Contre Danse

15

Contre Danse

    The ballroom at Nettlefold Hail was not large but, as Lady Ventnor had already mentioned to more than one of her more exalted guests, one did not care for a squeaze. There were certainly sufficient persons present to make dancing both possible and pleasant. Unfortunately not all of them were dancing.

    Mrs Marsh, however, had already agreed smilingly with her hostess that the waltz was quite acceptable these days, and was at present whirling competently on the floor in the arms of His Highness the Prince Alexei Alexandrovich Petrovsky. She was in a drift of violet gauze over a silk underdress, with a full set of amethysts: collar, bracelets, brooch and diadem. Several ladies had found it quite impossible to maintain that violet shades were unsuited to a lady of her age: the more so as this evening Her Serene Highness the Grand Duchess Ekaterina Nicolaevna Petrovna was in black satin, swagged and ruched with deep violet silk. The basic dress had once adorned Hamlet’s mother. The deep violet had come from a gown which had belonged to Mrs Bottomley-Pugh, the front breadth of which had been ruined by a rhubarb tart. Both Natasha Andreyevska and, unexpectedly, Mr Harold Hartington himself were considerable dressmakers. The finishing would not have satisfied the captious, but as no lady was going to be given the opportunity to inspect the seams or look at the way the swaggings were attached, it could not signify. The pearl tiara was again draped in black lace, and she was again wearing the superb pearl rope. The large amethyst brooch on the bosom had been Mrs Bottomley-Pugh’s, but there was not likely to be anyone at the Nettlefold Hall dance who would recognize it.

    On the sidelines Lacey Somerton and Amanda Waldgrave were sitting together pouting, following the progress of the Prince and Mrs Marsh with jealous eyes. They had escaped from their mammas, in order not to be forced to dance with Stupid Young Men.

    Lacey was in a new gown: strikingly unusual, a burnt-orange muslin with three flounces, adorned with a sash and knots of a brighter orange velvet ribbon. Another knot of this ribbon nestled in her dark curls, holding a few creamy blooms. She looked enchantingly, and her mother was very pleased with the effect; but she had just refused a dance with Harry Pryce-Cavell! Mrs Somerton was about to make her way to her side in order to speak to her about it.

    Amanda’s fair, pinkish skin, plump, dimpled cheeks and blonde ringlets were set off to perfection by a new gown of pale blue, its flounce trimmed with blue satin ribbon that matched her sash. The only bows her mother had allowed her were one in the flounce, one at the bosom, held by Grandmamma Waldgrave’s pearl pin which had been supposed to go to Eugenia, and two in her curls. Mrs Waldgrave was very satisfied indeed with her appearance. There was little fear that they would have to contemplate falling back on a Mr Butterworth for dear Amanda! The new dress was lower cut than Mrs Waldgrave had in the past permitted her, thus revealing the tact that her bosom was not dissimilar to Miss Burden’s, and Mr Simon Golightly had come up, bowed very low to it and begged it for the dance. But Miss Amanda had said she did not care to dance just now, thank you, Mr Golightly. From the other side of the ballroom Mrs Waldgrave had observed this refusal, and dropped her fan. She was about to make her way across the room to find out exactly what Amanda imagined she was doing.

    Miss Portia, triumphant in very new puce gauze, had borne off Mr Golightly. Unaware that Simon hated puce and had decided that skinny with buck teeth and a yallerish skin and limp brown curls was not for him, and that once she dropped the bows and the simpers Miss Amanda was not half a pretty thing, with skin like a pale pink rose or some such, and if she was not precisely a wit, that was all to the good, for bluestockings were a dead bore, and a woman that was always rubbing your nose in the fact that she was cleverer than you was the most tedious thing in the world. –His mother had been nagging him again on the subject of his choice of occupation.

    Harry Pryce-Cavell, rather shaken by Miss Somerton’s refusal, for he was not unaware that both his uncle and Miss Somerton’s papa would not have been averse to a match between them, had fallen back upon Miss Rosalind Patterson, but to his complete astonishment, though blushing fierily and looking agonised as she did it, she had turned him down, too! Well! Was they all in a plot against him?

    Mrs Patterson was aware that neither of her girls was dancing. And so far the Prince had not asked either of them, even though they were both in new gowns. Rosalind’s was a deep apricot silk, with delightfully delicate swaggings of the stuff: charming. Charlotte was looking very handsome—indeed, quite regal—in ice-blue satin, which her heavy, creamy skin could well support. Her hair was in a new style, with side-curls, and ringlets high on the back of her head, and she was wearing Mrs Patterson’s own sapphire and diamond clip in it. Very satisfactory indeed. So why was she not dancing? What she was doing, alas, was sitting on the sidelines next her sister, the both of them looking undesirably sulky, gazing at Prince Alexei Alexandrovich dancing with Mrs Marsh.

