‘I am not a penny the wiser,’ said Lord Fitzroy, his quiet, slightly drawling voice in as great a contrast to the Prince’s vivacity as were his fair locks and square, handsome countenance to the Prince’s dark hair and erratic features. ‘You forget how long it is since I was in England. Charles, that’s my pen, and it suits me very well without your mending it. What’s more, it’s my desk, and I’ve work to do.’
‘I shan’t be more than a minute,’ replied the Colonel. ‘Have you noticed how devilish official he’s become lately, Billy? It’s from standing in the Great Man’s shoes, I suppose.’
‘You shall not divert me,’ said the Prince. ‘I observe the attempt, but it is useless. When do you announce your approaching marriage?’
‘Now, if you like,’ said the Colonel, dipping his pen in the ink, and drawing a sheet of paper towards him.
The Prince’s jaw dropped. He stared at Colonel Audley and then laughed. ‘Oh yes, I am very stupid! I shall certainly swallow that canard!’
‘If he’s going to conduct his flirtations on Government paper, I demand to know the identity of the Fatal—what did you say her name was, Billy?’
‘Barbara! The disastrous Lady Barbara Childe!’ answered the Prince dramatically.
‘Barbara Childe? Oh, I know! Bab Alastair that was. Is she accounted fatal?’
‘But entirely, Fitzroy! A veritable Circe—and I delivered Charles into her power!’
The Colonel looked up. ‘Yes, you did, so you shall be the first to know that she is going to become my wife.’
The Prince blinked at him. ‘Plaît-il?’
Colonel Audley sealed his letter, wrote the direction, and got up. ‘Quite true,’ he assured the Prince, and went out to deliver his note to the waiting servant.
The Prince turned an astonished countenance towards Lord Fitzroy, and said, stammering a little, as he always did when excited ‘B—but it’s—it’s n—not possible! Scores of men have offered for Lady Bab, and she refused them all!’
‘Well, she’s chosen a very good man in the end,’ responded Fitzroy, seating himself at the desk.
‘My poor Fitzroy, you do not understand! It is most remarkable—éclatant!’
‘I see nothing very remarkable in two persons falling in love,’ said Fitzroy with unaltered calm. ‘Did I happen to mention that I was busy?’
‘I am your superior officer,’ declared the Prince. ‘I command that you attend to me, and immediately treat me with respect.’
Lord Fitzroy promptly stood up, and clicked his heels together. ‘I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon!’
His Royal Highness made a grab at a heavy paperweight on the desk, but Lord Fitzroy was quicker. The entrance into the room of a very junior member of the staff put an end to what promised to be a most undignified scene. Lord Fitzroy at once released the paperweight, and the Prince, acknowledging the newcomer’s salute, departed in search of a more appreciative audience.
By the end of the day the news of the engagement had spread all over Brussels. Both parties to it had had to endure congratulation, incredulity, and much raillery. The Colonel bore it with his usual good humour, but he was not surprised, on his arrival in the Rue Ducale, to find his betrothed in a stormy mood. Neither his host nor his hostess was in the salon when he entered it; there was only Lady Barbara, standing by the fireplace with her elbow on the mantelshelf, and one sandalled foot angrily tapping the floor.
The servant announced Colonel Audley, and he walked in to encounter a flashing glance from Barbara’s eyes. Her lips parted, not smiling, and he saw her teeth gritted together. He laughed, and went up to her, and took her hands. ‘My dear, has it been very bad?’ he asked. ‘Do you think you can bear it?’
She looked at him; her teeth unclenched: she said: ‘Can you?’
‘Why yes, but my case is not so hard. They all envy me, of course.’
The white, angry look left her face. She pulled one of his hands up to her mouth, and softly kissed it. ‘You’re a dear, Charles.’
He took her in his arms. ‘You mustn’t do that,’ he said.
‘I wanted to,’ she replied, turning her face up to his. ‘I always do what I want. Oh, but Charles, how odiously commonplace it is! I wish we had eloped instead!’
‘That would have been worse—vulgar!’
‘What I do is not vulgar!’ she said snappishly.
‘Exactly. So you didn’t elope.’
She moved away from him to cast herself into a chair by the fire. She thrust one bare foot in its golden sandal forward, and demanded: ‘How do you like my gilded toenails?’
