‘Until your powerful mind apprehended that I wanted you for my groomsman!’ said Adam, smiling up into his deep-set eyes. ‘Will you do that for me, Brough?’
‘But of course! With the greatest pleasure on earth, dear boy! I’m not acquainted with Miss Chawleigh, but m’father tells me it’s an excellent match. Says you’ve done just as you ought, and I’m to present you with his felicitations. By the bye, how is my young brother?’
‘He was in a capital way when I saw him last. I wish I knew what’s been happening since I left! Soult’s on the run, but not rompéd yet. What a moment to have been obliged to apply for furlough! Not that it is that, of course. I’m selling out.’
‘Well, you’d think it a dead bore to be serving in peacetime,’ remarked Brough. ‘The on-dit is that the Bourbons will be back before the summer’s out. I don’t know how much of a set-back that pitiful business at Bergen-op-Zoom will prove to be. Graham seems to have made a rare mull of it.’
Adam nodded, grimacing, but said: ‘We shan’t be lurched by that. If we can outflank Soult, pin him up against the Pyrenees, cut off from his supplies, see if the whole house of cards don’t tumble down! You’ve no notion what the feeling is in southern France: we thought the natives better-disposed towards us than the Spaniards!’ He laughed suddenly. ‘We pay for what we commandeer, you see, which Boney’s army doesn’t! Lord, I do wish I knew where we are now! It’s nearly a month since Orthes – I suppose we’re held up by a mingle-mangle of politicians!’
On the following day, the news of a victory at Tarbes on the 20th March was published. A part of the Light Division had been hotly engaged, but it did not seem as though the 52nd Regiment had taken much part in the action: a circumstance which slightly consoled Adam for his enforced absence. Nor, however, did it seem that Wellington had succeeded in cutting Soult’s lines of communication. The Marshal was retiring in good order upon Toulouse.
Matters of more domestic moment claimed Adam’s attention. Mr Chawleigh, baulked in his plans for a splendid marriage ceremony, wanted to know whether his Jenny was expected to wait until the following year before being presented at Court. He understood, on the authority of Mrs Quarley-Bix, that she could not go into society until this function had been performed; but while he didn’t wish Jenny to do anything not quite the thing, it was plain that he viewed with considerable disfavour any postponement of her début. If she was not to appear at any ton-party, it would look as though my lord was ashamed of his bride, and that (said Mr Chawleigh, his jaw pugnaciously out-thrust) was not what he had bargained for.
Adam neither relished the manner of this admonition nor wished to take part in the season’s festivities, but he did appreciate Mr Chawleigh’s objection. Mr Chawleigh was paying him handsomely to establish Jenny in the ranks of the ton, and although the letter of the bargain might be fulfilled by her elevation to the peerage, the spirit of it demanded that every effort should be made to introduce her into society. There could be little satisfaction in becoming a Viscountess if one was obliged to live for a whole year in seclusion. Moreover, if no presentation took place, and no cards were sent out announcing the bridal couple’s readiness to receive visits of ceremony, Adam was afraid that some of the high sticklers whose notice was of the first importance to a lady desirous of entering the exclusive circle to which they belonged might consider that the period of mourning absolved them from any duty to call on Lady Lynton thereafter. It might even be thought that to preserve the strict period of mourning was a tacit signal that the usual civilities were not expected, for it was certainly very odd conduct to interrupt this period for the celebration of nuptials which it would have been more proper to have postponed.
‘Ay, but your affairs won’t wait, my lord,’ said Mr Chawleigh, when Adam tried to explain the difficulty to him. ‘I won’t tip over the dibs until I see the knot tied, because I’m not one to shell out the nonsense without I’ve better security than you can offer me. Now, there’s no need to nab the rust! I don’t doubt you’d stick to the bargain, but who’s to say you’d be alive to do it? Anything could happen to you, and then where would I be? Holding a draft on the Pump at Aldgate!’
This point of view could scarcely be expected to appeal to Adam; but his sense of humour came to his rescue, and, instead of yielding to a reckless impulse to repudiate the betrothal, he sought counsel of Lady Oversley.
