'What a dog in the manger you are, Ashley!' she exclaimed, between indignation and amusement. 'You don't want me yourself, but you can't endure the thought that I might marry another man!'
'Nothing of the sort!' said the Viscount. 'I may not wish to marry you – and don't try to hoax me into believing that you've been wearing the willow for me these nine years, because there's nothing amiss with my memory, and I remember as clearly as if it was yesterday how you begged me not to offer for you, when that abominable plot was hatched between your father and mine! – but I'm devilish fond of you, and I'd be happy to see you married to a man who was up to your weight. The thing is that Nethercott ain't! You'd be bored with him before the end of your honeymoon, Hetta!'
'You can't think how much obliged to you I am, Des, for having my interests so much at heart!' she said, with immense, if spurious, earnestness. 'But it is possible, you know just faintly possible! – that I am a better judge of what will suit me than you are! Since your memory is so good there can be no need to remind you that I am not a silly schoolgirl, but in my twenty-sixth year – '
'No need at all,' he interrupted, with one of his disarming smiles. 'You will be twenty-six on the 15th of January next, and I know already what I mean to give you on that occasion. How could you think I would forget your birthday, best of my friends?'
'You are quite atrocious, you know,' she informed him, in a resigned voice. 'However I should miss you very much if we ceased to be the best of friends, for there's no denying that it is a great comfort to be able to turn to you for advice whenever I find myself in a hobble – which, to do you justice, you've never failed to give me. So do, pray, let us leave this nonsensical argument about poor Mr Nethercott before we find ourselves at outs! You said it was filial piety which brought you home: I do hope this doesn't mean that Lord Wroxton is ill?'
'Not unless rage has caused him to fall into an apoplectic fit,' he responded. 'We parted on the worst of bad terms last night – in fact, he said he never wanted to see my face again – but Mama and Pedmore have assured me that he didn't mean it, and I believe them. Provided I don't make the mistake of intruding my phiz upon him too soon, I daresay he will be quite pleased to see it again. Of course, it was quite cockleheaded of me to have let him see it twice in less than two months!'
She laughed. 'From which I collect that he is in the gout again! Poor Lord Wroxton! But what made him rip up at you? Has some tattle-box been carrying tales about you to him?'
'Certainly not!' he replied austerely. 'There are no tales to carry!'
'What, have you cast off the dasher I saw you with at Vauxhall a month ago?' enquired Miss Silverdale, artlessly surprised.
'No, she cast me off !' he retorted. 'A lovely little barque of frailty, wasn't she? But much too expensive, unfortunately!'
'Oh, that's too bad!' she said sympathetically. 'And haven't you found another to take her place? But you will, Des, you will!'
'One of these days you will be found strangled – very likely by me!' the Viscount warned her. 'Pray, what business has a delicately nurtured female to know anything about such things?'
'Ah, that's one of the advantages of having outgrown one's girlhood!' she said. 'One need no longer pretend to be an innocent!'
The Viscount had been lounging beside her on a rustic seat, but this utterance startled him into straightening himself with a jerk, and exclaiming: 'For God's sake, Hetta – ! Is that how you talk to people?'
Her eyes twinkled mischievously; she said, on a choke of laughter: 'No, no, only to you, Des! That's another of the ways in which you are a comfort to me! Of course, I do talk pretty freely to Charlie, but he's only my younger brother, not my elder brother! Does Griselda never talk frankly to you?'
'I can't remember that she ever did, but I had only just come down from Oxford when she got herself hitched to Broxbourne, and I don't see much of her nowadays.' He gave a sudden chuckle. 'Would you believe it, Hetta? My father suddenly ripped up an old grievance which I had thought dead and buried years ago, and raked me down in thundering style for not having coaxed you to marry me!'
'Oh, good God!' she cried. 'Still? Why didn't you tell him that we didn't wish to marry one another?'
'I did, but he didn't believe me. To be sure, I didn't tell him that we knew all about the plot he and your father had so inexpertly hatched, and had decided what we must do about it. Believe me, my dear, that would never do!'
