Venetia (41 page)

Miss had; and after learning that during the somewhat premature Peace Celebrations held in London in 1814 the Pulteney had housed no less a personage than the Tsar of Russia (not to mention his impressive sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg), she decided to place it at the head of her list of hotels where she was most likely to discover Sir Lambert and Lady Steeple. Charging Worting with a message for his mistress that she had been obliged to go out on an urgent shopping expedition, she presently set forth, charmingly attired in a blue velvet pelisse trimmed with chinchilla, and a fetching velvet hat with three curled ostrich plumes, and a high poke lined with gathered silk. She carried a large chinchilla muff, and altogether presented so delightful a picture that when she reached the hackney coach stand in Oxford Street the competition for her custom amongst the assembled Jehus was fierce, and extremely noisy.

Arrived at the Pulteney, which stood on the north side of Piccadilly, and overlooked the Green Park, she found that her instinct had not erred: Sir Lambert and Lady Steeple were occupying the very suite allotted, four years earlier, to his Imperial Majesty.

Venetia sent up her card; and in a very short space of time was being ushered into an ornate saloon upon the first floor, where Sir Lambert, gorgeously arrayed in a befrogged dressing-gown, had just (and rather hastily) swallowed the last mouthful of a large and varied breakfast. Nothing could have been more gratifying than the affability with which he received her. It might even have been considered to be a trifle excessive, for after rapidly running over her the eye of a connoisseur he claimed the right of a father-in-law to greet her with a kiss. Venetia accepted this demurely, repressed a strong inclination to remove herself from the circle of his arm, and smiled upon him with dazzling sweetness.

He was delighted. He gave her waist a little squeeze, saying: “Well, well, well, who would have thought such a dull, gray morning would bring such a beautiful surprise? I declare the sun has come out after all! And so you are my daughter! Let me look at you!” He then held her at arms’ length, scanning her up and down appreciatively, and in a way that gave her the uncomfortable feeling that she had ventured forth far too lightly clad. “Upon my word, I never thought to have such a lovely gal for my daughter!” he told her. “Aha, that makes you blush, and devilish pretty you look, flying your colours, my dear! But you have no need to colour up, you know! If your papa-in-law may not pay you a compliment I wish you will tell me who may! And so you have come to see us! I am not astonished. No, I said last night to Aurelia that you looked like a sweet gal, and so you are! When she saw you with Maria Hendred she guessed at once who you was, but ‘depend upon it,’ she said, ‘Maria will take care not to let her come within tongue-shot of me!’”

“Did—did my mother wish to see me?” asked Venetia.

“Who wouldn’t wish to see you, my dear? Yes, yes, I’ll venture to say she’ll be devilish glad you came. She don’t speak of it, you know, but I fancy she didn’t above half like it when that brother of yours never came to call. A fine young man, but holds himself too much up!”

“Conway?” she exclaimed. “Where was this, sir? In Paris?”

“No, no, in Lisbon! Silly young jackanapes would do no more than bow—as top-lofty as his father! Ay, and a pretty mess he’s made of his marriage, eh? Lord, my dear, what made him fall into that snare? ‘Well,’ I said, when I heard the Widow had snabbled him, ‘here’s a come-down from his high ropes!’ And what brings you to town, my pretty little daughter?”

She told him she was on a visit to her aunt, and when he learned that it was her first, he exclaimed that he wished he might take her to see all the lions.

After about twenty minutes a smart French maid came into the room, announcing that miladi was now ready to receive mademoiselle; and Venetia was led through a smaller saloon and an ante-room and ushered into a large and opulent bedchamber. It was redolent of a subtle scent, which brought Venetia up short on the threshold, exclaiming involuntarily: “Oh, your scent! I remember it! I remember it so well!”

A laugh like a peal of bells greeted this. “Do you? I’ve always used it
—always
!
Oh, you used to sit and watch me when I dressed to go to a party, didn’t you? Such a quaint little creature you were, but I thought very likely you would grow to be pretty!”

Recalled from her sudden nostalgia, Venetia stammered, as she dropped a curtsy: “Oh, I
beg
your pardon, ma’am! How—how do you do?”