She perceived the intricacies of the situation at once, and gave the matter her profound consideration. ‘She must be presented,’ she decided. ‘It would have a very strange appearance if she weren’t, because one always is, you know, on the occasion of one’s marriage. And there is nothing improper in going to a Drawing-room when in mourning, though not, I think, in colour – except lavender, perhaps. Only, who is to present her? In general, one’s mother does so, but poor Jenny has no mother, and even if she had – dear me, yes! this is a trifle awkward, because I don’t think you could ask it of your own mother. Not while she is in such deep mourning, I mean! Well, it will have to be me, though I am strongly of the opinion that if we could but hit on a member of your own family it would create a better impression.’
‘My Aunt Nassington?’ suggested Adam.
‘Would she?’
‘I think she might.’
‘Well, if you can coax her into it, do so! No one could answer the purpose better, because she’s of the first consequence, and positively famous for the crushing set-downs she gives to perfectly respectable persons! Her approval must be of the greatest value. As for the rest, I don’t think you should go to balls. Dinner-parties and assemblies, yes! Balls, no! At least, you might attend one, but you shouldn’t dance at it.’
‘I can’t,’ Adam pointed out. ‘Too lame, ma’am! What a figure I should cut!’
‘So you would!’ she agreed, brightening perceptibly.
She did not disclose that the recollection of his disability had relieved her mind of a severe anxiety; and if he guessed that she had been racking her brain to think how she could induce the haughty patronesses of Almack’s to bestow vouchers on Jenny he did not say so. But he must have known that the right of entry to these chaste Assembly Rooms in King Street conferred on the recipient a greater distinction than a Court presentation, and was far more difficult to obtain. The club was presided over by six great ladies, who imposed rules that were as inflexible as they were arbitrary. Mere rank was no passport to Almack’s; and although the disappointed marvelled that anyone should covet a ticket to an assembly where no more stimulating beverage than orgeat could be got, and where nothing was danced but Scotch reels and country dances, such disgruntled animadversions hoaxed no one. It might be more amusing to twirl round a ballroom in the new German waltz, or to embark on the intricacies of the quadrille; and there was not a hostess in London who would have dreamed of regaling her guests on tea and stale bread-and-butter; but no one could pretend that invitations to all the smartest balls of the season conveyed the cachet won by a single appearance at Almack’s.
Having passed the six hostesses under mental review, Lady Oversley was so much relieved to be spared the task of begging Lady Sefton or Lady Castlereagh, both very good-natured, to bestow vouchers on Jenny that she offered to act as matron of honour at the wedding. This, however, Jenny refused, saying that she had invited a Miss Tiverton to support her on the occasion. She told Adam that Miss Tiverton was perfectly genteel. The remark grated on him, but he said lightly: ‘If you like her I’m sure she must be an amiable girl. Your chaperon I cannot like! Will you feel yourself obliged to invite her to your parties?’
‘Oh, no! I don’t mean to keep up the acquaintance,’ she said calmly. ‘I dislike her very much.’
There was a hint of her father’s ruthlessness in this, which dismayed him. She saw that he was looking grave, and added: ‘I don’t feel under an obligation to her, you know. She has been handsomely paid, and she has been able to feather her nest in a great many ways. All my wedding-clothes are being made at the most expensive houses, y
ou know, and so of course she receives commissions for having put business in their way.’
‘Good God! Surely it is most improper of her to be urging you to extravagance so that she may make a profit? You will indeed be well rid of her!’
‘Oh, yes, but I daresay she feels it to be of no consequence, since Papa likes me to shop at all the most expensive places.’ She hesitated, and then asked shyly: ‘That puts me in mind of something I wish to ask you: must I engage a dresser? Mrs Quarley-Bix says I must, and I’ll do what you think right – only I would very much prefer to keep my old maid with me! I know a grand dresser would despise me!’
‘If all dressers are like my mother’s Miss Poolstock she’d hold up her nose at both of us. A more top-lofty female I never encountered!’
‘Then may I tell Papa you don’t think it necessary?’
‘Yes, tell him Miss Poolstock has given me such a hatred of dressers that I won’t have one in the house! And, talking of houses, what do you wish me to do about a town house? Wimmering tells me there will be no difficulty in selling the one in Grosvenor Street, so perhaps we should be looking about us for another – if either of us can spare the time, which I doubt! Shall I tell Wimmering to try what he can find for us while we are in Hampshire? then, if he saw any he thought suitable we may inspect them before I take you to Fontley.’
