Cotillion

22

Cotillion

    Lord Sleyven had had a tiring and frustrating day: committees were the curse of London. He returned to the house in Blefford Square in the late afternoon to find it infested by persons of the male gender, all of whom seemed to be there on Miss Burden’s account. When the dust had settled slightly he realised that, though damned Vyv Gratton-Gordon and his imbecilic friend, Major Vane-Hunter, undoubtedly were, Major Lattersby was present in order to see his daughter. Officially, that was. Actually he was exerting himself to be agreeable to Miss Burden. She did not appear to mind. In fact she could have been said to have been encouraging the fellow.

    When the dust had definitively settled and the young ladies, now in danger of being late for dinner, had hurried upstairs to change their gowns, he said grimly to his connection: “If Lattersby came to collect little Janey and Katerina, why the Hell did he not do so?”

    “And disappear from your house, you mean,” said Lady Caroline with a definite twinkle in her eye. “Attractive fellow, is he not? Rather a rascal, of course. Well, my dear, he did not do so because his house is not yet ready for them: he is still putting servants into it. And do try to remember to refer to them as Miss Lattersby and Miss Bottomley-Pugh!”

    “What? Oh,” he said lamely. “They might be my daughters.”

    “Mm.”

    “Susi-Anna is to collect Jenny tomorrow,” he said with a sigh.

    “Mm.”

    The Earl sat down limply on a hideous Gothick sofa. “I was tied up in committees all day.”

    “Millicent does understand that, Jarvis.”

    “That wasn’t— I suppose it was,” he said limply.

    “Yes. You had best go and change, Jarvis.”

    “Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Are we dining at home tonight?”

    “No: at your Cousin Julia’s.”

    Sighing heavily, the Earl dragged himself off to change. The only good thing about that was that Lattersby, Vane-Hunter and damned Vyv Gratton-Gordon were highly unlikely to feature at Lady Julia Morphett’s board.

    He was right in this. But the board featured on the one hand, Lady Julia herself, indicating unmistakably that she considered Miss Burden a poor little dab of a country mouse, not good enough for a Wynton, and Sir Derek Morphett, Bart., even higher in the instep, indicating, though since his manners were coldly impeccable it was difficult to say how, but nevertheless indicating, imprimis that Miss Burden was wholly ineligible for the station in life to which she was destined, and secundus that Jarvis’s tailoring left almost everything to be desired; and on the other hand, Messrs Charlie Grey, Esq., Johnny Cantrell-Sprague, Esq., Harry Morphett. Esq., and damned Geddings, who was old enough to know better, all visibly exerting themselves to please Miss Burden. The Earl concluded sourly he would have done better to have stayed at home.

    As yet he had no curricle: although he had belatedly taken Lady Caroline’s advice and ordered one, it could not be ready for some weeks, and although he had sent Tonkins post-haste to Maunsleigh for the best of the bad lot there, he was not yet back. It was not yet possible, therefore, to drive out tête-à-tête with Miss Burden. The following day, once an overexcited Jenny had been seen into a carriage with Susi-Anna and the overexcited Miss Harrod, he suggested, feeling glumly that very little was better than nothing, that he might escort the young ladies to the Park.

    “It is a little chilly to walk. You had best take the barouche,” Lady Caroline advised placidly.

    “Oh! That will be delightful, but will it not be a squeaze?” said Miss Burden, fluttering her eyelashes,

    With something of a sinking feeling, the girls saw that Miss Burden had recognised her cue. Katerina said hurriedly: “Oh, I do not think so,” and Janey added hurriedly: “We have been as many in the barouche before.”

    “There is no need for me to accompany you: there will be plenty of room,” said Lady Caroline firmly.

    Quickly Janey said that she and Katerina would sit with their backs to the horses; Katerina quickly agreed. Miss Burden yielded to force majeure; but as they went upstairs to change into something more befitting a Wynton barouche, she hissed: “Why did you not support me? I was going to make him ride alongside!”

    “Yes: but we thought you risked being a trifle obvious, dear Miss Burden,” said Katerina smoothly.

    Janey, whose mind had gone a complete blank, looked at her gratefully.

    The Earl was waiting in the hall when the ladies descended again. He smiled: they certainly presented a picture of autumnal beauty. Katerina was in a deep violet shade, with a little trim of fluffy grey fur on the bonnet matching the little fur scarf which she wore high around her throat: the resultant mélange of soft grey fur, deep violet satin ribbons, silky black ringlets, and Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s milky complexion being entirely entrancing. Janey was bright and perky as a little robin in golden-brown; her tippet was a soft brown fur spiked with gold, and her bonnet ribbons were the warm red of rowan berries, there being a small bunch of what looked very like these perched on the bonnet. Miss Burden herself was in deep forest green trimmed with velvet ruchings of a darker tone: she wore a little scarf of ermine and carried a small matching muff. Her pink cheeks glowed within the bonnet and her rounded chin was cuddled down into the soft fur in a way which Jarvis found completely irresistible. “May I say,” he said with a smile: “that you ladies present a complete bevy of beauty!”

    The girls beamed and thanked him; Miss Burden’s cheeks within the bonnet went even pinker and she said in a small voice: “Thank you. I fear this is largely borrowed plumage, in my case.”

    “She means,” said Katerina, tucking her hand in her arm: “that this darling muff and scarf belonged to Lady Caroline’s daughter, Mrs Moresby; but of course dear Mrs Moresby meant you to keep them, Miss Burden!”

    Mrs Moresby was a pleasant woman of around the Earl’s own age: he agreed quickly: “I am sure that is so.”

    “Ermine?” faltered Miss Burden, looking down at the muff in dismay.

    “Of course!” said Janey with a laugh. “Wholly fitting to a Wynton fiancée!”

    The girls had not produced this before in front of his Lordship: Miss Burden gasped, and did not know where to look.

    Jarvis smiled very much. “Is that what they are calling you? I’m glad to hear it! Now, come along.”

    Midge was quite silent, her cheeks glowing, as he shepherded them into the barouche.

    It was, of course, not far at all to the Park from Blefford Square; but well before they had reached it Jarvis realised grimly that any hopes he might have had of the outing were doomed.

    Miss Burden touched his arm. “Do but look! Who is that quizzy-looking older gentleman, in that barouche over there?”

    He looked. A stout, florid older gentleman, in the company of several senior Naval officers: Admiral Dauntry, Commodore Hallett, Captain Foxe-Forsythe—damnation.

    “The white-haired gentleman is waving to you, I think,” added Miss Burden.

    As damned Micky Foxe-Forsythe had now doffed his hat, displaying the head of bubbly white curls well known in sporting circles, not to say well known as containing the worst brain for cards in the country, and was flourishing the said hat vigorously in their direction, Jarvis supposed she might well think so, yes.

    “I’m sure I have not met him, sir; but he looks oddly familiar,” said Janey.

    “Yes,” replied Jarvis with a sigh. “I mean, I don’t think you have met him, Miss Lattersby: that is Captain Foxe-Forsythe: Michael Foxe-Forsythe, he is old Julius’s younger brother. And the quizzy-looking older gentleman is York, Miss Burden,” he added heavily. “Which means we had better stop.”

    The young ladies gasped, and sat up very straight, as it dawned that they were about to meet a Royal Duke!

    The Duke of York was very affable, in fact congratulating Sleyven on the carriageful of beauty he had with him. Captain Foxe-Forsythe, laughing, said that Julie had given him no idea whatsoever that Wynton House was full of these delightful spring blooms, brightenin’ up their London autumn, hey? And he would do himself the honour of calling on Cousin Jarvis the very next day. At this Admiral Dauntry volunteered eagerly to accompany him, explaining that someone had to watch that “Micky Fox” did not steer himself into dangerous shoals; and Commodore Hallett, chuckling, said that he would guarantee to see that “Old Fuzzy” kept out of deep water.

    “How very naval,” said Janey feebly as, with much smiling, bowing and doffing of hats, the Royal barouche went on its way.

    “Not only naval, but... I had the feeling,” said Miss Burden, giving the Earl a helpless look and fluttering the lashes, “although they were most agreeable, that there was just a hint of indelicacy in all that naval terminology. Or was it merely the tone?”

    He replied on a grim note: “Anything indelicate you discerned in the conversation of Dauntry and Hallett was undoubtedly meant, Miss Burden. However, I think I can guarantee you that, whatever he may have intended today, you will encounter no further indelicacy from Foxe-Forsythe.”

    Miss Burden fluttered the lashes very much and said in a confused voice: “Oh! But I did not think— Indeed, I found him a most charming gentleman! Most unlike his older brother!”

    “Yes,” agreed Katerina weakly, not daring to catch Janey’s eye. “Do they all have names like that, sir?”

    “What?—Yes, drive on, Perkins: to the Park, if you please!—Oh, the da—dashed nicknames. In Dauntry’s circle, yes.”

    “I can understand ‘Micky Fox’, I suppose, if Captain Foxe-Forsythe’s name is Michael,” said Janey. “But why ‘Old Fuzzy’?”

