Devil's Cub Read online

  It was not that the girl was ill-favoured. She had a fine pair of grey eyes, and her profile with its delightfully straight nose and short upper lip was quite lovely. But placed beside Sophia she was nothing beyond the common. What chance had chestnut curls when compared to a riot of bright gold ringlets? What chance had cool grey eyes when the most limpid blue ones peeped between preposterously long eyelashes?

  She had, moreover, grave disadvantages. Those fine eyes of hers had a disconcertingly direct gaze, and very often twinkled in a manner disturbing to male egotism. She had common-sense too, and what man wanted the plainly matter-of-fact, when he could enjoy instead Sophia’s delicious folly? Worst of all she had been educated at a very select seminary – Mrs Challoner was sometimes afraid that she was almost a Bluestocking.

  The education had been provided by the girl’s paternal relatives, and at one time Mrs Challoner had expected wonders to come of it. But Mary seemed to have acquired nothing from it but a quantity of useless knowledge, and a certain elegance of deportment. The select seminary had housed young ladies of the highest rank, but Mary’s common-sense fell short of making fast-friends with any of them, so that Mrs Challoner’s visions of entering the Polite World through her daughter’s friendships all vanished, and she was left to wish that she had never applied to the Challoners for help at all. Yet at the time of Charles Challoner’s early demise, it had seemed to her to be an excellent thing to do. Her brother had said that she could hope for nothing from such high and mighty folk, and it certainly seemed now as though she had got worse than nothing. While evincing no desire to set eyes on his late son’s spouse, General Sir Giles Challoner had expressed his willingness to provide for the education of his eldest granddaughter. Mrs Challoner perforce had accepted this half-loaf, with the secret belief that it would lead to better things. It never had. On several occasions Mary had been bidden on a visit to Buckinghamshire, but no suggestion either of adopting her, or of inviting her mamma and sister to share the visit, had ever been made.

  It was bitterly disappointing, but Mrs Challoner was a just woman, and she had no doubt that the frustration of her ambitions was largely due to Mary herself. For all her wonderful learning, the girl had not the smallest notion of bettering her position. With every opportunity (if only she had known how to be ingratiating) of insinuating herself into the affections of her benefactors, she had apparently made no attempt to be indispensable to them, so that here she was, actually twenty years of age, still sharing the lodging of her mother and sister, and with no better prospect in view than marriage with her cousin Joshua.

  Joshua, a stout and affluent young man, was not an earl, but then Mary was not Sophia, and Mrs Challoner would have been quite satisfied with this match for her elder daughter. Inexplicably Joshua had no eyes for Sophia. He was obstinately and somewhat fiercely in love with Mary, and the mischief was that the stupid girl would have none of him.

  ‘I don’t know what you look for, I’m sure,’ Mrs Challoner said, pardonably incensed. ‘If you think you will marry a titled gentleman, let me tell you, Mary, that you have no notion how to go about the business.’

  Whereupon Mary had looked up from her stitchery, and said with a humorous inflexion in her calm voice: ‘Well, mamma, I have plenty of opportunity for learning, haven’t I?’

  ‘If all that fine education of yours taught you was to be odiously sarcastic about your sister, miss, you wasted your time!’ said her mother sharply.

  Mary bent her head over her work again. ‘Indeed I think so,’ she said.

  There was nothing much to be made of this. Mrs Challoner suspected her daughter of a hidden, and probably unpalatable meaning, but could not resist saying: ‘And though you may sneer at Sophia now, I wonder how you will look when she is my lady.’

  Mary re-threaded her needle. ‘I think I should look much surprised, mamma,’ she replied somewhat drily. Then as Mrs Challoner began to bridle, she put her work aside, and said in her quiet way: ‘Madam, surely in your heart you know that Lord Vidal does not dream of marriage?’

  ‘I will tell you what it is, miss!’ said her mother with a heightened colour, ‘you are jealous of your sister’s beauty, and all the suitors she has! Not dream of marriage? Why, what do you know of the matter, pray? Does he take you so deep into his confidence?’

  ‘I do not think,’ said Mary, ‘that Lord Vidal is aware of my existence.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s no wonder,’ declared Mrs Challoner. ‘You’ve no notion how to make yourself agreeable to a gentleman. But there’s no reason why you should be so prodigious unpleasant about poor Sophia’s chances. If ever I saw a man fall head over ears in love, that one is Lord Vidal. Lord, he’s for ever kicking his heels upon our doorstep, and as for the posies and the trinkets he brings –’

  ‘They had better be given back to him,’ said her daughter prosaically. ‘I tell you that man means no good towards Sophia. Good God, mamma, don’t you know his reputation?’

  Mrs Challoner failed to meet that straight gaze. ‘Fie, and pray what should you, a chit from the schoolroom, know of a gentleman’s reputation?’ she said virtuously. ‘If he has been something of a rake, that will all be changed when he weds my pretty Sophia.’

  ‘It seems fairly safe to say so,’ agreed Mary, picking up her work again. ‘You choose to be hoodwinked, ma’am, but if you will believe he means honestly by my sister, will you not at least consider how far apart are their fortunes?’

  ‘As to that,’ replied Mrs Challoner, preening herself, ‘I am sure the Challoners are good enough for anyone. Not that it signifies in the least, for we all know how the Gunnings, who were nobody, married into the nobility.’

  ‘They did us a great disservice thereby,’ sighed Mary.

  More she would not say, deeming it useless, but it was with deep misgiving that she regarded her sister when that damsel danced in, fresh from an expedition with her bosom friends, the Matchams.

  Sophia was just eighteen, and it would have been hard to have found a fault in her appearance. She had the biggest of cornflower-blue eyes, the daintiest of little noses, the softest, most adorable mouth in the world. Her curls, which her mamma nightly brushed for her, were of a gold that had nothing to do with flaxen, and her complexion was of that rose-leaf order that seems too perfect to be natural. She had a frippery brain, but she could dance very prettily, and knew just how to drive a man to desperation, so that it really did not matter in the least that she was amazingly ignorant, and found the mere writing of a letter the most arduous task.

  Just now she was bubbling over with plans for the immediate future, and she broke in impatiently on her mother’s lamentations over a torn muslin gown. ‘Oh, it doesn’t signify, mamma, you will be able to mend it in a trice. But only fancy what a delightful scheme there is afoot! My Lord Vidal is to give a supper-party at Vauxhall, and we are all to go. There is to be dancing and fireworks, and Vidal promises we shall go by water, which makes Eliza Matcham so cross because I am to be in Vidal’s boat, and he never asked her at all.’

  ‘Who is “all,” Sophia?’ inquired her sister.

  ‘Oh, the Matchams, and their cousin Peggy Delaine, and I dare say some others,’ Sophia replied airily. ‘Can you conceive of anything more charming, mamma? But one thing is sure! I must have a new gown for it. I would die rather than wear the blue lustring again, if you can’t contrive a new one, I vow I shan’t go to the party at all, which would be a shame.’

  Mrs Challoner quite saw the force of all this, and was at once prolific of plans for the acquiring of a suitable gown, and exclamatory over the pleasure in store for her daughter. Into their ecstasies Mary’s matter-of-fact voice broke once again. ‘You’ll hardly be seen at Vauxhall in Vidal’s and Miss Delaine’s company, Sophia, I should hope.’

  ‘And why not?’ cried Sophia, beginning to pout. ‘Of course I knew you would try to spoil it for me, you cross th