She agreed at once; and asked if they were to go to Fontley immediately after the honeymoon.
‘Unless you should dislike it. I want to make you acquainted with it, and with my people.’
‘Would you like to remain there? Not come to town at all this season?’
‘What, miss all the season?’ he replied in a rallying tone. ‘No, indeed! Have you forgotten that you are to be presented? We ought to make a push to be back in town before the middle of May, which will relegate our stay at Fontley to a very few days.’
‘I only thought – since you are in mourning – that perhaps you had liefer not go to parties?’
‘On the contrary, I’ve consulted Lady Oversley, and she assures me that it will be proper for us to do everything but dance. And I don’t dance, you know – though I’ll engage to escort you to balls next year, and stand, as my sister tells me Byron does, gloomily surveying the company!’
Six
Lady Lynton took two days to reach London, since she elected to travel in the family coach, an old-fashioned vehicle which had not been designed for swift progress. It had the advantage of being roomy enough to accommodate Miss Poolstock, as well as herself and Charlotte, but she did not mention this when she explained to Adam why she had lumbered up to town in it. She reminded him instead that one of his first economies had been to dismiss the postilions always kept by his father. ‘Whether that was quite wise, dearest, I must leave it to you to decide. I am sure you did what you thought right, and I don’t regard the inconvenience to myself.’
‘But you could have hired postilions, and come in the post-chaise, Mama!’ expostulated Adam.
He would have done better to have held his peace, for he was speedily brought to a sense of his shortcomings. These included a callousness which made it possible for him to contemplate with equanimity all the dangers to which his mother would be subjected were she to entrust herself to hired post-boys.
He had time, while this homily was being delivered, to assimilate the details of her raiment; and as soon as he found himself alone with his sister he demanded to be told whether Mama meant to call in Russell Square rigged out in crimped crape, and with her only ornament a large mourning-brooch, depicting, in grisaille on mother-of-pearl, a female drooping miserably over a tomb. ‘And why hasn’t Lydia come with you?’
Charlotte was obliged to confess that Lydia had not wished to come. ‘She is so very much attached to you that she felt she couldn’t bear – that is to say, she –’
‘I understand you,’ he interrupted. ‘She is mistaken, however. Miss Chawleigh is a very agreeable girl. I think Lydia will like her. I hope she will, for if she doesn’t it must lead to a breach between us, which would grieve me very much indeed.’
She bowed her head, but ventured to say: ‘Only let me once tell you, my dear brother, how deeply sensible I am of the sacrifice you are making! When I reflect that if I had had your resolution –’
‘Charlotte, don’t be a goose! You are not assisting at a tragedy! Oh, I know what’s in your mind, but that was put out of the question whether I married, or stayed single. Don’t, I beg of you, make a piece of work of it!’ He gave her a slight hug, which told her more than anything he had said. ‘Has Mama made up her mind where she wishes to live? Does she remain at Fontley, or does she hold by the Bath scheme?’
‘By the Bath scheme, and – oh, Adam, I am in such a worry over it, and can’t help feeling that perhaps it is my duty to accompany her! But Lambert thinks that if once I go to Bath Mama will renew all her objections to my marriage. I am in the wretchedest indecision, and wish you will advise me!’
‘You’ll marry Lambert, of course. Mama will have Lydia to bear her company, and Aunt Bridestow as well. Why should you hesitate?’
‘If you don’t think it would be wrong – Mama so lately bereaved!’ she faltered.
He assured her that he did not, which made her look brighter, and later won him a hearty handshake from Mr Ryde, who told him that the Dowager had been showing disquieting signs of rescinding her consent to the marriage.
‘The thing is, old chap, that now you are going to mend matters so handsomely she don’t like the match any more than she ever did,’ he confided. ‘Let her but take Charlotte off to Bath and she’ll find first one excuse and then another to keep her there!’
‘I see. Well, if my mother insists on going there at once we had best fix the date of your wedding for the week following my – Jenny’s and my return from Hampshire.’
