Regency Buck Read online

  It still lacked ten minutes to eleven, but although people were continuing to arrive there was no sign of Peregrine. Judith guessed him to be only too glad of an excuse not to come, for he did not care to dance, but she had never felt more lonely in her life, and hoped every moment to see him walk in.

  Mrs Scattergood, having met with several of her friends, was deep in conversation, but broke off suddenly to dart up to her charge. ‘Mr Brummell!’ she hissed in Judith’s ear. ‘Do pray, my love, hold yourself up, and if he should speak to you I implore you remember what it may mean!’

  The very mention of any dandy’s name was quite enough at this moment to fan Miss Taverner’s wrath to a flame. She looked anything but conciliating, and when she turned her eyes to the door and observed the gentleman who had just entered, an expression of undisguised contempt swept over her face.

  A lady in a purple turban adorned with an aigrette bore down upon Mrs Scattergood, and drew her aside with so much condescension that Judith would hardly have been surprised to learn that it was Queen Charlotte herself. She turned away to enjoy to the full her first sight of Mr George Bryan Brummell.

  She could scarcely forbear to laugh, for surely there could be no greater figure of fun. He stood poised for a moment in the doorway, a veritable puppet, tricked out in such fine clothes that he cast the two gentlemen who were entering behind him in the shade. It could not be better. From his green satin coat to his ridiculously high-heeled shoes he was just what she had expected him to be. His conceit, evidently, was unbounded. He surveyed the room through his quizzing-glass, held at least a foot away from his eye, and went mincing up to Princess Esterhazy, and made her a flourishing bow.

  Judith could not take her eyes from him; he was not looking her way, so she might permit herself to smile. Indeed, the wrath had died out of her face, and given place to a twinkling merriment. So this was the King of Fashion!

  She was recalled to a sense of her surroundings by a quiet voice at her elbow. ‘I beg pardon, ma’am: I think you have dropped your fan?’

  She turned with a start to find that a gentleman whom she recognised as one of the two who had entered behind the Beau was standing beside her, with her fan in his hand.

  She took it with a word of thanks, and one of her clear, appraising looks. She liked what she saw. The gentleman was of medium height, with light brown hair brushed à la Brutus, and a countenance which, without being precisely handsome, was generally pleasing. There was a good deal of humour about his mouth, and his eyes, which were grey and remarkably intelli gent, were set under a pair of most expressive brows. He was very well-dressed, but so unobtrusively that Judith would have been hard put to it to describe what he was wearing.

  He returned her look with something of drollery in his eyes. ‘It is Miss Taverner, is it not?’ he asked.

  She noticed that his voice was particularly good, and his manner quiet and unassuming. She said with decided friendliness: ‘Yes, I am Miss Taverner, sir. I don’t know how you should recognise me though, for I think we have not met, have we?’

  ‘No, I have been out of town this week,’ he replied. ‘I should have called, of course.Your guardian is a friend of mine.’

  This circumstance was hardly a credential in Miss Taverner’s opinion, but she merely said: ‘You are very good, sir. But how came you to know me?’

  ‘You have been described to me, Miss Taverner. I could not mistake.’

  A flush stole up into her cheeks; she raised her eyes and looked very steadily at him. ‘By Mr Mills, perhaps, sir?’

  One of his mobile brows went up. ‘No, ma’am, not by Mr Mills. May I ask – or is it an impertinence? – why you should have thought so?’

  ‘Mr Mills has made it his business to describe me in so many quarters that it was a natural conclusion,’ said Judith bitterly.

  ‘Indeed!’ He looked down at her rather penetratingly. ‘I am such an inquisitive creature, Miss Taverner. I hope you mean to tell me why you are looking so very angry,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘I should not, I know. But I must warn you, sir, it is not the fashion to be seen talking to me.’

  Both brows went up at that. ‘On the authority of Mr Mills?’ inquired the gentleman.

  ‘Yes, sir, as I understand. Mr Mills has been good enough to christen me the Milkmaid, and to declare that no one of fashion could tolerate my – my person.’ She tried to speak lightly, but only succeeded in letting her indignation peep through.

  He drew up a chair. ‘Let me assure you, Miss Taverner, that there is not the least need for you to let Mr Mills’s insolence distress you. May I sit down?’

  She signified assent; she could only be glad that he should want to. He might not wear a green-spangled coat, and lead all London by the nose, but she had rather be talking to him than to any dandy. She said frankly: ‘I know I should not – and indeed, it doesn’t distress me. It only makes me angry. You see, we – my brother and I – have never been in London before, and we wanted very much to – to enter into Polite Circles. But it seems that Society agrees with Mr Mills – though a great many people have been very kind, of course.’

  ‘Do you know, Miss Taverner, you make me feel that I have been out of town longer than I realised?’ said the gentleman, with one of his comical looks. ‘When I left London for Cheveley Mr Mills was not leading Society, I assure you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you must not think I do not know who does that! I have had the name of Beau Brummell dinned into my ears until I am heartily sick of it! I am told that I must at all costs win his approval if I am to succeed, and I tell you frankly, sir, I have not the least notion of trying to do it!’ She saw a slightly startled look in his eyes, and added defiantly: ‘I am sorry if he should be a friend of yours, but I have made up my mind I neither wish for his good opinion nor his acquaintance.’

  ‘You are quite safe in saying what you think of him to me,’ replied the gentleman gravely. ‘But what has he done to earn your contempt, ma’am?’

  ‘Well, sir, you have only to look at him!’ said Judith, allowing her eyes to travel significantly towards the gorgeous figure at the other end of the room. ‘A spangled coat!’ she pronounced scornfully.

  His gaze followed the direction of hers. ‘I am in agreement with you, Miss Taverner,’ he said. ‘Though I should not myself call that thing a coat.’

  ‘Oh, and that is not all!’ she said. ‘I am for ever hearing of his affectations and impertinences! I am out of all patience with him.’

  She had the impression that he was laughing at her, but when he spoke it was perfectly solemnly. ‘Ah, ma’am, but it is Mr Brummell’s folly which is the making of him. If he did not stare duchesses out of countenance, and nod over his shoulder to princes he would be forgotten in a week. And if the world is so silly as to admire his absurdities – you and I may know better – but what does that signify?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose,’ said Judith. ‘But if I cannot succeed without being obliged to court his approval I had rather fail.’

  ‘Miss Taverner,’ he replied, the smile dancing in his eyes again, ‘I prophesy that you will become the rage.’

  She shook her head. ‘How can you think it, sir?’

  He rose. ‘Why, I don’t think it, ma’am. I am sure of it. Every eye is even now upon you.You have held me in conversation for close on half an hour.’ He made his bow. ‘I may do myself the honour of calling on you?’

  ‘We shall be glad, sir.’

  ‘I wonder?’ he said with a quizzical look, and moved away to where Lord Alvanley was standing against the wall.

  Miss Taverner became aware of Mrs Scattergood at her elbow, in a twitter of excitement. ‘My love, what did he say to you? Tell me at once!’

  Judith turned. ‘Say to me?’ she repeated, bewildered. ‘He asked if he might call on us, and –’

  ‘Judith! You don’t mean it? Oh, was ever anything so – Well! And you was talking for ever! Pray, what else was said?’

  Judith looked at he