'No,' she agreed. 'And it wouldn't do for Mama either! I did tell Papa, and he perfectly understood our feelings, and never once reproached me. But Mama never ceases to do so! I do wish you would do something to give her a disgust of you, instead of making yourself agreeable to her! Every time she meets you she complains of my ingratitude until I could scream, and begs me not to blame her when I find myself at my last prayers. According to her, you are everything that is most desirable, and I must be all about in my head! What she might say of you if you were not heir to an Earldom I haven't asked her!' Her little spurt of temper subsided; she gave a rueful laugh, and said: 'Oh, dear, how very improper of me to talk like that about her! Let me assure you that I do not do so to anyone but you! And how shocking it is that I should be glad she is feeling not quite the thing today, and doesn't mean to leave her room! I do hope Grimshaw can be trusted not to tell her you have been here!'
'Well, it may be shocking, but I don't scruple to tell you that I was even more glad to learn that she wasn't receiving visitors!' said the Viscount candidly. 'She makes me feel I'm some sort of a heartless loose-screw, for she's got a way of sighing, and smiling sadly and reproachfully at me when I accord her the common decencies of civility.' He drew out his watch, and said: 'I must be off, Hetta. I'm on my way to Hazelfield, and my aunt won't like it if I arrive at midnight.'
Henrietta rose from the seat, and accompanied him towards the house. 'Oh, are you going to visit your Aunt Emborough? Pray give her my kind regards!'
'I will,' he promised. 'And do you – if Grimshaw should have disclosed my presence here! – say all that is proper to your mama! My compliments, and my – er – regret that I should have paid her a morning visit when she was indisposed!' He bestowed a fraternal hug upon her, kissed her cheek, and said: 'Goodbye, my dear! Don't do anything gooseish, will you?'
'No, and don't you do anything gooseish either!' she retorted.
'What, under my Aunt Sophronia's eye? I shouldn't dare!' he tossed at her over his shoulder, as he strode off towards the stableyard.
Three
Lady Emborough was Lord Wroxton's sole surviving sister. In appearance they were much alike, but although persons of nervous disposition thought that the resemblance was very much more than skin-deep they were misled by her loud voice and downright manners. She was certainly inclined to manage the affairs of anyone weak-minded enough to submit to her auto cracy, but she was inspired quite as much by a conviction that such persons were incapable of managing their own affairs as by her belief in her own infallibility, and she never bore anyone the least malice for withstanding her. She was thought by some to be odiously overbearing, but not by those who had sought her help in a moment of need. Under her rough manners she had a warm heart, and an inexhaustible store of kindness. Her husband was a quiet man of few words who for the most part allowed her to rule the household as she chose, a circumstance which frequently led the uninitiated to think that he was henpecked. But those more intimately acquainted with her knew that her lord could check her with no more than a look, and an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She took these silent reproofs in perfectly good part, often saying, with a goodnatured laugh: 'Oh, there is Emborough frowning me down, so not another word will I utter on the subject!'
She greeted her nephew characteristically, saying: 'So here you are at last, Desford! You're late – and don't tell me one of your horses lost a shoe, or you broke a trace, because I shan't believe any of your farradiddles!'
'Now, don't bullock poor Des, Mama!' her eldest son, a stalwart young man who
bore all the appearance of a country squire, admonished her.
'Much he cares!' she said, laughing heartily.
'Of course I don't!' Desford said, kissing her hand. 'Do you take me for a rabbit-sucker, ma'am? None of my horses lost a shoe, and I did not break a trace, or suffer any accident whatso ever, and if you mean to tell me I've kept you waiting for dinner I shan't, of course, be so disrespectful as to accuse you of telling farradiddles, but I shall think it! The thing was I called at Inglehurst on my way, and stayed chatting to Hetta for rather longer than I had intended. She told me to give you her kind regards, by the way.'