    The Earl sighed. “I have no idea. All I can tell you is that the Admiral has been called Fuzzy since his schooldays. He is a close friend of the Duke of Wellington: possibly he would know, if you would care to ask him?”

    “Well, I have not yet been introduced, dear sir, but when I am, I promise you I shall!” she said with a giggle.

    “I would not wager that she does not mean that,” advised Katerina with a smile.

    “Would not the Duke’s knowing depend on their having been schoolfellows?” asked Miss Burden innocently.

    “Er—possibly,” said the Earl feebly.

    “Dearest Miss Burden,” said Katerina, valiantly trying not to laugh; “I think possibly Lord Sleyven does not care to discuss His Grace of Wellington, for they have just had a serious disagreement in the House.”

    “In the house?” said Miss Burden blankly. “But we have not met— Oh! The House of Lords, of course! Oh, dear, have you?” she asked in tones of horror.

    “Yes,” he said grimly, the nostrils flaring. “Why should this disturb you?”

    “Buh-but— Won’t it mean that people will cut you? That you will become persona non grata in Society?” she faltered.

    Janey here was driven to bury her face in her handkerchief; Katerina took her lower lip firmly between her teeth and glared at the press of vehicles.

    “No!” he said impatiently. “Surely you cannot think—” Miss Burden was looking up at him in docile bewilderment. He took a deep breath. “It is not customary for political disagreements, which is all it was, to spill over into private life, Miss Burden. Though thoughtful hostesses may take care to separate His Grace and myself at their tables for the next week or two.”

    “Oh.” She appeared to think it over. “So, don’t you really care?” she said in a puzzled little voice.

    “About what?” he returned blankly.

    Miss Burden waved her hand confusedly. “About whatever political thing it was, upon which you and His Grace of Wellington disagreed, sir.”

    “It was— Never mind what it was, of course I care!” he said on an impatient note.

    Miss Burden blinked. She appeared to think it over again. “To my mind,” she ventured timidly, “that smacks of hypocrisy.”

    Janey made a muffled choking sound. Katerina glared grimly at the street.

    “You do not understand,” he said on a note of grim finality.

    “I do not think,” said Miss Burden in a considering tone, “that I could sit down to dine with a person whose political stance was odious to me.”

    “I do not precisely propose sitting down to dinner with His Grace, but my doing so would not prevent my fighting him most strenuously in the Lords. Possibly you have not grasped that our modern form of democracy has replaced the outright confrontation between opposing factions in which our ancestors indulged.”

    “Yes,” she said, nodding: “instead of having the Wars of the Roses, now all you gentlemen call yourselves Whigs or Tories.”

    The Earl was just about, albeit grimly, to agree with this naïve summation, when she added: “I still wouldn’t break bread with him, though. Not if we had disagreed on a matter of principle.”

    “If that were how we all behaved, the social life of our great cities would degenerate into a rabble,” he said blightingly.

    Miss Burden had played her part magnificently up until this moment, but she now dissolved in a gale of giggles. Her two charming companions immediately following suit, the Earl was forced to sit by mumchance until they were recovered.

    “Was that entirely spurious?” he said tightly.

    Miss Burden blew her nose. “Oh, no, dear sir! I do truly perceive the social life of London to be riddled with hypocrisy.”

    “And a rabble,” said Janey unsteadily.

    “Well, yes, it is pretty much of a rabble, from what I have seen of it!” said Miss Burden gaily. “I do beg your pardon, Lord Sleyven, but it was the way you put it!”

    “Mm. Well, shall we leave it at this, then? His Grace and I shall not come to fisticuffs over the dinner table. And no-one will shun me for daring to disagree in the House of Lords with the hero of Waterloo,” he ended on a dry note.

    “I suppose I’m glad about that, for it would be very uncomfortable for you,” said Miss Burden in a vague voice, not looking at him. “Why, look! I do believe that it is that dashing Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon!”

    She waved eagerly. Captain Lord Vyvyan, who was strolling along the pavement arm-in-arm with a friend, waved back eagerly.

    “Oh, we must pull in!” she cried, leaning forward. “Pull in, Perkins, if you please!”

    Captain Lord Vyvyan greeted the ladies eagerly, Miss Burden especially so. Miss Burden greeted him with what to the Earl’s jaundiced eye appeared to be an equal fervour. His companion, a slim, elegant young man, begged eagerly to be presented. The Captain duly presented M. le Vicomte d’Arresnes. None of the ladies appeared unimpressed by the young Vicomte’s dark curls, speaking grey eyes, and mobile countenance.

    “Well! Is it not exciting!” concluded Miss Burden, waving, as the barouche pulled out at long last to the accompaniment of waves, bows and smiles from the young gentlemen. “We have been introduced to a prince, an admiral, and a French vicomte, and we are not even at the Park yet!”

    “Miss Burden—” began the Earl, taking a deep breath.

    “Yes?” she said, smiling.

    “Vyv Gratton-Gordon is— Never mind,” he said heavily.

    “I thought he was quite respectable?” she said, looking very puzzled. “I don’t think I have it wrong, have I? He is one of the younger sons of the Marquess and Marchioness of Wade?”

    “Yes. That does not prevent his being an imbecile,” he said heavily.

    “Actually, I was just wondering how old he is,” replied Miss Burden ingenuously.

    The Earl took another deep breath. “More than old enough to know better. He must be thirtyish. It’s all of twelve years since he was in the regiment.”

    Miss Burden did arithmetic on her fingers. “You cannot mean he was sent out to India when he was but a boy of eighteen!”

     “Er—why not?” he said feebly.

    “Oh! But that is iniquitous!”

    “Vyv didn’t appear to think so. He had a dashed good time,” he said drily. “And it is quite the custom.”

    She nodded slowly. After a moment she said: “So the Army is all the life he has known. Poor young man. It is understandable, then.”

    “What, that he should be a nincompoop?” said Janey with a giggle.

    Miss Burden smiled a little but said: “Do not be unkind, Janey. I am trying to say that he has never had the opportunity to learn to be anything else. Why, he must have gone straight from school into the Army, and thence to India!”

    Valiant though she was, Janey avoided looking at Lord Sleyven’s face. “Mm!” she squeaked.

    “So did not a few of us,” he noted drily.

    “Oh! What a faux pas!” gasped Miss Burden, clapping a hand over her mouth.

    “Demonstrably,” said Katerina in a weak voice, “it need not stop a man improving either his mind or his prospects.”

    “Oh, no: very true, of course!” cried Miss Burden. “And it entirely does you credit, dear sir!”

    There was nothing at which to take exception in this speech. Nevertheless it was in a very grim tone indeed that the Earl replied: “Thank you, Miss Burden.”

    Midge fluttered the lashes, smiled naïvely, and with the exercise of tremendous will-power managed not to laugh again. Though she did have to bury her face in the charming little ermine muff for a while.

    Eventually the Earl said: “You are not cold, are you, Miss Burden?”

    “No,” she said, removing the muff from her cheek. “Um—well, my toes are a trifle chilly.”

    He immediately busied himself putting the carriage-rug over the toes of all the young ladies. Midge watched with something of a limp feeling as he did so. Men were such... innocent creatures, in many ways, she discovered.

    The Park was reached, and though a goodly number of fashionable vehicles and fashionable persons on horseback could be perceived, the carriage moved along briskly enough. Jarvis had more or less started to relax, when Miss Lattersby espied two ultra-smart equestriennes heading their way, escorted by a gentleman. His lips tightened. Nessa Weaver-Grange, eye-catching in the pale tan habit she affected, on her famous grey, and Eloise Stanhope, stunning in black on a magnificent bay, the which brute was reputed to have a ferocious temper and be uncontrollable by all but its mistress. The ladies in his barouche, not to the Earl’s surprise, waved and smiled eagerly.

    As the pair approached, further details of the rig-outs could be discerned. The unusual mixture of russet and pink braiding on Mrs Weaver-Grange’s habit, the matching curled ostrich tips on the hat, and the pink veiling on the same, intensifying the shade of the strawberry blonde curls, made more a than dashing enough sight. Mrs Everard Stanhope, however, had seen fit to honour a fine, cool autumn day with a jacket cut, braided and tasselled like an hussar’s uniform, except that all the braiding was in black silk. She had also the negligently tossed-back cloak: lined with  thick, shiny black fur. The shako on the black curls was also black, as was its plume.

    “Help!” gasped Janey in awe. “She looks so military!”

    There was nothing particularly military about Eloise Stanhope’s figure in that tight jacket; however, the Earl agreed grimly: “Yes. She is known for it.”

    They rode up, smiling, and conversation was perforce joined. And Mr Ashley Wemyss duly presented. Jarvis had very much hoped never to see Miss Burden exposed to “Boy” Wemyss. He gritted his teeth and endeavoured to be polite.

