pansy-brown eyes regarded him with a naughty twinkle. “What is this so-important matter, Grandpapa? Has some great nobleman asked you for my hand? Or has that horrid Lady Wegg come tattling to you about my behavior at the ball last evening?”
The craggy eyebrows came down over the sharp old eyes. “Now what have you been up to, naughty Puss? Agatha Wegg has said nothing. Sent her away with a bee in her bonnet last time she came here talebearing! Woman’s a scandalmonger, and so I told her.”
“I knew I could count upon you, Grandpapa! Sound as a nut!” said Belinda, making eloquent play with her big brown eyes.
Her grandfather was not beguiled. “Asked what you’d been up to, Miss,” he repeated, sternly. “No mealymouthed maunderings, if you please! The plain truth with no bark on it.”
Belinda sighed dramatically. “Well, it seems I had inadvertently promised the same dance to three gentlemen—and they got rather angry at one another.” She peeped at the old man from under her long, silky lashes. “They went outside and—ah—engaged in fisticuffs.” Observing the mounting displeasure in the fierce old face, she said quickly, “I do not think many people knew of it. Major Cholmondeley went out after them and—ah—broke it off. Sent them all home. They were all of them officers under his command.”
“Chum ought to keep his young fire-eaters on a tighter rein,” snapped the Earl. “In
my
day, an officer would never have so far forgotten himself as to start a mill at a private ball.” He snorted. “
Three
of them? It was a three-way mill?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Belinda. “I was dancing with Lord Everleigh, and didn’t hear of it until later.”
“Everleigh? Don’t wish you to be seen showing complaisance to that ne’er-do-well! Next thing to a gazetted fortune hunger!”
“Is he?” asked Belinda with interest. “He is very entertaining.”
“Bound to be,” grunted her grandfather. “His stock in trade—cozening tricks and wheedles! Depend on it, Puss, he’s after your fortune.”
A small frown marred the delicate smoothness of Belinda’s forehead. At eighteen years of age, and thoroughly enjoying the delights of a most successful First Season, it is not flattering to suspect that some part of one’s success may be attributable to the enormous fortune left by one’s father, killed at Waterloo. Her only memory of the gallant Major the Right Honorable Henry Sayre, Viscount Melville, was of a tall man in an elaborate uniform, who swung his small daughter up into his arms, kissed her, and then gave her to her grandfather with the husky injunction to “Look after the child, sir!”
After the death of first, her mother, and later, her father, the Earl had indeed done his best to look after her, and Belinda, though she often teased him, knew and reciprocated the deep love he felt for her.
“Are they all, Grandpapa? After my fortune, I mean?”
“Of course not, Puss. Think I’d let you mingle with that sort of scaff and raff? Thing is, some such fellows bound to work their way into even the best houses. But none of that matters.”
Belinda looked her bewilderment.
Her grandfather seemed to be encountering some difficulty in explaining his odd statement.
“Cut line, Grandpapa,” Belinda advised with a smile.
“How many times must I tell you, Miss, that such cant is odious upon the lips of a well-brought-up young lady?” he shouted. Then, catching her slanted smile, he grinned reluctantly. “I know! You will say you heard me say it, so of course it must be quite acceptable! Minx! Well, suppose I must tell you. Reason I sent for you. Your—your fiancé is returning to London today. You are to meet him at his sister’s Grand Ball this evening, and your engagement is to be announced at a dinner party here the day after tomorrow.”
He stared at her with would-be fierceness under his shaggy white eyebrows. His granddaughter was looking dazed—as well she might, and her expression gradually became anxious. She moved closer and placed one small hand upon his arm.
“Dearest Grandy,” (a term she had not used since early childhood) “are you sure you are feeling quite the thing? Do let me call your batman! Sit down, dearest, do!”
The old man patted her arm tenderly, his face turning a dull red. “No, no, child, I’m quite fit! Perhaps we should both sit down, and I’ll explain.”