'Inglehurst! Why, have you come from Wolversham?' she exclaimed. 'I had supposed you to have been in London still! How's your father?'
'In the gout!'
She gave a snort. 'I daresay! And no one but himself to blame! It would do him good to have me living at Wolversham: your mother's too easy with him!'
The violent altercations which had taken place between Lord Wroxton and his sister when last she had descended upon Wolversham still lived vividly in the Viscount's memory, and he barely repressed a shudder. Fortunately, he was not obliged to answer his aunt, for she switched abruptly to another subject, and demanded to be told what he meant by instructing his postilions to lodge at the Blue Boar. 'I'll have you know, Desford, I'm not one of these modern hostesses who tell their guests they won't house any other of their servants than their valets! Such nipcheese ways won't do for me: shabby-genteel I call 'em! Your groom and your postboys will be lodged with our own, and I want no argument about it.'
'Very well, ma'am,' said the Viscount obediently, 'you shall have none!'
'Now, that's what I like in you!' said his aunt, regarding him with warm approval. 'You never disgust me with flowery commonplaces! By the by, if you were expecting to find the house full of smarts you'll be disappointed: we have only the Montsales staying here, and young Ross, and his sister. However, I daresay you won't care for that if you get good sport on the river, which Ned assures me you will. Then there's racing at Winchester, and – '
She was interrupted by Lord Emborough, who had entered the room in the middle of this speech, and who said humourously: 'Don't overwhelm him with the treats you have in store, my love! How do you do, Desford? If you can be dragged away from the trout, you must come and look at my young stock tomorrow and tell me how you like the best yearling I've bred yet! He's out of my mare, Creeping Polly, by Whiffler, and I shall own myself surprised if I haven't got a winner in him.'
This pronouncement instantly drew the five gentlemen present into an exclusively male conversation, during the course of which Mr Edward Emborough loudly seconded his father's opinion; Mr Gilbert Emborough, his junior by a year, said that although the colt had great bone and substance he couldn't rid himself of the conviction that the animal was just a leetle straight-shouldered; Mr Mortimer Redgrave, who had entered the room in Lord Emborough's wake, and was the elder of that gentleman's two sons-in-law, said that for his part he never wanted to see a more promising young 'un; and Mr Christian Emborough, in his first year at Oxford, who had been reverently observing the exquisite cut of his cousin's coat, said that he would be interested to hear what he thought of the colt, 'because Des is much more knowing about horses than Ned and Gil are – even if he doesn't boast about it!' Having delivered himself of this snub to his seniors, he relapsed into blushful silence. The Viscount, not having seen the colt, volunteered no opinion, but engaged instead in general stabletalk with his host. Lady Emborough allowed the gentlemen to enjoy themselves in their own way for quite a quarter of an hour before intervening, with a reminder to her sons and nephew that if they didn't rig themselves out for dinner at once they would get nothing but scraps to eat, since she did not mean to wait for them. Upon which the male company dispersed, young Mr Christian Emborough confiding to his cousin, as he went up the broad stairway beside him, that he happened to know that a couple of ducklings and a plump leveret were to form the main dishes for the second course. The Viscount agreed that it would be a shocking thing if these succulent dishes should be spoilt; and young Mr Emborough, taking his courage in his hands, ventured to ask him if he had tied his neckcloth in the style known as the Oriental. To which the Viscount responded gravely: 'No, it's called the Mathe matical Tie. Would you like me to teach you how to achieve it?'
'Oh, by Jupiter, wouldn't I just?' exclaimed Christian, the ready colour flooding his cheeks in gratification.
'Well, I will, then,' promised Desford. 'But not just at this moment, if those ducks are not to be over-roasted!'
'Oh, no, no! Whenever it is perfectly convenient to you!' Christian stammered.
He then went off to his own bedchamber, more than ever convinced that Des was a bang-up fellow, not by half as toplofty as his own brothers; and filled with an agreeable vision of stunning these censorious seniors by appearing before them in a neckcloth which they must instantly recognize as being slap up to the mark.