    Mr Wemyss’s hair was very curly and very yellow, as they saw when he doffed his hat and bowed low over his horse’s withers. His eyes were round, blue, and ingenuous-looking, his smile was charming, and his teeth small, white and even. His conversation was entirely delightful but the Earl perceived with a sort of doomed feeling that as he chattered on artlessly, and as Mrs Everard Stanhope addressed him carelessly from time to time as “Boy” or “Boy, dear”, puzzled expressions began to appear on his young companions’ faces.

    Eventually the trio, having discovered to their great disappointment that Miss Burden did not ride but with apparent joy that the younger ladies did, and having urged them to take advantage of the crisp autumn days and get out while the weather held, took themselves off, smiling and waving, and promising to call very soon.

    There was a short silence in the Wynton House barouche.

    “Would Mr Wemyss be a relative?” asked Janey dubiously.

    “I thought at first he might be Mrs Stanhope’s brother,” said Katerina, also dubiously.

    The Earl took a deep breath. “Drive on, Perkins! –Boy Wemyss is not a relative of either Mrs Everard Stanhope or Mrs Nessa Weaver-Grange. And you young ladies had best know from me, before the whole of Society apprises you of it, that he has been Eloise Stanhope’s lap-dog for the last three or four years.”

    Midge swallowed loudly. “So—so how old is he, sir?”

    “I am not sure, but he can scarcely be more than twenty-two.”

    “Help,” said Janey numbly. “She—she is very handsome, of course, but—but she must be about ten years his senior.”

    “Quite,” said the Earl grimly.

    The girls gulped. Miss Burden looked at him limply.

    “Miss Burden, please believe me: it would have been I or another.”

    “Yes, of course, sir: thank you for telling us!” she gasped.

    They drove on. Eventually Midge asked, clearing her throat: “So is Mrs Stanhope a widow, too?”

    “No. But you will not see Everard Stanhope in town: he dislikes London.”

    “I see,” she said limply.

    After a moment Katerina said feebly: “Look: I think that gentleman is trying to attract our attention.”

    Fearfully Jarvis looked. “Charlie Grey,” he said with something that was perilously near a sigh of relief.

    “Oh, so it is!” said Janey, brightening visibly. “And look, dear Miss Burden: is not that that charming Mr Cantrell-Sprague whom we met last night?”

    Indeed it was. Jarvis ordered the barouche to pull up. Charlie Grey and Johnny Cantrell-Sprague were, compared with the trio that had just left them, quite harmless.

    The young men were on horseback: they came up, beaming. After a polite exchange of greetings during which Mr Grey managed to tell Miss Burden that she looked like a breath of spring in their dingy old London and Mr Cantrell-Sprague managed to tell Miss Lattersby and Miss Bottomley-Pugh that the carriage appeared imbued with the very spirit of the season of mellow fruitfulness—Jarvis jumped, he had not expected Johnny Cantrell-Sprague to be acquainted with the genius of John Keats—Mr Grey said with a laugh: “I say, sir, was that the Black Brunswicker herself what I saw with you just now?”

    “Mm,” he admitted with a wry smile.

    “Oh!” cried Janey. “Can you mean—”

    “That’s right, Miss Lattersby: the frightful Mrs Everard Stanhope!” said Charlie Grey, laughing. “The whole of London calls her that, y’know!”

    Forthwith the Earl’s carriageload of autumnal beauty burst out in delighted laughter. He reflected somewhat ruefully it could have been worse.

    Mr Grey then indulging the ladies with a spirited rendition of the famous encounter of Mrs Everard Stanhope’s bay with Mr “Poodle” Byng’s carriage with the poodle up, Mr Cantrell-Sprague ranged alongside the Earl and said: “Care for Keats, do you, sir? Thought you recognised the reference,” he explained modestly.

    “Yes. I was very recently introduced to his work. I should not have thought he would be to your taste.”

    “Can’t judge a book by its cover!” said the young man with an easy laugh. “Oh—dare say my Wigzell connexions may have mentioned the Oxford episode to you, sir?”

    “They mentioned a greasy pig, yes.”

    “Aye: that’s right. Got sent down. M’father was wild. It weren’t but a don, neither,” he said, shaking his head.

    “Mm.”

    “If you’d care for an introduction to Mr Coleridge, sir, I can manage that with no trouble at all. I’m sure he’d be honoured to meet you.”

    “No, I thank you. I don’t really care for much of his work.”

    Mr Cantrell-Sprague smiled at him. “Understandable. Mamma holds a not half-decent literary afternoon from time to time. If you’d care to—?”

    “Yes, indeed,” said the Earl in some astonishment. “I should be delighted.”

    “Think nothing of it.”

    There was a little pause.

    “The family is damned grateful for what you did for poor Jimmy, in India,” he said huskily.

    “Your papa wrote me, yes. But I did nothing,” said the Earl without visible emotion.

    “No,” said Mr Cantrell-Sprague, sniffing a little. “I mean, of course you did, sir. Well, I’ll tell Mamma you would like it.”

    The young men accompanied them for some way, both chatting cheerfully. But when they had taken their leave, promising gaily to call very, very soon, Miss Burden said cautiously: “May I ask if it was a brother of Mr Cantrell-Sprague’s who was in your regiment, Lord Sleyven?”

    “Jimmy Cantrell-Sprague: yes. He was a fine young man.”

    The ladies all looked at him anxiously.

    “Yes, he died in India,” he said levelly. “That is part of a soldier’s life, you know: one accepts the risk, and accepts, too, that one’s comrades die.”

    “Yes,” said Midge, blinking very hard.

    Janey and Katerina just nodded inarticulately.

    The barouche drove on in silence. The young ladies had ceased to peer round eagerly for acquaintances. Jarvis swallowed a sigh. Johnny Cantrell-Sprague was clearly well-meaning: but damned tactless.

    Eventually a baroucheful of ladies hove in sight. For himself he would have raised his hat politely and driven on, but— Well, it might not raise their spirits, but it would at least distract them. “That is the Dowager Lady Hubbel, with her daughter-in-law and one of her daughters, Lady Sarah Quayle-Sturt. Lady Paula Cunningham’s connections: the Claveringham family.”

    The carriageful of ladies in furs bowed and smiled, and the two barouches drew together…

    “Well?” said Jarvis drily as they separated, the junior Lady Hubbel promising with a smile to send cards for her rout party and the Dowager Countess threatening a card party.

    “I was aware the Dowager Lady Hubbel was stiff,” said Miss Burden in a numbed voice.

    “She is also, as you must have noticed, a malicious gossip,” he noted coolly.

    “Yes.” said Midge grimly. The older Lady Hubbel had said: “Paula writes that the Marsh woman’s much-vaunted Slavic prince has turned out neither Russian nor royal. Doubtless the next one hears will be that the creature is dragging him and the Marsh name through the courts. Sir Paul should have stopped that marriage: Michael Marsh must have been over twice her age. Such disparity in ages in a couple can be expected to result in rank misbehaviour.” All the younger ladies had thereupon gone very red, including both her daughter and her daughter-in-law.

    “I felt like a beetle,” said Janey dully.

    “And I,” agreed Katerina sadly.

    The Earl’s mouth tightened: Lady Hubbel’s glancing reference to Leonard Cornwallis had not been so tastelessly forthright as the remark directed at him, but it had been bad enough. Suddenly he leaned forward and laid his hand upon the little kid-gloved one which was clenched upon Katerina’s charming violet reticule. “Ignore her, my dear. She is known for her unfeeling rudeness. I would say what I think of her, but I don’t wish to sully the chaste ears of you young ladies.”

    She smiled at him tremulously and whispered: “Thank you, sir.”

    ... “A representative selection,” he reported heavily, as Lady Caroline entered his study in the wake of this expedition, looking interrogative. “I will admit that for quite a while I laboured under the delusion that we had had the worst of it with Mrs Nessa Weaver-Grange and Mrs Everard Stanhope complete with Boy Wemyss. That was before we encountered the Dowager Lady Hubbel.”

    Lady Caroline sat down, looking composed. “I trust you were polite.”

    “Oh, I was polite. What she said was damn’ well beyond the pale, however. I was going to explain to Miss Burden and the girls that she presumes upon her position, but I think they saw that for themselves.”

    “I am very sure of it. Was that all?”

    “All! It was more than enough! The rest were relatively harmless, I suppose. Let me see... York and some of his Naval cronies. You had best be on your guard: Micky Fox and Fuzzy Dauntry appeared much struck by Millicent.”

    “That will do her no harm,” she said placidly.

    “I trust not. Um—who else? Oh, yes: Charlie Grey with Johnny Cantrell-Sprague. Er—he says his mother will ask me to one of her literary salons,” he said cautiously.

    She raised her eyebrows. “Well! You are to be congratulated, Jarvis!”

    “Mm. Well, I’m not sure whether it’s because Johnny’s discovered that I share his taste in poetry, or—um—because of poor Jimmy Cantrell-Sprague,” he said with a little grimace.

    She merely nodded calmly.

    “Yes,” said Jarvis with an unconscious sigh.

