The Convenient Marriage Read online

  Mr Paget tittered. ‘Or our fair hostess’s, ma’am!’

  She gave a shrug of her large white shoulders. ‘Oh, if you want to pry into the silly woman’s affairs – !’ she said, and moved away.

  Mr Paget transferred his attention to Lord Lethbridge.

  ‘’Pon my soul, my lord, I’ll swear she went white under the rouge!’ Lethbridge took snuff. ‘Cruel of you, my lord, ’pon my soul it was!’

  ‘Do you think so?’ said his lordship with almost dulcet sweetness.

  ‘Oh, positively, sir, positively! Not a doubt she had hopes of Rule. But it would never do, you know. I believe his lordship to be excessively proud.’

  ‘Excessively,’ said Lethbridge, with so much dryness in his voice that Mr Paget had an uncomfortable feeling that he had said something inopportune.

  He was so obsessed by this notion that he presently confided the interchange to Sir Marmaduke Hoban, who gave a snort of laughter and said: ‘Damned inopportune!’ and walked off to replenish his glass.

  Mr Crosby Drelincourt, cousin and heir-presumptive to my Lord of Rule, seemed disinclined to discuss the news. He left the party early, and went home to his lodging in Jermyn Street, a prey to the gloomiest forebodings.

  He passed an indifferent night, and awoke finally at an uncommonly early hour, and demanded the London Gazette. His valet brought it with the cup of chocolate with which it was Mr Drelincourt’s habit to regale himself on first waking. Mr Drelincourt seized the journal and spread it open with agitated fingers. The announcement glared at him in incontrovertible print.

  Mr Drelincourt looked at it in a kind of daze, his night-cap over one eye.

  ‘Your chocolate, sir,’ said his valet disinterestedly.

  Mr Drelincourt was roused out of his momentary stupor. ‘Take the damned stuff away!’ he shouted, and flung the Gazette down. ‘I am getting up!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Will you wear the blue morning habit?’

  Mr Drelincourt swore at him.

  The valet, accustomed to Mr Drelincourt’s temper, remained unmoved, but found an opportunity while his master was pulling on his stockings to peep into the Gazette. What he saw brought a faint, sour smile to his lips. He went away to prepare a razor with which to shave Mr Drelincourt.

  The news had shocked Mr Drelincourt deeply, but habit was strong, and by the time he had been shaved he had recovered sufficient mastery over himself to take an interest in the all-important question of his dress. The result of the care he bestowed upon his person was certainly startling. When he was at last ready to sally forth into the street he wore a blue coat with long tails and enormous silver buttons, over a very short waistcoat, and a pair of striped breeches clipped at the knee with rosettes. A bow served him for cravat, his stockings were of silk, his shoes had silver buckles and heels so high that he was obliged to mince along; his wig was brushed up en hérisson to a point in the front, curled in pigeons’ wings over the ears, and brought down at the back into a queue confined in a black silk bag. A little round hat surmounted this structure, and to complete his toilet he had a number of fobs and seals, and carried a long, clouded cane embellished with tassels.

  Although the morning was a fine one Mr Drelincourt hailed a chair, and gave the address of his cousin’s house in Grosvenor Square. He entered the sedan carefully, bending his head to avoid brushing his toupet against the roof; the men picked up the poles, and set off northwards with their exquisite burden.

  Upon his arrival in Grosvenor Square Mr Drelincourt paid off the chairmen and tripped up the steps to the great door of Rule’s house. He was admitted by the porter, who looked as though he would have liked to have shut the door in the visitor’s painted face. Mr Drelincourt was no favourite with Rule’s household, but being in some sort a privileged person he came and went very much as he pleased. The porter told him that my lord was still at breakfast, but Mr Drelincourt waved this piece of information aside with an airy gesture of one lily-white hand. The porter handed him over to a footman, and reflected with satisfaction that that was a nose put well out of joint.

  Mr Drelincourt rarely waited upon his cousin without letting his gaze rest appreciatively on the fine proportions of his rooms, and the elegance of their appointments. He had come to regard Rule’s possessions in some sort as his own, and he could never enter his house without thinking of the day when it would belong to him. To-day, however, he was easily able to refrain from the indulgence of this dream, and he followed the footman to a small breakfast-room at the back of the house with nothing in his head but a sense of deep injury.

  My lord, in a dressing-gown of brocaded silk, was seated at the table with a tankard and a sirloin before him. His secretary was also present, apparently attempting to cope with a number of invitations for his lordship, for as Mr Drelincourt strutted in he said despairingly: ‘But, sir, you must surely remember that you are promised to her Grace of Bedford to-night!’

  ‘I wish,’ said Rule plaintively, ‘that you would rid yourself of that notion, my dear Arnold. I cannot imagine where you had it. I never remember anything disagreeable. Good-morning, Crosby.’ He put up his glass the better to observe the letters in Mr Gisborne’s hand. ‘The one on the pink paper, Arnold. I have a great predilection for the one writ on pink paper. What is it?’

  ‘A card-party at Mrs Wallchester’s, sir,’ said Mr Gisborne in a voice of disapproval.

  ‘My instinct is never at fault,’ said his lordship. ‘The pink one it shall be. Crosby, really there is no need for you to stand. Have you come to breakfast? Oh, don’t go, Arnold, don’t go.’

  ‘If you please, Rule, I wish to be private with you,’ said Mr Drelincourt, who had favoured the secretary with the smallest of bows.

  ‘Don’t be shy, Crosby,’ said his lordship kindly. ‘If it’s money Arnold is bound to know all about it.’

  ‘It is not,’ said Mr Drelincourt, much annoyed.

  ‘Permit me, sir,’ said Mr Gisborne, moving to the door.

  Mr Drelincourt put down his hat and his cane, and drew out a chair from the table. ‘Not breakfast, no!’ he said a little peevishly.

  The Earl surveyed him patiently. ‘Well, what is it now, Crosby?’ he inquired.

  ‘I came to,’ said Mr Drelincourt, ‘I came to speak to you about this – this betrothal.’

  ‘There’s nothing private about that,’ observed Rule, addressing himself to the cold roast beef.

  ‘No, indeed!’ said Crosby with a hint of indignation in his voice. ‘I suppose it is true?’

  ‘Oh, quite true,’ said his lordship. ‘You may safely felicitate me, my dear Crosby.’

  ‘As to that – why, certainly! Certainly, I wish you very happy,’ said Crosby, put out. ‘But you never spoke a word of it to me. It takes me quite by surprise. I must think it extremely odd, cousin, considering the singular nature of our relationship.’

  ‘The – ?’ My lord seemed puzzled.

  ‘Come, Rule, come! As your heir I might be supposed to have some claim to be apprised of your intentions.’

  ‘Accept my apologies,’ said his lordship. ‘Are you sure you won’t have some breakfast, Crosby? You do not look at all the thing, my dear fellow. In fact, I should almost feel inclined to recommend another hairpowder than this blue you affect. A charming tint, Crosby: you must not think I don’t admire it, but its reflected pallor upon your countenance –’

  ‘If I seem pale, cousin, you should rather blame the extraordinary announcement in to-day’s Gazette. It has given me a shock; I shan’t deny it has given me a shock.’

  ‘But, Crosby,’ said his lordship plaintively, ‘were you really sure that you would outlive me?’

  ‘In the course of nature I might expect to,’ replied Mr Drelincourt, too much absorbed in his disappointment to consider his words. ‘I can give you ten years, you must remember.’

  Rule shook his head. ‘I don’t