Lady Steeple laughed again, and rose from her chair before a dressing-table loaded with jars, bottles, and trinket-boxes, and came towards her daughter, holding out her hands. “Isn’t it
absurd
?”
she said, offering Venetia a delicately tinted and powdered cheek to kiss. “I don’t feel it to be possible that I
can
have a grown-up daughter!”

Obedient to a nudge from her good angel, Venetia responded: “Nor could anyone, ma’am—I don’t myself!”

“Darling! What did they tell you about me—Francis and Maria, and all their
stuffy
set?”

“Nothing, ma’am, except that I should never be as beautiful as you, and that I had from Nurse! Until yesterday I believed you had died when you left us.”

“Oh, no, did you? Did Francis tell you so? Yes, I’m sure he did, for it would be
so
like him! Poor man, I was
such
a trial to him! Were you fond of him?”

“No, not at all,” replied Venetia calmly. This made her ladyship laugh again. She waved Venetia to a chair, and herself sat down again before the dressing-table, looking her daughter over critically. Venetia now had leisure to observe that the foam of lace and gauze in which she was wrapped was in reality a dressing-gown. It was not at all the sort of garment one would have expected one’s mama to wear, for it was as improper as it was pretty. Venetia wondered whether Damerel would like the sight of his bride in just such a transparent cloud of gauze, and was strongly of the opinion that he would like it very much.

“Well, tell me all about yourself!” invited Lady Steeple, picking up her hand mirror, and earnestly studying her profile. “You are excessively like me, but your nose is not as straight as mine, and I fancy your face is not
quite
a
perfect oval. And I do think, dearest, that you are a
fraction
too tall. Still, you have turned out remarkably well! Conway is very handsome too, but so stiff and stupid that it put me in mind of his father, and I couldn’t but take him in dislike.
What
a mull he made of it in Paris! Should you have liked it if I had upset the Widow’s scheme? I daresay I might have, for she is such a respectable creature that it is an object with her to pretend she doesn’t know I exist! I had that from someone who knew it for a
fact
!
I
had a great mind to pay her a visit—to make the acquaintance of my future daughter-in-law, you know! It would have been so diverting! I forget why I didn’t go after all: I expect I was busy, or perhaps the Lamb—oh, no, I remember now! It was so hot in Paris that we removed to the
chateau—
my
Trianon! The Lamb bought it, and gave it to me for a surprise-present on my birthday: the sweetest place imaginable! Oh, well, if Conway finds himself leg-shackled to an insipid little
nigaude
he is very well-served! Why aren’t
you
married, Venetia? How old are you? It is so stupid not to be able to remember dates, but I never can!”

“More than five-and-twenty, ma’am!” replied Venetia, a rather mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Five-and-twenty!” Lady Steeple seemed for a moment to shrink, and did actually put up her hand as though to thrust something ugly away. “Five-and-twenty!” she repeated, glancing instinctively at the mirror with searching, narrowed eyes. What she saw seemed to reassure her, for she said lightly: “Oh, impossible! I was the merest
child
when you were born, of course! But what in the world have you been doing with yourself to be left positively on the shelf?”

“Nothing whatsoever, ma’am,” said Venetia, smiling at her. “You see, until I came to London a month ago, I had never seen a larger town than York, nor been farther from Undershaw than Harrogate!”

“Good God, you can’t be serious?” cried Lady Steeple, staring at her. “I never heard of anything so appalling in my life! Tell me!”

Venetia did tell her, and although the thought of Sir Francis as a recluse made her break into her delicious laugh she really was horrified by the story, and exclaimed at the end of it: “Oh, you poor little thing! Do you hate me for it?”

“No, of course I don’t!” replied Venetia reassuringly.