    “Was that all, then?”

    “Mm? Oh—Vyv G.-G., with some young French sprig. Uh—d’Arresnes.”

    “So he is back? Presumably the match with the Princesse P.’s daughter fell through. Possibly the poor boy discovered in time that she is his sister.”

    The Earl choked. “I see,” he said limply. “Oh—they all said they’d call.”

    She nodded. “Yes.” She looked at his frown, and murmured: “What is it, Jarvis?”

    “Nothing. Miss Burden— Well, it was stupid. The topic of my dispute with Wellington came up, and...” He drummed his fingers upon his desk. After a moment he said dubiously: “She seemed genuine, however.”

    Lady Caroline did not enquire. She merely said: “I trust that Nessa and the Stanhope woman behaved themselves?”

    “Mrs S. called her lap-dog ‘Boy’ fifty times within the space of ten minutes, but apart from that, yes, thank God. I told the girls—oh, not all! Just that he is her lap-dog and is a good ten years her junior. I thought they had best hear it from me.”

    “Thank you, Jarvis, that was very well done of you.”

    “I wish to God we could simply cut the connection,” he said, chewing on his lip.

    “My dear Jarvis, that would be the height of folly! Do you not recall— Oh, no, of course: you were in India. It was... three years back, I think. Mrs S. had just attached Boy. There was an unfortunate young woman, a Miss Savage, whom they attempted to—I will merely say befriend, for I truly think that was all they intended, initially. Mrs Savage ordered her to drop them, and herself gave them the cut direct at a large party. The result was—well, ruin, is not too strong a word, for poor little Miss Savage: they made a dead set at her. Nessa can be very charming, you know. Eloise Stanhope allowed herself and Miss Savage to be discovered in a compromising situation.” She shrugged a little. “A few people dropped Mrs S., but the Stanhopes are not nobody. And she is a Bon-Dutton: many persons would hesitate to shun a duke’s niece.”

    “An edifying story, ma’am. I shall not insist that Miss Burden drop them, then. But I think that they may have done themselves more harm than good by today’s encounter,” he said with a little smile. “She was clearly very much shocked by Mrs S.’s comportment towards Boy Wemyss.”

    “Then I am glad I told Nessa that she might find your party in the Park.”

    His jaw dropped.

    Lady Caroline rose. “They called some fifteen minutes after you left. –Do not be too long over your papers, Jarvis: we have a dinner engagement.”

    He just looked after her numbly as she sailed out.

    Meanwhile, the young ladies had foregathered in Miss Burden’s room. Midge looked round her in a vague way, and then sat down heavily on the bed. Janey came and sat by her, licking her lips nervously. Katerina sank onto the chair before the dressing-table. Then there was a considerable pause.

    “Possibly it was so dreadful because dear Lady Caroline was not there to—to protect us,” ventured Katerina in a voice that shook.

    “It was understandable that Lord Sleyven should have difficulty in protecting us from Lady Hubbel,” said Midge through her teeth.

    “I don’t think any gentleman could have protected us from her!” cried Janey.

    “No.” Katerina swallowed. “He did his best. I think he is a dear man.”

    Janey cleared her throat. “I suppose it was all very sophisticated. Um—lap-dogs.”

    “I think Pa would say it was shocking,” said Katerina on a very firm note.

    Midge took a deep breath. “He would be right. –I am trying to imagine dear Colonel Langford’s reaction to Mr ‘Boy’ Wemyss and Mrs Stanhope.”

    “Well, quite!” cried Janey. After a moment she admitted: “Initially I thought those two ladies were very charming and amusing.”

    “I suppose they are, within their lights,” conceded Midge wryly. “Let us just say, their standards are clearly not ours.”

    “No,” they admitted with relief.

    “Lord Sleyven disapproved of them, I thought,” murmured Katerina.

    She and Janey then perceived with dismay that this had been the wrong thing to say entirely: for Miss Burden’s cheeks flushed up very much and she said: “Yes! But is that not odd, for they appear to be exemplars of that town bronze which he so much wishes to see in me!”

    “Dear Miss Burden, you wouldn’t!” gasped Janey.

    “Um—I shan’t set up a ‘Boy’, no,” said Midge, gulping slightly. “—I wonder what on earth Mr Everard Stanhope must be like, to allow it?” she noted by the by.

    The girls nodded, round-eyed: they had been wondering that.

    “But there are aspects of their manner which might afford a lady in quest of town bronze a helpful example or two. I—well, I shan’t seek their acquaintance. But I shall certainly receive them with complaisance, if they care to call.”

    “I think that will make him quite cross enough,” said Janey frankly.

    Katerina nodded, looking at her distressfully.

    “Do not look at me like that, dear Katerina,” said Midge lightly. “You knew what the plan was. He is going to think me as silly an example of town bronze as ever walked, before I am through!”

    “I must say, your remarks about his argument with the Duke of Wellington would appear to have set your feet firmly on that path,” said Janey in a wobbly voice.

    “Yes,” agreed Katerina faintly. “And—and talking of hypocrisy, dearest Miss Burden! When you explained the import of that report in the Morning Post to us so clearly, only the other day!”

    “Hush, it was not I, ‘Millicent’. It was some country mouse of neither taste nor discernment, unfit to be a Wynton fiancée,” she said sternly.

    They gulped, and smiled weakly.

    ... “It was all the fault of that old beast, Lady Hubbel!” concluded Janey fiercely. “If she had not mentioned Mrs Marsh, Miss Burden would not have hardened her heart against him!”

    Katerina nodded in glum agreement.

    Miss Burden’s heart certainly appeared firmly hardened against his Lordship for the next week. The girls perceived with dismay that every time she had to be in his company she somehow managed also to be in the company of another gentleman: oh, dear.

    It started that very same evening.

    “Dearest Miss Burden, you look wonderful!” cried Janey.

    Miss Burden had been ordered to wear her new gown: a very pale fawn silk about which both the younger ladies had had mental reservations. The silk had, however, duly been made up to Lady Caroline’s specifications. When the girls saw it on, they gasped. The gown had been embroidered, just here and there, with a pattern of tiny fern fronds in old gold, and the sash at the high waist was a wide band of velvet in the same old gold. Lady Caroline’s own maid had piled the thick auburn hair high in a knot, just coaxing the ends to fall into ringlets from this knot, and pinning a rosette of écru lace and narrow old-gold ribbon into the knot.

    “The silk is delightful on you!” agreed Katerina, clasping her hands. “And the gold touches—! You must admit, Lady Caroline is—is a genius with dress!”

    “Yes, I think she must be,” said Midge in an uncertain voice, looking at herself in her cheval glass. “That—that is definitely Millicent, and not me.”

    “You will be the belle of the ball!” said Janey with a gurgle.

    Midge smiled a little. “Unfortunately it is not to be a ball, but a horridly grand dinner, with a little music and cards after. Do not expect too much of it.”

    The two girls were to conclude at the end of the evening that it would have been difficult to expect too little of it. They would not have been surprised to learn that the Earl had precisely the same feeling. They themselves were placed at the board in a very humble position, but they had not expected anything else. Katerina was next a Mr Potter, a stout young man of no discernible charm, and an elderly Mr Wigzell, who ascertained she had met his relatives and then paid attention strictly to his dinner. Janey got a very young subaltern, who appeared to concentrate exclusively on not spilling anything on his spanking new dress uniform, and that pink and unfledged Mr Timothy Claveringham whom she had already met. Miss Burden was a little further up the table but nowhere near Lord Sleyven. She had, however, got Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon on one side and the heavily handsome Commodore Hallett on the other. And appeared to be encouraging both of them impartially.

    When the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room Captain Lord Vyvyan made a bee-line for her and stayed at her side for the rest of the evening. Commodore Hallett was less obvious about it, but after a little he joined her, too. The girls watched in dismay as Miss Burden’s manner became more animated. Cards did not break the trio up: they all sat down together.

    “What can they be playing?” hissed Janey as the younger persons were shepherded off for spillikins in an adjoining room.

    “Écarté, I suppose,” said Katerina, looking over her shoulder.

    “But she does not play!” she hissed.

    “Then they will be teaching her,” she said on a grim note.

    They did not see the rest, but then, they scarcely needed to.

    Jarvis had been cornered for whist. When his table broke up he managed to draw Lady Caroline aside. “Can you not do something about that?” –Miss Burden, laughing very much, had just smacked Commodore Hallett’s wrist.

    Lady Caroline replied calmly: “Rodney Hallett is an attractive widower. I very much doubt there is anything I can do. Possibly you should try.”

    “Very well,” he agreed grimly.

    “Smile,” murmured Lady Caroline as he marched off to Miss Burden’s table.

    It was a very small table, and if Miss Burden’s knee was not positively touching that of the burly, long-legged Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon, that was, Jarvis had no doubt whatsoever, not the Captain’s fault.

    “Well, you are all very merry!” he said, duly forcing a smile. “May I ask who is winning?”