This arrangement quite failed to win the Dowager’s approval. She said that two such hasty weddings in one family would present a very odd appearance.
‘I must own that I think it would be better to postpone Charlotte’s marriage for a few months,’ Adam agreed. ‘If you feel that, don’t remove to Bath till the autumn! There is no occasion for you to do so, after all.’
‘Dearest, you must not ask too much of me!’ countered her ladyship. ‘If my remaining at Fontley could benefit you I would stay, exerting my last strength to suppress the painful feelings that must arise from seeing a stranger – and one who I cannot believe is worthy of the position she is to fill – set in my place! But there is nothing I could do to help you, my poor boy.’
This did not augur well for the forthcoming visit to Russell Square; but this seemed, from what Adam could gather, to have passed off fairly well. Lady Lynton and Charlotte found Miss Chawleigh and her chaperon at home, but since theirs was a morning-call they did not meet the master of the house. Charlotte thought that Mama had been agreeably surprised by Miss Chawleigh, for although she deplored her lack of countenance, and prophesied that she would be fat before she was forty, she had said, as she and Charlotte drove back to Albemarle Street, that she was thankful at least that she would not have to blush for her daughter-in-law’s manners. ‘And, indeed, Adam, I thought her very unaffected and pleasant, and I am sure I shall learn to be fond of her,’ said Charlotte nobly.
Lady Lynton’s severest strictures were reserved for Mrs Quarley-Bix, whom she described as odious and insinuating. She said that a worse trial than to be obliged to endure the company of such a person could not be imagined. But that was before she had made the acquaintance of Mr Chawleigh.
The meeting took place at Lothian’s Hotel, and was of an informal character, the task of inviting the Chawleighs to dine quietly there being entrusted to Adam. Lady Lynton, facing this subdued festivity with the courage of a martyr, adjured him to do what he could to exclude Mrs Quarley-Bix from the invitation, but very handsomely exonerated him from future blame by saying that she had no hope of his succeeding, since such Encroaching Females could be depended
on to thrust themselves in wherever they were least welcome. However, all was rendered easy by Mr Chawleigh, who, after expressing his gratitude for what he termed her la’ship’s condescension, added: ‘And mind, now! Not a word to Mrs Q.-B., for I’ll be bound her la’ship don’t want her simpering and writhing all over!’
Only the Chawleighs, therefore, presented themselves at Lothian’s Hotel on the appointed evening, and were ushered into Lady Lynton’s private parlour. Miss Chawleigh’s jewels were rather too magnificent both for her age and the occasion, but there was no fault to be found with her half-robe of lilac silk; and if her parent’s knee-breeches and blazing tie-pin were more suited to a Court function than to a family dinner-party this outmoded style did him no disservice in the Dowager’s eyes.
Her son might view with dismay the trappings of her woe, but on Mr Chawleigh they exercised an instant effect. He bowed low over the frail hand extended to him, and said that he took it very kindly of her to have invited him to dine. ‘Which I’ll be bound must have gone against the pluck with your la’ship, when it stands to reason you ain’t feeling able for company.’
A sad smile acknowledged this tribute. ‘So pleased!’ murmured the widow, sinking down into her chair again, and indicating with a movement of her fan that he was to take the one beside hers. While the younger members of the party made rather laborious conversation amongst themselves the widow gave Mr Chawleigh of her best. By the time a waiter came to announce that dinner awaited them in the adjoining parlour Mr Chawleigh knew how many and how grievous were the sufferings she had undergone, and how bravely she had borne up under the bludgeonings of misfortune. He even knew what an effort it had cost her to undertake the journey to London (in circumstances of extreme discomfort), and he was quite as much shocked as she could have wished. He thought it dreadful that a high-born lady of obvious fragility should have been jumbled over bad roads in a cumbersome old coach, and without even one outrider for her protection. He assured her that he would think himself honoured to be permitted to convey her back to Fontley in his own post-chaise. ‘None of your yellow bounders, my lady!’ he told her. ‘It’s as well-sprung as any you’ve ridden in, which it ought to be, when you think what I paid for it. And proper Hounslow-bred postilions, and that you may depend on, for only the best is good enough for Jonathan Chawleigh.’