As she seated herself near him, the girl’s anxious look was gradually being replaced by something her grandfather liked even less.
“Now what is this about, sir? Engagement announced? Fiancé? I think you had better open the budget!”
The Earl, feeling more nervous than ever he had upon the eve of battle, touched his forehead lightly with his immaculate handkerchief, cleared his throat, wished for a strong whiskey, and then, aware of the minatory glance being leveled at him by his granddaughter, squared his shoulders and began to speak.
“Y’r father’s best friend, as you may often have heard me say, was the young Duke of Romsdale. Thor Dane and Henry formed a lasting friendship in childhood and, after attending the same schools, joined the army in the same regiment. They married in the same year, and when Thor’s son was born, they decided that, if Henry should have a daughter, she must marry young Osric.” He coughed, and became even redder under the girl’s shocked look. “Had to wait ten years for you to be born, Miss, and many’s the time they almost gave up in despair. Then your dear Mother bore you—and all was well at last!”
He paused and mopped his forehead again.
Belinda was glaring at him. “Gothic! Perfectly gothic! I cannot believe . . . but of course it is just such an addlebrained scheme as two young men, comrades-at-arms, might concoct in the night watches before a battle. But that
you
, Grandpapa, and the Duke’s father, should have permitted such a mawkish ploy—!”
“Permitted? Thor’s father and I agreed wholeheartedly! Excellent stock on both sides, a balance of property—”
“It seems both the families were fortune-hunting,” said Belinda sharply. “There is little to choose between such mercenary matchmaking and the maneuverings of poor Lord Everleigh!” Another unwelcome thought struck her. “Are you telling me that this Osbert—”
“Osric! Osric!” interjected her harassed grandfather.
“
Osric!
” the girl pronounced the name with awful scorn. “And where, pray, has this weak-kneed paragon been hiding himself? Couldn’t you bring him up to scratch? I have heard of no Osric Dane in London! Does he bury himself in the country?”
Her grandfather’s bellow of rage cut across her sarcasm. “Enough, Miss! Young Dane has had a distinguished career both in the army and in government, but it has not been in England! He was in Henry’s regiment at Waterloo. It was he who brought back your dear father’s effects to us. His own father having been killed at Salamanca, he had already, at eighteen, assumed his position as Duke of Romsdale. He was seconded to Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna, and thus began a remarkable career in diplomacy. He’s represented England abroad in a most distinguished way these ten years! And you, Miss, have not heard of him because the set of silly fribbles you go about with during the Season are such lightweights that they take no thought for politics, diplomacy, or our country’s destiny!”
This last insult was more than a spirited female could endure. “ ‘Silly fribbles’? When you’ve practically
forced
me into the
ton
, placed me under the chaperonage of Lady Tulliver, induced Lady Freya Goncourt to sponsor me,
and
insisted upon my accepting every invitation which was delivered to this house—!”
This attack was too formidable and too accurate for the aging nobleman to counter with logic. He resorted to his parade-ground voice. “Silence, Miss! Done my best for the orphaned grandchild left in my care! If I have made mistakes—” he paused, peering under his heavy brows and assuming an expression of sorrowful remorse. His voice softened. “If I have failed—” he sighed with histrionic grief.
“Gammon!” snapped his too-perceptive grandchild. “You’ll catch cold trying that tune with me! You are the most
managing
, overbearing tyrant it has ever been my misfortune to encounter! Now tell me exactly what is planned for me with this paragon, this young plenipotentiary—probably a pompous, arrogant, stiff-rumped—”
“Belinda!” shouted the Earl, affronted beyond bearing by her use of words he himself had taught her. “You had better mind your tongue, or no man, not even Lord Everleigh, will offer for you!” Then, observing the sudden light of interest on the lovely, expressive little countenance, he added harshly, “Would have hoped that a granddaughter of mine would honor her father’s sacred oath—!”