    “I am losing ignominiously!” cried Miss Burden, laughing. “But it is all the fault of my teachers!”

    “Indeed? Perhaps I could suggest a hand of whist, instead?’

    “But I—I can’t play that one, either,” she faltered, looking dismayed.

    Commodore Hallett picked up the cards and shuffled them. “Oh, dear: that caught him amidships, Miss Burden.”

    “You are too naughty, Commodore! I have told you, you are not to be so relentlessly naval!” she cried with a burst of giggles.

    “It broke his square and he must retire and re-group,” amended Captain Lord Vyvyan, grinning.

    “Miss Burden, the ball merely grazed my left boot,” said the Earl lightly. “I advise you to ignore each and every military-sounding remark this Hyde Park soldier may make.”

    “Commodore Hallett has already warned me!” gurgled Miss Burden. “But you are both wrong, for Captain Lord Vyvyan has told me all about Waterloo, and he knows a very great deal!”

    The Captain grinned foolishly. “Well, I was there, sir,” he said to the Earl. “I should be happy to partner Miss Burden, and help her with her cards, if you should care to join us for whist.”

    “But I have only just begun to grasp this one! –What is it called, again?” she asked him, fluttering the lashes.

    ‘Écarté, Miss Burden,” said the gallant Captain limply.

    “Be warned, Sleyven,” drawled the Commodore with a glint in his eye: “if these two gang up on us, they will cheat.”

    “Mm. Then I will leave you to your écarté,” he said drily, bowing and withdrawing.

    “That,” said Captain Lord Vyvyan informatively, and not very quietly, “is what we call in military parlance a tactical withdrawal, Miss Burden.”

    “Oh? Not a rout?” said Miss Burden, opening her eyes very wide.

    Both the soldier and the sailor collapsed in loud splutters.

    The Earl returned to Lady Caroline’s side. He shrugged. “I should have made a worse fool of myself had I stayed: three to one, you see.”

    “Mm,” returned Lady Caroline noncommittally.

    The next morning Lord Sleyven, perhaps understandably, woke early feeling extremely disgruntled, and went for a ride. When he returned the butler informed him the young ladies were in the breakfast room.

    “Good, I’ll join them.”

    “Very good, my Lord. There is some mail, my Lord.”

    “Oh? Just hand it to Mr Crayshaw,” he said in some surprise.

    “No, my Lord, it is for the young ladies; and I wondered if perhaps Lady Caroline would wish to, er, see it.”

    “I don’t think— What sort of mail?” he asked, staring.

    Silently the butler held out a salver. On it reposed three scrolls tied with ribands, with flowers inserted in the ribands, and a positive posy with an envelope attached.

    “Thank you, Slight; I shall deal with these,” he said on a grim note. “But any further offerings may certainly be delivered to Lady Caroline, yes.” He walked into the breakfast salon and placed the salver expressionlessly on the table before Miss Burden.

    This gesture did not have quite the effect he had anticipated: Miss Burden had a posy at her right hand and Katerina and Janey were in the very act of rapturously sniffing theirs.

    “May I ask where those came from?” he said, sitting down.

    “They were delivered: is it not exciting?” replied his almost-fiancée.

    “Possibly.”

    The younger ladies exchanged glances, and Janey said quickly: “Well, mine is from Mr Timothy Claveringham, for his mamma’s dance tonight. I didn’t think he recognized me last night, but perhaps someone mentioned my Italian fortune.”

    “Janey,” said the Earl coldly, wilfully ignoring Lady Caroline’s representations as to surnames, “permit me to tell you that that remark was in appalling taste.”

    A young subaltern who had been reproved thus by Colonel Wynton would have cringed; Miss Lattersby dimpled, nodded, and giggled.

    He sighed. “And yours?” he said grimly.

    Katerina replied on a nervous note: “It is for the dance tonight, also. It is a lovely posy, sir, but it’s from a rather horrid young man, I’m afraid: a Mr Potter.”

    “He’ll have heard of her papa’s fortune,” said Miss Burden carelessly.

    “Indeed? And what is your excuse, pray?” he said glacially.

    Any junior officer to whom Colonel Wynton had spoken thus would have shaken in his boots. “Oh!” cried Miss Burden gaily. “Do not be such a fuddy-duddy, dear sir! It is so exciting!”

    “Miss Burden, who sent you that posy?” he demanded baldly.

    “Goodness! So masterful!” said Miss Burden with a giggle.

    “I shall overlook that remark: I perceive you have become overexcited.”

    “It is from Commodore Hallett and there was only a most discreet card attached—”

    He stood up. “Give it me.”

    “Dear sir, you are towering over one!” said Miss Burden with an extraordinarily silly laugh.

    Katerina shot Janey an amazed glance. That young maiden clapped a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shook helplessly.

    “Give it me,” he repeated grimly.

    “Of course! There is nothing secret about it!” Miss Burden passed him both posy and card.

    Jarvis had very little doubt this was with malice aforethought. He sat down, laying the posy aside. Hallett’s card was discreet enough. It merely said: “With thanks for a delightful game.” Discreet enough if you assumed he meant the card game: yes.

    “I see. Perhaps you ladies would care to examine these further offerings, since they are addressed to yourselves,” he noted levelly.

    Any young officer whom Colonel Wynton had addressed in those tones would not have dared to move. The three ladies fell upon the salver rapturously.

    “Oh!” cried Janey. “Russet ribands! Delicious!”

    “Mine are violet!” gasped Katerina. “With lavender: oh, the prettiest thing!”

    “Green with—is this a gardenia?” said Miss Burden. “It cannot be! Oh, but it must be: smell it! Wonderful!”

    “Who is the gentleman—or possibly gentlemen—with more taste than sense?” asked the Earl as the scrolls were unrolled and silence fell.

    Miss Burden looked up, her face all twinkles. “Mine is anonymous, I regret to report, Colonel, sir.”—Janey gave a loud squeak.—“But it is in French, so I give you two guesses!”

    “So is mine,” said Katerina. “It is the cleverest thing!”

    “Then very clearly young d’Arresnes’s engagement has fallen through—I should have known Aunt Caroline would not be wrong on such a topic. –May I?”

    “Ooh, yes! Pray look at mine first, dear sir!” squeaked Janey.

    He looked at them all.

    “Well?” prompted Janey eagerly.

    “Doggerel,” he said blightingly.

    Katerina collapsed in giggles, nodding.

    “But no! Mine has a genuine French alexandrine in it!” cried Miss Burden loudly, pouting.

    “That will be the line he plagiarised from Ronsard,” he returned coldly, handing it back.

    The ladies fell on the scrolls and began exchanging them, comparing them, and re-reading them...

    The Earl sighed. He looked glumly at the posy with the envelope attached, which now sat in solitary splendour on the salver. His almost-fiancée, very much above herself, was deciding that they had better have a foreign-language poetry recital, preferably in costume, and his “hideous puce drawing-room with the carved frogs” would be just the thing for it, when Miss Bottomley-Pugh perceived he was not eating, and kindly asked if he would care for more rolls to be ordered up.

    “Er—yes. –If you would,” he said to the footman. “Miss Burden, there is another posy here, with a letter attached. Although it is none of my business—”

    “Oh, no!” gasped Miss Burden. “A proper young lady does not receive sealed missives from unknown hands, even I know that!”

    He handed it to her. “Pray open it.”

    “Hot-house blooms? They must have cost a small fortune!” Miss Burden opened the letter. “Goodness! This is not very military!”

    “Vyv Gratton-Gordon,” he deduced with a groan.

    “He is very tall, is he not? Over six foot, would you say?” she said, opening her eyes wide.

    “I have never given the matter a moment’s thought.” He held out his hand. “May I?”

    “It does not say very much.”

    “Miss Burden, it should not say anything!”

    “It is a very pretty gesture,” she said with a pout.

    “Well?” gasped Janey.

    He read out, his face expressionless:

                     To M.B.

    O divine Miss B., thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou in whose glor’ious presence the humble head,

Is bowed like a suppliant ’fore an enchantress kneeling,

    Auburn, and gold, and pink, and hectic red,

The shades of thy divinity! O thou,

Who chariotest unheeding of my pleading,

    Gay Spirit, which art moving everywhere,

Destroyer and preserver: hear, O hear!

    Katerina’s jaw had sagged. “That isn’t—”

    “Mm.” The Earl handed it back to Miss Burden. “Possibly part of the compliment is in the intention that you recognize the source, Miss Burden,” he noted politely. “Or on the other hand, possibly it did not enter Vyv’s thick head that you might be acquainted with the works of Mr Shelley.”

    “At least he avoided likening her to a pestilence-stricken multitude,” croaked Katerina.

    “Yes, that is a thoughtful touch. Though the scansion of ‘The shades of thy divinity’ leaves something to be desired, I feel,” said Jarvis calmly.

    Janey bounced up and rushed to peer over Miss Burden’s shoulder. “‘Chariotest’?” she croaked.