“You see, I never
wished
for children!” explained her ladyship. “They quite ruin one’s figure, and when one is in the straw one looks positively
hideous,
and
they
look hideous, too, all red and crumpled, though I must say you and Conway were very pretty babies. But my last—what did Francis insist on naming him? Oh, Aubrey, wasn’t it, after one of his stupid ancestors? Yes, Aubrey! Well, he looked like a sick monkey—
horrid
!
Of course Francis thought it was my
duty
to nurse him myself, as though I had been a farm-wench! I can’t think how he came by such a vulgar notion, for I
do
know that old Lady Lanyon
always
hired a wet-nurse! But it didn’t answer, for it made me perfectly ill to look at such a wizened creature. Besides, he was so fretful that it made me nervous. I never thought he would survive, but he did, didn’t her Within the shelter of her muff Venetia’s hands clenched till the nails dug into her palms, but she answered coolly: “Oh, yes! Perhaps he was fretful because of his hip. He had a diseased joint, you see. It is better now, but he suffered a great deal when he was younger, and he will always limp.”

“Poor boy!” said her ladyship compassionately. “Did he come with you to London?”

“No, he is in Yorkshire. I don’t think he would care for London. In fact, he cares for nothing much but his books. He’s a scholar—a
brilliant
scholar!”

“Good gracious, what a horrid bore!” remarked Lady Steeple, with simple sincerity. “To think of being shut up with a recluse and a scholar makes me feel quite low! You poor child! Oh, you were the Sleeping Beauty! What a touching thing! But there should have been a Prince Charming to kiss you awake! It is too bad!”

“There was,” said Venetia. She flushed faintly. “Only he has it fixed in his head that he isn’t a Prince, but a usurper, dressed in the Prince’s clothes.”

Lady Steeple was rather amused. “Oh, but that spoils the Story!” she protested. “Besides, why should he think himself a usurper? It is not at all likely!”

“No, but you know what that Prince in the fairy tale is like, ma’am! Young, and handsome, and virtuous! And probably a dead bore,” she added thoughtfully. “Well, my usurper is not very young, and not handsome, and certainly not virtuous: quite the reverse, in fact. On the other hand, he is not a bore.”

“You have clearly fallen in love with a rake! But how intriguing! Tell me all about him!”

“I think perhaps you know him, ma’am.”

“Oh, no, do I? Who is he?”

“He is Damerel,” replied Venetia.

Lady Steeple jumped. “
What
?
Nonsense! Oh, you’re shamming it! You must be!” She broke off, knitting her brows. “I remember now—they have a place there, haven’t they? The Damerels—only they were hardly ever there. So you
have
met him—and of course he came round you— and you lost your heart to him, devil that he is! Well, my dear, I daresay he has broken a score of hearts besides yours, so dry your tears, and set about breaking a few hearts yourself! It is by far more amusing, I promise you!”

“I shouldn’t think anything could be as amusing as to be married to Damerel,” said Venetia.

“
Married
to him! Heavens, don’t be so gooseish! Damerel never wanted to marry anyone in all his scandalous career!”

“Oh, yes, he did, ma’am! He wanted once to marry Lady Sophia Vobster, only
most
fortunately she fell in love with someone else; and now he wants to marry me.”

“Deluded girl! He’s been hoaxing you!”

“Yes, he tried to hoax me into thinking he had only been trifling with me, and if it hadn’t been for my aunt’s letting the truth slip out he would have succeeded! That—that is why I’ve come to see you, ma’am! Yow could help me—if you would!”

“I help you?” Lady Steeple laughed, not this time so musically. “Don’t you know better than that? I could more easily ruin you, let me tell you!”

“I know you could,” said Venetia frankly. “I’m very much obliged to you for saying that, because it makes it much less awkward for me to explain it to you. You see, ma’am, Damerel believes that if he proposed marriage to me he would be doing me a great injury, because between them he and my Uncle Hendred have decided that I should otherwise make a brilliant match, while if I married him I should very likely be shunned by the
ton,
and become a vagabond, like himself. I should like that excessively, so what I must do is to convince him that instead of contracting a brilliant match I am on the verge of utter social ruin. I’ve racked my brains to discover how it can be done, but I couldn’t find any way—at least, none that would answer the purpose!—and I was in such flat despair—oh, in such
misery
!
And then, last night, when my aunt told me—she thought I should be aghast, but I was overjoyed, because I saw in a flash that you were the one person who could help me!”

“To social ruin! Well, upon my word!” cried her ladyship. “And all to marry you to Rake Damerel—which I don’t believe! No, I
don’t
believe it!”