    And as for Rosalind! Turning down a dance with Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell, a most eligible young man, who was to inherit his old cousin’s property? Mrs Patterson took a deep breath and vowed silently that as soon as she could escape from Lady Ventnor and the Earl, she would demand to know precisely what Rosalind thought she was at. They had not purchased her a new gown for her to refuse dances!

    Mrs Marsh was thrilled to have had her hand solicited for the first waltz by the Prince, and allowed her sparkling eyes very clearly to tell him so. The more so since Sleyven was virtually ignoring her. On the other hand, Kitty was pleased to see, he was not dancing with Miss Burden, either—so last year’s gossip about hens must mean less than nothing, as she had suspected all along. She was not especially pleased by the picture presented by Miss Burden in low-cut black silk; but after all, unrelieved black was so dowagerish—ageing, really! Kitty had, admittedly, come to the Nettlefold Hall ball in the full expectation of being ignored by Jarvis. She did not think he would positively cut her, for that would give rise to talk: and he did not; but the bow had been very, very, slight. As had his Cousin Judith’s. Kitty did not give a fig for that, but was sourly determined to show Jarvis what he was missing. And the Prince Alexei Alexandrovich most certainly seemed, at this precise moment, as he held her rather too tight and smiled directly into her eyes, to offer the most glorious opportunity for doing so!

    On the other side of the room Mrs Somerton remarked acidly to Miss Humphreys: “If one had been in any doubt as to why that creature is at the dance, I think one need look no further.”

    “She—she has brought her little daughter.” faltered the spinster lady.

    Mrs Somerton took a deep breath, but managed to say no more.

    Colonel Langford and his friend Leonard Cornwallis were also watching the dancers. ”Does this indicate that Jarvis’s coronet has lost out to a Russian funny hat?” drawled Captain Cornwallis, raising his blond eyebrows.

    The Colonel choked slightly, but replied: “Well, let’s hope so. But take a turn with her, find out for yourself, Leonard.”

    The Captain winced. “Er—no. Leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, y’know? Mind you, old Percival claims that particular little frigate has half the fortune of the Portuguese Widow.”

    “His concern, of course, would not be to get her out of commission so that your elder niece may safely grapple and board the flagship, would it?” replied the Colonel coldly, eyeing Jarvis making polite conversation with Mrs Patterson.

    Sniggering delightedly, Captain Cornwallis bashed him on the back, but said: “Can’t say I’d be sorry to see the old fellow safe from the clutches of Mrs M., Charles.”

    “No,” agreed the Colonel, smiling at him. “Indeed.”

    “Hand of piquet, Charles?” he suggested hopefully.

    “I can’t, old man, I’m chaperoning my stepdaughter. Go and dance, for the Lord’s sake.”

    The Captain sighed.

    “I see,” said Charles Langford drily. “No tall, dark-haired Dianas here tonight, that it?”

    “Precisely,” he admitted frankly.

    Since Polly’s fiancé was present, the Colonel’s duties as chaperone were not onerous, and he had plenty of leisure to look around him. He had much ado not to laugh at what he saw.

    “It got better,” he reported to his spouse over a belated breakfast next morning.

    “Oh, Colonel Langford, you are horrid!” cried Polly with a giggle. “It got much worse!”

    “No, well, one had thought that Mrs M.,” said the Colonel, raising his eyebrows slightly at his wife, “had captured the Prince: certainly all the young ladies what fancy him were sulking over it and from the expression of indecent triumph on her face, she thought it, too: but lo and behold, when the waltz ended he bowed very low and dumped her with a bunch of—er—burra mems,” he said with a sudden cough, “and spent the rest of the night flirting with Lady Paula Cunningham and that friend of hers from t’other side of Nettleford. Mrs—uh—”

    “Mrs William Saville,” suggested Lettice.

    “Right: both of ’em married enough and almost old enough to know better!” he said with a laugh. “No, well, actually it was quite a delicate exercise, one had to admire the man: balancing the acid-yellow Mrs William S. and the indigo-blue Lady Paula C., whilst at the same time keepin’ the three more mature skittles of Miss Cornwallis, deep pink, her bosom-bow, a Miss Frewsham, grassy-green, and Mrs Marsh, glowing enviously violet, in the air!”

    “What he means is,” said Polly to her giggling mother, “the Prince danced two with Lady Paula and then two with Mrs William Saville, and then he sat out one with both of them: one on each side of him, I mean. Then he danced with Mrs Patterson and Mrs Somerton, and with Lady Ventnor again, and then one with Miss Cornwallis and one with Miss Frewsham; and then it was the supper, and he went in arm-in-arm with Lady Paula and Mrs William Saville.”