    “Oh, that is all Mr Shelley’s own,” said the Earl. “Particularly infelicitous, to my mind, but Vyv chose quite well: the reference is to the barouche, and then, with the weather—”

    “It’s Ode to the West Wind! What a gaby!” shrieked Janey, collapsing in laughter.

    Katerina gave a helpless wail, and also collapsed.

    Miss Burden’s eyes twinkled but she said primly: “It is very pretty.”

    “Rubbish,” said her almost-fiancé coldly. “It was overwritten rhodomontade to start with. And in any case, I hate to disillusion you, my dear Miss Burden, but Vyv can barely scrawl his name. Someone will have helped him with this. D’Arresnes, very like: after all, English is not his native tongue.”

    Miss Burden at this point collapsed in helpless giggles, nodding.

    “Well,” he said with a smile: “they’re a pair of harmless imbeciles, I suppose.”

    Miss Burden nodded helplessly.

    By the time she had recovered the Earl had poured himself fresh coffee and was eating a roll.

    “Oh, I do like London!” she said ecstatically. “Bad poems in two languages!”

    “And the floral tribute of a Commodore,” he noted drily.

    “Exactly!” she sighed, clasping her hands at her bosom. “And I have not even a fortune to recommend me!”

    Abruptly Jarvis experienced a strong desire to shake Miss Burden until the teeth rattled in her head. “Very true,” he said grimly, abandoning the remainder of his breakfast and rising. “Pray excuse me, ladies.”

    … “Miss Burden, you were wonderful!” concluded Janey in awe.

    “You didn’t even laugh when you opened that awful poem,” agreed Katerina.

    “No: for the mantle of Millicent was upon me,” she said superbly.

    Miss Burden was whirled away in the dance, clutched in the no-doubt sweaty grip of the egregious Mr “Pooter” Potter. The Earl was not aware of the derivation of the name by which Society referred to that stoutish, complacent young gentleman, but he felt it suited him. He watched grimly. She was failing to give an impression of enjoying the experience: serve her right.

    ... Laughing, Miss Burden went down the country dance with Micky Fox. As the movement of the figures separated them she continued to laugh, looking over her shoulder at him. Captain Foxe-Forsythe appeared to be enjoying the dance fully as much as she.

    ... Major Vane-Hunter, a fatuous smirk on his wide face, led Miss Burden off for yet another country dance. She was smiling. She continued to smile. And laugh.

    ... Miss Burden whirled in the waltz in the entirely competent arms of Commodore Hallett. She gave the impression of fully enjoying the experience. And no doubt was.

    “Jarvis,” said his Aunt Caroline’s voice in his ear: “did you not book a dance with her?”

    “I did not think I would have to. –No, very well, I am a short-sighted imbecile.”

    Lady Caroline did not indicate either by word or look that she thoroughly agreed with this statement, but he was in no doubt that she did.

    The smiling Major Lattersby assisted Miss Burden into his carriage. As the Earl had arrived home from yet another committee just in time to witness this performance, there was nothing he could do about it except bow and smile politely. Lattersby was a good-looking, slender man, with Janey’s laughing hazel eyes, and silvering light chestnut curls that were very like his daughter’s. And, very clearly, a similar sense of humour, the which was, very clearly, much to Miss Burden’s taste. The Earl watched expressionlessly as he sprang up into the carriage after her.

    Miss Burden’s head, in her charming green bonnet, then appeared at the window. “I am going to give my expert opinion on what Major Lattersby should do with his drawing-room!” she said gaily.

    “I see. Do not forget we have a dinner engagement with the Rockinghams.”

    “No, of course! –The first thing I shall advise him is not to install any carved frogs!”

    The Earl opened his mouth, but Miss Burden was waving goodbye and an unseen hand was putting the window up. Girlish laughter could be heard as it closed.

    ... “So, are they gone?” he demanded of his relative.

    “No, Jarvis, they have merely gone to help Major Lattersby—”

    “—decorate his drawing-room: quite. Possibly someone of this household might acquaint Miss Burden with the information that the carvings in my drawing-room do not represent frogs,” he noted, going out.

    Lady Caroline raised her eyebrows very slightly.

    Voices and laughter—male and female—came from the green salon. These were revealed as proceeding from Miss Burden and her two young friends, Major Vane-Hunter, Messrs Johnny Cantrell-Sprague, Harry Morphett and Charlie Grey, the latter’s cousin Nessa Weaver-Grange, Eloise Stanhope, and Boy Wemyss. Lady Caroline, as usual majestically calm, was presumably chaperoning. Major Renwick was also present but he, the Earl was not altogether surprised to see, was looking rather stunned. The more so as Mrs Everard Stanhope and Mr Wemyss were in identical coats of dark green, which just managed not to be actual uniforms of the Rifle Brigade.

    Jarvis’s almost-fiancée greeted him sunnily with the news that he was too late for a cup of tea.

    Admiral Dauntry, bowing very low, and with a distinct twinkle in his eye, offered gallantly to teach Miss Burden piquet.

    “Thank you, Admiral, but should she require a tutor, I can perform that office,” said Jarvis coolly.

    “Oh, but we may all play together!” she cried.

    “It is a game for two persons, Miss Burden,” said the Admiral, eyes twinkling more than ever.

    “Oh, what a pity! But wait: I know a very pleasant game for three persons: Commodore Hallett and Captain Lord Vyvyan taught it me!” she cried.

    Resignedly Lord Sleyven sat down to écarté with Miss Burden and Admiral Dauntry.

    The charming young Lady Blefford had thoughtfully placed Miss Burden at table between Major Lattersby and the Vicomte d’Arresnes. Jarvis knew the Countess only slightly but he was in no doubt at all that this would have been, on the one hand because she would have felt that Miss Burden, being new to London, would be happy and comfortable next the father of her little friend, and on the other, because young d’Arresnes had asked her to do so. All three of them certainly appeared extremely happy about it. Resignedly he attempted to listen courteously to the Dowager Lady Naseby’s lightly acid account of—something or another, who cared? At least she was too well-mannered to refer to damned Kitty Marsh to his face. After some time it occurred to him that Lady Blefford had probably thought of this, too, when she made her table up.

    Miss Burden whirled in the waltz in the entirely competent arms of—

    Jarvis’s lean cheeks reddened.

    “Well?” he said, when she had been escorted back to her chaperone’s side, and her escort, with a very dry look in his eye which Jarvis did not believe for one moment he was imagining, had exchanged greetings, thanked Miss Burden for the dance, and bowed himself off.

    “Oh, it was wonderful!” she gasped. “It’s like living in a dream! Me, dancing with the hero of Waterloo! I shall write to Polly and Lettice this very night!”

    He just looked at her limply.

    … “WHAT?” he shouted, as it was revealed the following day that a tribute had been delivered.

    Lady Caroline looked at him placidly. “I thought you would wish to be apprised of it.”

    “Appr— This is entirely deliberate on his part!” he choked.

    She looked thoughtfully at the posy. “I should say there is very little doubt of that. Though he appeared quite taken with her.”

    “I shall inform him that his attentions are unwelcome in that quarter.”

    “If you wish to provoke a scandal, by all means.”

    “Aunt Caroline, it’s a damned joke, because those asses Dauntry and Hallett have been making fools of themselves over her!”

    “Something like that, yes. Please, try to take it lightly.”

    “Lightly!” he choked.

    “I would say,” she said cocking her head a little to one side, “that it is intended not only to suggest to Dauntry and the Commodore that they are making fools of themselves, but also to tease yourself. And a little to please Millicent: he is not an inhuman fellow.”

    “He is all too human!” he choked.

    “Mm. Well, if you dislike it so much, perhaps you could say, the next time you meet, that you appreciate the thought behind it, but that Millicent’s affections are engaged.”

    “I— No. I shall send it back with a note saying that.”

    “As you wish. Personally I would not be so cruel as to deprive Millicent of an innocent pleasure.”

    “She is not so innocent as all that!” he cried.

    Lady Caroline hesitated. “No,” she said slowly. “She is highly intelligent, as I think you yourself fail to remember at times, Jarvis. But she was unaffectedly thrilled by their dance: surely you realised that?”

    His fists clenched. “Very well: let her have it,” he said tightly. “I shall be out for the rest of the day. Pray excuse me.”

    Lady Caroline, for all her self-control, had much ado not to laugh when on his returning to the house just as the ladies were going upstairs to dress for dinner, Mss Burden burst out with: “Oh, Lord Sleyven! You will never guess: the Duke of Wellington has sent me a posy! Just a thank-you for the dance we had yester night, you know: is it not thrilling? I shall press the flowers, and send some to Polly!”

    “Yes,” he said feebly. “Er—very thrilling, yes, Miss Burden.”

    “It just shows,” said Miss Burden with shining eyes, “that not all of London is horrid and hypocritical and corrupt!”

    Jarvis swallowed. He managed to say: “Certainly no-one has ever suggested that His Grace of Wellington is any such thing, my dear.”