‘Very well indeed,’ he answered. ‘Is it a notion of your own?’
‘Oh no! It’s a trick Parisian harlots have!’ she flung at him.
Contrary to her expectation, this made him laugh. She stiffened in her chair. ‘Don’t you care, then?’
‘Not a bit! It’s a charming fashion.’
‘You will hear it very badly spoke of tonight, I warn you!’
‘Oh no, I shan’t!’ said the Colonel cheerfully. ‘Whatever criticisms may be made of you will certainly not be made to me.’
‘Do you mean to fight my battles? You will be kept busy!’ She opened her reticule, and drew a letter from it and handed it to him. ‘Your sister-in-law sent me these felicitations. She doesn’t like me, does she?’
‘No, I don’t think she does,’ responded the Colonel, glancing through Judith’s civil letter.
An impish look came into her eye. ‘I wonder whether she meant you to fall in love with that insipid protégée of hers?’ she said. ‘I can’t recall her name. But an heiress, I believe. Oh, famous! I am sure that was it!’
‘But who?’ he demanded. ‘You do not mean Miss Devenish?’
‘Yes, that was the name! Lord, to think I’ve lost you a fortune, Charles!’
‘You must be crazy! I am persuaded Judith could never have entertained such an absurd notion!’
‘Flirt with the chit, and see how your sister likes it!’
‘No, no, I leave all that sort of thing to you, my sweet!’
‘Wretch! Good God, how has this come about? I have talked myself into a good humour. I swear I meant to quarrel with you!’ A doubt assailed her; she said challengingly: ‘Charles! Was it your doing?’
‘Strategy of a staff officer? On my honour, no!’
She jumped up, and almost flung herself into his arms. There was an urgency in the face upturned to his; she said: ‘Marry me! Marry me soon—at once—before I change my mind!’
He took her face between his hands, staring down at her. She felt his fingers tremble slightly, and wondered what thoughts chased one another behind the trouble in his eyes. Suddenly his hands dropped to her shoulders, and thrust her away from him. ‘No!’ he said curtly.
‘No?’ she repeated. ‘Don’t you want to, Charles?’
‘Want to!’ He broke off, and turned from her to the fireplace, and stood looking down at the smouldering logs.
She gave a little laugh. ‘This is certainly intriguing. I am rejected, then?’
He looked up. ‘Do you think you don’t tempt me? To marry you out of hand—to possess you before you had had time to regret! Oh, my love, don’t speak of this again! You spoke of changing your mind. If that is to come, you shall not be tied to me.’
‘You give me time to consider? Strange! I had never a suitor like you, Charles!’
‘I love you too much to snatch you before you know me, before you know your own heart!’
‘Ah! You are wiser than I am,’ she said, with a faint smile.
They were interrupted by Lady Vidal, who came into the room, followed by her husband. She greeted Colonel Audley with cold civility, but her lack of warmth was atoned for by Vidal’s marked display of friendliness. He was able to wish the Colonel joy with blunt cordiality, and even to crack a jest at his sister’s expense.
They were soon joined by Lord Harry, who had ridden in from Enghien to attend the evening’s party. He s
eemed to be delighted by the news of the betrothal. He wrung the Colonel’s hand with great fervour, prophesied a devilish future for him at Bab’s hands, and expressed a strong wish to see how Lavisse would receive the tidings.
‘M. de Lavisse, my dear Harry, is quite a matrimonial prize,’ said Augusta. ‘I fancy your sister cannot boast of an offer from him. He is adroit in flirtation, but it will be a clever woman who persuades him to propose marriage.’
‘Dear Gussie! How vulgar!’ said Barbara.
‘Possibly, but I believe it to be true.’
‘Stuff!’ said Lord Harry. ‘I can tell you this, Gussie, it will be a pretty fool of a woman who lets that fellow persuade her into marrying him!’
‘You are a schoolboy, and know nothing of the matter,’ responded Augusta coldly.
‘Oh, don’t I, by Gad?’ Lord Harry gave a crack of laughter. ‘Don’t be such a simpleton!’
Barbara interrupted this dialogue with a good deal of impatience. ‘Do not expose yourselves more than you are obliged!’ she begged. ‘Charles is as yet unacquainted with my family. If he must discover how odious we are, pray let him do so gradually!’