When the Viscount went back to the drawing-room, he found that the party was rather larger than his aunt had led him to expect, for besides the persons she had mentioned, it included Miss Montsale; both the married daughters of the house, with their spouses; a rather nebulous female of uncertain age, in whom he vaguely recognized one of Lady Emborough's indigent cousins; and the Honourable Rachel Emborough, who was the eldest of the family, and seemed to be destined to fill the rôles of universal confidant, companion of her parents, wise and reliable sister of her brothers and sisters, and beloved aunt of their off-spring. She had no pretensions to beauty, but her unaffected manners, her cheerfulness, and the kindness that sprang from a warm heart made her a general favourite. And finally, because Lady Emborough had discovered almost at the last moment that her numbers were uneven, the Honourable Clara Emborough had also been included. This damsel, who had not yet attained her seventeenth birthday, was not considered to have emerged from the schoolroom but, as her mama told the Viscount: 'It don't do girls any harm to attend a few parties before one brings 'em out in the regular way. Teaches 'em how to go on in Society, and accustoms 'em to talking to strangers! Of course I wouldn't let her appear at formal parties until I've presented her! And I can depend on Rachel to keep an eye on her!'
The Viscount, who had been watching Rachel check, in the gentlest way, Miss Clara's mounting exuberance, intervene to give her brothers' thoughts a fresh direction when an argument which sprang up between them threatened to become acri monious, and attend unobtrusively to the comfort of the guests, said impulsively: 'What a good girl Rachel is, ma'am!'
'Yes, she's as good as wheat,' agreed Lady Emborough, in a somewhat gloomy voice. 'But she ain't a girl, Desford: she's older than you are! And no one has ever offered for her! Heaven knows I shouldn't know what to do without her, but I can't be glad to see her dwindling into an old maid! It ain't that the men don't like her: they do, but they don't fall in love with her. She's like Hetta Silverdale – except that Hetta's a very well-looking girl, and my poor Rachel – well, there can be no denying that she's something of a Homely Joan! But each of them would make any man an excellent wife – a much better wife than my Theresa there, who is so full of whims and crotchets that I never expected her to go off at all, far less to attach such a good bargain as John Thimbleby!'
Aware that Mr Thimbleby was seated well within earshot, the Viscount shot an involuntary glance at him. He was relieved to see a most appreciative twinkle in this gentleman's eye, and to receive from him something suspiciously like a wink. He was thus able to reply to his aunt with perfect equanimity: 'Very true, ma'am! But there is no accounting for tastes, you know! However, you're out when you say that Hetta has no suitors! I could name you at least four very eligible partis whom she might have had for the lifting of a finger. Indeed, when I saw her this morning I found her entertaining two more of them! Perhaps neither she nor my cousin Rachel wishes to become a mere wife!'
'Gammon!' said her ladyship crudely. 'Show me the female who doesn't hope for m
arriage, and I'll show you a lunatic past praying for! Yes, and if you wish to know what I think – not that I suppose you do! – you're a shuttlehead not to have married Hetta when I daresay she was yours for the asking!'
The Viscount was annoyed, and betrayed it by a slight contraction of his brows, and the careful civility with which he said: 'You are mistaken, my dear aunt: Hetta was never mine for the asking. Neither of us has ever wished for a closer rela tionship than that of the friendship we have always enjoyed – and, I trust, may always enjoy!'
As little as Lady Emborough resented the quiet checks her husband imposed upon her exuberance did she resent a deserved snub. She replied, laughing: 'That's the hammer! Quite right to give me a set-down, for what you do is no business of mine! Emborough is for ever scolding me for being too wide in the mouth! But, wit-cracking apart, Desford, isn't it time you were thinking of matrimony? I don't mean Hetta, for if you don't fancy each other there's nothing to be said about that, but with Horace still in France, and Simon, from all I hear, sowing even more wild oats than your father did, in his day, I can't but feel that you do owe it to your father to give him a grandson or two – legitimate ones, I mean!'