    She went very pink and nodded and smiled tremulously at him. He could only conclude that perhaps it was not such a bad thing after all that he hadn’t sent the damned flowers back.

    That well-known Society hostess Mrs Gratton-Gordon was holding a “little hop” in order to brighten up the dullness of the Little Season. And possibly in order to aid one or two of her tribe of daughters to find eligible suitors. Miss Burden was looking very pretty in frilled pale green silk, her hair up in a knot wound with matching pale green ribbon.

    “May I book a dance?” he said meekly.

    “Oh! Well, of course, but—”

    It appeared that certain gentlemen, having ascertained she would be attending the little hop, had booked their dances in advance.

    “Perhaps you could join Captain Lord Vyvyan and myself for the supper,” said Miss Burden kindly.

    “Perhaps I could knock his teeth down his throat for him, too!”

    “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said seriously.

    “Miss Burden,” croaked Jarvis, “before you tell me again that Vyv G.-G. is very tall, allow me to inform you that not only has he two left feet, he is entirely out of condition, due to the fact that he exists on brandy, elaborate dinners, and late nights!”

    “Ye-es... Does that mean he couldn’t hit you?”

    “It most certainly does,” he said, biting his lip a little, “and I’m afraid I should not be talking like this.”

    “Well, he is quite well-meaning, you know, and rather lonely, though of course not bright: so I would not like you to hit him, really,” said Miss Burden on a regretful note.

    “I see,” he said, staring. “Perhaps you would, however, like me to sally forth on my charger and knock the fellow off his—”

    Miss Burden, giggling very much and covering her face with her fan, was nodding her auburn head vigorously. “Any lady would!” she squeaked.

    “So I gather. You may cross out Vyv’s name from the supper dance, and replace it with mine. And if he is very good, I will allow him to eat supper with us.”

    “That would almost certainly be something between almost bearable and very pleasant!” gasped Miss Burden, giggling frightfully.

    Forthwith his Lordship went off, with a smile on his face of which he was not aware, and notified the gallant Captain that unless he wished to have his teeth shoved down his throat for him, he could damn’ well give way to a senior officer and let him have the supper dance. Grinning, the Captain informed him that he had had only to mention it. And that he would be honoured to join them at supper.

    Society was then afforded the pleasure of observing Vyv G.-G. make a Byronic ass of himself during the supper dance.

    “He’s not dancing, he’s leaning against the wall over there!” hissed Miss Burden as the Earl took her in his arms for the waltz.

    “Mm.”

    ... “He’s still leaning against the wall: he’s watching us!” gurgled Miss Burden.

    “Yes. Ignore him.”

    ... “ He’s still watching us!” she gurgled.

    “Ignore him, he’s an imbecile,” he groaned.

    ... “Do but look, he’s still—”

    “Yes!”

    Miss Burden, giggling, desisted. She asked if he thought her waltzing had improved. Jarvis replied that it had, but he collected she had had several teachers. Miss Burden merely giggled.

    Apparently they “had to” celebrate the fact of Janey’s and Katerina’s last evening with them with “an informal little party.” Apparently Miss Burden had to wear a damned low-cut thing to it. Apparently they had had to invite Major Vane-Hunter, Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon with his friend the Vicomte d’Arresnes, Charlie Grey, Johnny Cantrell-Sprague and Harry Morphett to it. The Senior Service was capably represented by two slightly conscious-looking senior gentlemen: Commodore Hallett and Captain Cornwallis, arm-in-arm. Miss Burden expressed outright disappointment that they were not in naval dress uniform, upon which damned Rodney Hallett apparently had to kiss her hand.

    Jarvis was glad to see that someone had thought to invite Walter Renwick and his little sister, the Waldgrave girls and Susi-Anna Marsh, and also to ask Jonathon Crayshaw to join them. He did not quite dare to enquire whether that someone had been Miss Burden. He could, however, have done without Viccy Grey or Micky Foxe-Forsythe. As also without Miss Burden’s kindly information that she had asked them so as he would feel more comfortable with “some older gentlemen” present.

    Apparently the Vicomte, Major Lattersby, Commodore Hallett and Vyv G.-G. had to spend the entire evening competing for Miss Burden’s notice, but the Earl was not actually surprised by this. Not any more.

    There was a tap on the door of the Earl’s study: it opened immediately. Jarvis heard Jonathon Crayshaw gulp: he looked up quickly.

    Miss Burden was carrying a tray on which reposed several notes and several bunches of flowers. Possibly this was not what had caused Jonathon to gulp: possibly it was the fact that she was wearing Jarvis’s own helmet.

    “What—”

    “Colonel, sir!” she said, saluting smartly. “Beg to report, sir!”

    Mr Crayshaw shot one look at his employer’s face and collapsed in helpless giggles. True, he was gasping: “I’m sorry, sir!” as he did it. If that was any consolation.

    “Miss Burden—”

    “By the right!” said Midge, saluting again.

    The tray wobbled dangerously and Jarvis said with a sigh to his giggling secretary: “Take it off her, for God’s sake.”

    “Thank you!” she gasped, as the young man leapt forward. “By the right!”

    “Miss Burden,” said Jarvis, pulling himself together; “one does not dress indoors.”

    “What? Do you mean I should take my hat off?”

    “My hat, I think.”—Mr Crayshaw gave a whoop.—”You should certainly take it off, but that is not what I meant.”

    “Oh: it’s a military term?” She removed the helmet and smiled at him. “It’s so heavy!”

    “Er—mm. Miss Burden—”

    “By the right!”

    “You are dressing again.”

    “I see! Atten...tion! Right—wheel!” Midge ordered herself, saluting and wheeling about smartly. Mr Crayshaw collapsed in hysterical laughter.

    “Miss Burden—”

    Miss Burden wheeled herself right round to face his desk again, and came back smartly to attention. “Colonel, sir! Beg to report: three bunches, sir! Of flowers, sir! Five notes, sir! Three suspected to be invitations, sir! Merely!”

    “Very good, Corporal Burden,” he said with a groan. –Mr Crayshaw, sad to relate, gave a delighted yelp and collapsed again.

    “Corporal Burden begs to report that the mail is ready for the Colonel’s inspection. Sir!”

    “Give it— Jonathon, pull yourself together, if you can, and give me that damned tray.”

    Weakly Mr Crayshaw handed him the tray.

    “Thank you. M. le Vicomte d’Arresnes. Well, he’s a Royalist: our side, I think.” He laid that posy aside. “Hm. Lance Vane-Hunter. I suppose at least he is in the service.” That posy went next the Vicomte’s. He picked up the third posy. “This will not do.”

    “Oh?” said Midge nervously. It had taken her some considerable time to work up the courage to carry out her brilliant plan for teasing him this morning. She was quite astonished to find that he was not furious with her.

    “Certainly not; no fellows in our regiment accept posies from the rival service. Subadar Crayshaw: draft a stiff note on regimental note-paper informin’ Commodore Hallett of the fact.”

    “Um—yes, sir,” said poor Mr Crayshaw weakly.

    The Earl tossed the Commodore’s posy into the wastepaper basket. He did not look to see what Miss Burden’s reaction was, but turned to the notes. Three were invitations, certainly. One was an invitation from Vyv G.-G. to see a parade.

    “Corporal Burden, you will accompany your Colonel to this d— this parade. Medals will be worn,” he said sternly.

    “Yes, sir!” gulped Midge.

    The second was an invitation from Micky Fox, who should definitely have known better, to take ship with him for Greenwich.

    “What it is, Subadar, these dashed naval fellows are infiltratin’ our lines,” he said, screwing it up and throwing it at the wastepaper basket.

    “But Lord Sl—I mean Colonel, I would adore to see the Greenwich Observatory!” cried Midge. “And Captain Foxe-Forsythe knows all about meridiums and latitudes and such things!”

    So, of course, did the Earl: Mr Crayshaw cleared his throat uneasily.

    “Make a note, Subadar Crayshaw: we shall form a scouting expedition to Greenwich.”

    “Ooh, lovely!” said Midge excitedly. “Will medals be worn?”

    “On a scouting expedition? Certainly not! –Thursday; cancel that meeting,” he said briefly to his secretary.

    “Yuh-yes, sir.”

    The third was from damned Nessa Weaver-Grange, warmly urging Miss Burden to form one of a party at The Willows.

    “I am not absolutely sure what The Willows is. Or are,” she admitted.

    “A house owned by Eloise Stanhope at Marlow. This party to which you are bidden will, if report does not lie, consist entirely of women, plus possibly Boy Wemyss, and will go on until the evening. Possibly longer.”

    “All ladies?” said Miss Burden, staring.

    “Yes. I think you would find it dull,” he said lightly.

    “Absolutely! Um,” she said reddening, “I mean, I suppose it would be quite pleasant...”

    “Mm. But,” he discovered, “it would conflict with Gratton-Gordon’s parade.”

    “I would much rather go to the parade!”

    “Then we’ll set this one aside. These other notes are merely from Susi-Anna Marsh, thanking you for the party, and from Walter Renwick’s little sister, ditto—though I thought she seemed at a loss, poor child.”