‘Very true,’ said Augusta. ‘We are all of us strangers to him, and he to us. How odd it seems, to be sure!’
Her husband moved restlessly, and said something under his breath. Colonel Audley, however, replied without an instant’s hesitation: ‘Odd, indeed, but you set me perfectly at my ease, ma’am. You are in a cross humour, and do not scruple to show it. I feel myself one of the family already.’
Barbara’s gurgle of laughter broke the astonished silence that followed these words. ‘Charles! Superb! Confess, Gussie, you are done up!’
Augusta’s stiffened countenance relaxed into a reluctant smile. ‘I am certainly taken aback, and must accord Colonel Audley the honours of that bout. Come, let us go in to dinner!’
She led the way into the dining parlour, indicated to the Colonel that he should sit at her right hand, and behaved towards him throughout the meal, if not with cordiality, at least with civility.
There was no lack of conversation, the Colonel being too used to maintaining a flow of talk at Headquarters’ parties ever to be at a loss, and Lord Harry having an inexhaustible supply of chitchat at his tongue’s end. Barbara said little. An attempt by Lord Harry to twit her on her engagement brought the stormy look back into her face. The Colonel intervened swiftly, turning aside the shaft, but not before Barbara had snapped out a snub. Augusta said with a titter: ‘I have often thought the betrothed state to be wretchedly commonplace.’
‘Very true,’ agreed the Colonel. ‘Like birth and death.’
She was silenced. Vidal seized the opportunity to advert to the political situation, inaugurating a discussion which lasted until the ladies rose from the table. The gentlemen did not linger for many minutes, and the whole party was soon on its way to Madame van de Capellan’s house.
It was an evening of music and dancing, attended by the usual crowd of fashionables. More congratulations had to be endured, until Barbara said savagely under her breath that she felt like a performing animal. Lady Worth, arriving with the Earl and her brother and sister-in-law, was reminded of a captive panther, and though understanding only in part the fret and tangle of Barbara’s nerves, felt a good deal of sympathy for her. She presently moved over to her side, saying with a smile: ‘I think you dislike all this, so I shall add nothing to what I wrote you this morning.’
‘Thank you,’ Barbara said. ‘The insipidity—the inanity! I could curse with vexation!’
‘Indeed, an engagement does draw a disagreeably particular attention to one.’
‘Oh the devil! I don’t care a fig for that! But this is a milk-and-water affair!’ She broke off, as Worth strolled up to them, and extended a careless hand to him. ‘How do you do? If you have come to talk to me, let it be of horses, and by no means of my confounded engagement. I think of setting up a phaeton: will you sell me your bays?’
‘No,’ said Worth. ‘I will not.’
‘Good! You don’t mince matters. I like that. Your wife is a famous whip, I believe. For the sake of our approaching kinship, find me a pair such as you would drive yourself, and I will challenge her to a race.’
‘I have yet to see a pair in this town I would drive myself,’ replied the Earl.
‘Ah! And if you had? I suppose you would not permit Lady Worth to accept my challenge?’
‘I am sure he would not,’ said Judith. ‘I did once engage in something of that nature—in my wild salad days, you know—and fell under his gravest displeasure. I must decline therefore, for all I should like to accept your challenge.’
‘Conciliating!’ Barbara said with a harsh little laugh. She saw Judith’s eyes kindle, and said impulsively: ‘Now I’ve made you angry! I am glad! You look splendid just so! I could like you very well, I think.’
‘I hope you may,’ Judith replied formally.
‘I will; but you must not be forbearing with me, if you please. There! I am behaving abominably, and I meant to be so good!’
She clasped Judith’s hand briefly, allowed her a glimpse of her frank smile, and turned from her to greet Lavisse, who was coming towards her across the room.
He looked pale. He came stalking up to Barbara, and stood over her, not offering to take her hand, not even according her a bow. Their eyes were nearly on a level, hers full of mockery, his blazing with anger. He said under his breath: ‘Is it true, then?’
She chuckled. ‘This is in the style of a hero of romance, Etienne. It is true!’
‘You have engaged yourself to this Colonel Audley? I would not believe!’
‘Felicitate me!’
‘Never! I do not wish you happy, I! I wish you only regret.’
‘That’s refreshing, at all events.’
He saw several pairs of eyes fixed upon him, and with a muttered exclamation clasped Barbara round the waist and swept her into the waltz. His left hand gripped her right one; his arm was hard about her, holding her too close for decorum. ‘Je t’aime; entends tu, je t’aime!’
‘You are out of time,’ she replied.
‘Ah, qu’importe?’ he exclaimed. He moderated his steps, however, and said in a quieter tone: ‘You knew I loved you! This Colonel, what can he be to you?’
‘Why, don’t you know? A husband!’
‘And it is I who love you—yes, en désespére!’
‘But I do not remember that you ever offered for this hand of mine, Etienne.’ She tilted her head back to look at him under the sweep of her lashes. ‘That gives you to think, eh, my friend? Terrible, that word marriage!’
‘Effroyant! Yet I offer it!’
‘Too late!’
‘I do not believe! What has he, this Colonel, that I have not? It is not money! A great position?’
‘No!
‘Expectations, perhaps?’
‘Not even expectations!’
‘In the name of God, what then?’
‘Nothing!’ she answered.
‘You do it to tease me! You are not serious, in fact. Listen, little angel, little fool! I will give you a proud name, I will give you wealth, everything that you desire! I will adore you—ah, but worship you!’
She said judicially: ‘A proud name Charles will give me—if I cared for such stuff! Wealth? Yes, I should like that. Worship! So boring, Etienne, so damnably boring!’
‘I could break your neck!’ he said.
‘Fustian!’
He drew in his breath, but did not speak for several turns. When he unclosed his lips again it was to say in a tone of careful nonchalance: ‘One becomes dramatic: a pity! Essayons encore! When is it to be, this marriage?’
‘Oh, confound you, is not a betrothal enough for one day? Are we not agreed that there is something terrible about that word marriage?’
His brows rose. ‘So! I am well content. Play the game out, amuse yourself with this so gallant colonel; in the end you will marry me.’
A gleam shot into her eyes. ‘A bet! What will you stake—gamester?’
‘Nothing! It is sure, and there is no sport in it, therefore.’
The music came to an end; Barbara stood free, smiling and dangerous. ‘I thank you, Etienne! If you knew the cross humour I was in! Now! Oh, it is entirely finished!’ She turned upon her heel; her gaze swept the room, and found Colonel Audley. She crossed the floor towards him, her draperies hushing about her feet as she walked.
‘That’s a grand creature!’ suddenly remarked Wellington, his attention caught. ‘Who is she, Duchess?’
The Duchess of Richmond glanced over her shoulder. ‘Barbara Childe,’ she answered. ‘She is a granddaughter of the Duke of Avon.’
‘Barbara Childe, is she? So that’s the prize that lucky young dog of mine has won! I must be off to offer my congratulations!’ He left her side as he spoke, and made his way to where Colonel Audley and Barbara were standing.
His congratulations, delivered with blunt heartiness, were perfectly well received by the lady. She shook hands, and met that piercing eagle stare with a look of candour, and her most enchanting smile. The Duke stayed talking to her until the quadrille was forming, but as soon as he saw the couples taking up their positions, he said briskly: ‘You must take your places, or you will be too late. No need to ask whether you dance the quadrille, Lady Barbara! As for this fellow, Audley, I’ll engage for it he won’t disgrace you.’
He waved them on to the floor, called a chaffing word to young Lennox on the subject of his celebrated pas de zéphyr, and stood back to watch the dance for a few minutes. Lady Worth, only a few paces distant, thought it must surely be impossible for anyone to look more carefree than his lordship. He was smiling, nodding to acquaintances, evidently enjoying himself. She watched him, wondering at him a little, and presently, as though aware of her gaze, he turned his head, recognised her, and said: ‘Oh, how d’ye do? A pretty sight, isn’t it?’
She agreed to it. ‘Yes, indeed. Do all your staff officers perform so creditably, Duke? They put the rest quite in the shade.’
‘Yes, I often wonder where would Society be without my boys?’ he replied. ‘Your brother acquits himself very well, but I believe that young scamp, Lennox, is the best of them. There he goes—but his partner is too heavy on her feet! Audley has the advantage of him in that respect.’