    She took the notes eagerly, hesitated, and said: “Lady Caroline intentions driving out to Richmond in a day or two, to call on her sister, Lady Jessamine Heyne: we thought that at the same time we might call on Miss Renwick and her sister, Mrs Paige. I wonder, should you care to accompany us?”

    “Very much. But will there be room for me?” he said with a twinkle.

    Miss Burden went very red indeed, gasping: “Yes! Or you could ride, if you would be more comfortable on horseback!”

    Jarvis took pity on her and said: “I would prefer to ride. And I certainly am in need of the exercise. You may count on me.”

    “If you are sure you do not have a committee or a meeting?”

    “I would much prefer to escort you to Richmond, Miss Burden,” he said, smiling into her eyes.

    “Oh!” said Midge, very flustered. “Wuh-well—good! Oh, um—I could tell Commodore Hallett not to send any more flowers,” she offered in a small voice, eyeing the wastepaper basket.

    “Don’t bother. I shall reply to all these naval communiqués.”

    “Thank you. –Oh, yes: thank you!” she gasped, as he handed her the approved posies. She hurried out, her cheeks very pink.

    After a moment the Earl said: “I think our side came off very well in that skirmish.”

    “Um—yes, sir. Er—Lord Sleyven, that house at Marlow—”

    “Notorious: I know,” he groaned.

    “Er—yes. Er—sir, I do not wish to presume to advise you—”

    Jarvis sighed. “You think I should tell Miss Burden the whole, is that it?”

    “It might be wise, sir.”

    “My dear boy, I would wager my Irish horses that the whole topic will be Greek to her!” he said loudly.

    Mr Crayshaw’s jaw dropped. He looked at his employer numbly. “I hadn’t thought— Of course it will, sir. Oh, Lor’.”

    “Quite.” Jarvis passed his hand across his forehead. “What with those Sapphic bitches, and all the damned military, naval and merely civilian idiots hanging onto her apron-strings...”

    “Yes,” muttered Jonathon unhappily.

    “I can only conclude I had better not let her out of my sight!”

    “It—it might be wise, sir. Um—there is a story about a Miss Savage—”

    “Yes, Jonathon: I’ve heard it,” he groaned.

    Mr Crayshaw merely swallowed.

    “What the—?” Jarvis groaned, entering his own front hall to the sounds of revelry.

    Slight cleared his throat cautiously. “Miss Burden is having an impromptu foreign-language poetry recital, my Lord.”

    “In that case, I collect that M. d’Arresnes is here?”

    The butler bowed.

    “Yes. And Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon? –Quite.”

    The butler signalled to a footman to take Lord Sleyven’s hat and himself tenderly relieved his Lordship of his overcoat. “And several other young persons, my Lord. Miss Bottomley-Pugh and Miss Lattersby are here.”

    “I see,” he sighed. “And Major Lattersby?”

    “Yes, my Lord. Also Major Renwick, and Miss Renwick.”

    “In the green salon, is it?”

    “No, my Lord. In the drawing-room.”

    Certain words of Miss Burden’s about costume, and his “hideous puce drawing-room with the carved frogs” came back forcibly to the Earl. “Charades, is it, Slight?”

    “Something of the sort, my Lord. Should your Lordship care for a tea-tray in the library, perhaps?”

    “No, no,” he said heavily.

    He went in. The puce brocade curtains were drawn and many candelabra, most of which he did not recall having seen in that room before, blazed before a cleared area which was apparently the impromptu stage. M. d’Arresnes, draped in a sheet and wearing—Jarvis sighed—that helmet of his own which had recently adorned Miss Burden—was holding forth. In one hand he held a scroll and in the other, er... Jarvis crept in and sat down cautiously at one end of a sofa which held Lady Caroline, a thin young maiden, and a small black and white dog which he’d never seen before in his life.

    Her Ladyship smiled at him, and he was emboldened to whisper: “What’s that, that d’Arresnes—”

    “Ssh!” hissed the thin young maiden round the substantial form of Lady Caroline.

    He smiled weakly. After a moment he found the courage to try again: “What’s d’Arresnes got in his fist, Aunt?”

    She smiled, very slightly. “You are come most à propos. Hush.”

    Confirming this last, the thin young maiden leaned forward again and hissed: “Ssh!”

    Resignedly Jarvis leaned back and listened. Doggerel. With the occasional alexandr— Some of it wasn’t doggerel, some of it was Racine. Just as he was recognising this, a voice from the crowd called: “Huzza! Fourteen!” and there was general applause.

    Bowing, and flourishing whatever-it-was, the Vicomte ended his peroration.

    “Was it fourteen?” asked the thin young maiden, leaning forward again, under cover of more applause.

    “Yes,” said Lady Caroline placidly. “The last two were from Racine, my dear. –An olive branch,” she added briefly to the Earl.

    He smiled weakly. “And who is this?”

    “My great-grand-daughter, Eliza Moresby. Eliza, my dear, this is Lord Sleyven.”

    “How do you do, Cousin Sleyven!” squeaked Miss Moresby. “This is my dog: Dog Toby!”

    Weakly his Lordship greeted Miss Moresby, who was possibly eleven years of age, and Dog Toby. Who was possibly two, and Jarvis could only hope he was house-trained.

    “What the D— Um, what’s going on?” he said as conversation became general, not to say loud and excited, and what was possibly an argument broke out near the far end of the room.

    “As you see, Jarvis: an impromptu entertainment.”

    “All these persons just happened to turn up this afternoon, I see: so you had it.”

    “That is precisely it, my dear,” she said with a glint in her eye.

    The Earl subsided.

    He had come in time, he found, to hear Katerina singing a very pretty French song, accompanied by Major Lattersby on the pianoforte. And to hear Janey play the mandolin, which she did almost creditably, though admittedly the piece was very short. And to hear Teddy Marsh and Vyv Gratton-Gordon, whom he was not aware were even acquaintances, recite a short comic dialogue, the which certainly left most of their audience in stitches. And, last but by no means least, to see Dog Toby Moresby jump through a hoop. The which overexcited the performer so much that he went and made a puddle behind a giant Chinese vase, on a priceless Chinese rug, before anyone realised what he was at.

    “Never mind!” said Jarvis’s almost-affianced bracingly, once the fuss had died down, the rug had been scrubbed, and Dog Toby spoken to most severely and removed to the kitchen regions. “It was only an old rug, and a hideous shade: a sort of faded puce. –You didn’t like it, did you?” she added on what actually seemed to be an anxious note.

    “Oh, no, Miss Burden,” he said faintly. “I didn’t like it at all.”

    “If this goes on, it will drive me mad!” he concluded wildly, passing his hand over his forehead.

    “Rubbish,” said his Aunt Caroline with majestic calm.

    “You don’t know— The other morning, she came into my study with some damned posies—”

    “Of course I know, my dear man: Jonathon told me the whole.”

    The Earl passed his hand across his forehead again. “There you are, then!” he said wildly. “Invitations to Sapphic conventions at The Willows, and Vyv G.-G. beggin’ her to attend dashed parades, and the attentions of half the Admiralty: damned Hallett sent flowers, and Micky Fox issued an invitation to accompany him—apparently tête-à-tête, for your name was certainly not mentioned—to Greenwich—”

    “She expressed a wish in his hearing to see the Observatory.”

    “I’m taking her!” he shouted.

    There was a short silence.

    “I’m sorry, Aunt Caroline. But— Well, for God’s sake! Let us admit the Admiralty is full of ageing semi-rakes with nothing better to do, in peace-time. But flowers from Wellington? D’Arresnes paying his court?”

    “He is the merest boy.”

    “However that may be, the Princesse P. cut me dead in Pall Mall yesterday!”

    “Possibly she should have thought of the consequences before she took his father as her amant.”

    “Never mind that. Miss Burden is spending her nights between dancing with all the most useless young Pinks in London and encouraging a selection of rakes, decrepit or not, to teach her card games!”

    “What did you expect?”

    “I really don’t know,” he said limply. “Perhaps, if I must form one of a damned crowd, to get an occasional glimpse of her, in between the impromptu foreign-language charades and the trips to Greenwich!”

    “If you wish for her time, Jarvis, you had best make a push to engage it.”

    “Do not say, for if I do not those other fellows will,” he warned.

    She eyed him drily. “I shouldn’t dream of it.”

    Suddenly he gave a shaky laugh. “I wish you could have seen her wearing my helmet and salutin’, and wheeling herself about! It was the sweetest thing!”

    “Yes,” she agreed, smiling. “Mrs Langford once said to me that Millicent has a great deal of sweetness in her nature.”

    “Mm. But also a great deal,” he said on a grim note, “that is very trying indeed!”

    “Perhaps. I think I have pointed out that it is you, very largely, who are on trial at this period, Jarvis?”

    He passed his hand over his forehead once again. “That has dawned,” he muttered.

Next chapter:

https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/revolving-in-figures.html