    “One on each side of him,” elaborated the Colonel solemnly; Mrs Langford choked.

    “Then after the supper he retired to the card room to play écarté with Lady Paula and Mrs William!” ended Polly on a triumphant note.

    “Oops!” said Mrs Langford with a laugh.

    “Mrs M. was mad as fire,” noted the Colonel drily.

    “I should think so! But darling, what about the younger girls?”

    “None of ’em got a look-in. They all sat around the room like a row of pigeons on a ridge-pole, moonin’ at him and refusin’ to dance with the young shavers!” he choked.

    “Charles! Not really?”

    “Absolutely. Even Miss Patterson. The young fellows’ noses were well and truly out of joint,” he said, pouring himself more coffee. “Young Golightly asked Amanda Waldgrave three times for a dance, and she turned him down every time, didn’t she, Polly?”

    “Yes. And Lacey refused to dance with Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell until her mamma ordered her to!” said Polly with a guilty giggle.

    “Good Heavens,” said Mrs Langford feebly.

    “And,” said Polly, leaning forward impressively: “they have each sworn to wear a purple favour to the next dance!”

    “Er—why, dear?”

    “Mamma! I said! The Prince was wearing a purple ribbon across his chest, with a Russian order upon it!”

    “Order of the Rumty-tumsky, ask me,” said the Colonel airily.

    “Dearest Step-papa, there cannot be anything smoky about him, for even Mrs Somerton has admitted that those diamond bracelets of his mother’s are of the first water!”

    “Mm,” said the Colonel, buttering a roll very busily.

    … “Er, well, I did not mean much by it,” he confessed when he and Lettice were alone. “But it seems damned odd that Jarvis has heard nothing from the Embassy. Said to him, he ought to write, find out if the fellow is known there.”

    “And?”

    The Colonel shrugged. “Said he hoped to God the fellow would take Mrs M. and bury her in deepest Siberia for life, and he didn’t care if he turned out to be a draper from Tomsk, so long as he got her out of the county!”

    Mrs Langford smiled weakly and admitted that that was understandable. “And—um—what of Midgey, Charles?”

    The Colonel looked uneasy. “Er—well, like Polly said: most of the time she sat with Miss Humphreys.”

    “And yourself, I hope?”

    “Yes, of course. Oh, and Lady Judith spent some considerable time chatting with her.”

    “Good,” said Mrs Langford, eyeing him steadily.

    The Colonel sighed. “Jarvis came and tried to chat, but—um—well, I don’t say she gave him the cold-shoulder, but it was very far from encouragement.”

    His wife opened her mouth but he added incautiously: “At least, before the supper.”

    “What do you mean?” she said sharply.

    “Well, the supper itself was not too bad: we all went in together: Polly and Golightly, with his mother, Midge and little Janey, and Miss Humphreys—oh, and young Simon. And Jarvis and Leonard Cornwallis. Everyone was talking, you know. Seems Jarvis called at Bluebell Dell while Midge’s pupils were putting on a little charade: he and Miss H. made quite a funny story of it.”

    “But?” said Mrs Langford in a steely voice.

    “Uh—well, Polly didn’t notice a thing, but—uh—seemed to me that something upset Midge, later. –It wasn’t Jarvis.” he added hastily.

    “Then what?” she said limply.

    “No idea. Probably one of the cats havin’ a go at her.”

    Mrs Langford winced, but conceded this was more than likely.

    “Mm.”

    “Charles, you do know something more,” she said, frowning.

    “No. Well, nothing to do with Midge. Er—this was after the supper. Jarvis gave the Marsh hag the cut direct.”

    Lettice looked at him limply. “Well, I cannot say that that news upsets me particularly. But didn’t you say he had merely been cool, earlier?”

    The Colonel sighed. But at least the story would take her mind off Midge. So he told her.

    After the supper Captain Cornwallis had been about to propose a hand of piquet to Mr Cunningham when his sister Nettie came up arm-in-arm with Mrs Marsh. Captain Cornwallis eyed this phenomenon with a sensation of resigned despair: that was so like Nettie! Choose the most ineligible female in the room and make a bosom-bow of her! –In the which he was doing his sister a considerable injustice: Mrs Patterson having incautiously left Miss Cornwallis to her own devices, Mrs Marsh had quite simply latched onto her like a leech.

    “Leonard, what is this? Not dancing? You are too naughty! Why, here is Mrs Marsh in need of a partner—”

    Captain Cornwallis resigned himself to his fate.

    He eyed her with a sort of fascinated awe as, having capably extracted the fact that he was a widower with a couple of girls of his own, she proceeded to establish an atmosphere of—dammit, boon companionship came nearest it! No, well: two widowed persons together, situations so similar, both of them having two little girls... Captain Cornwallis could not help reflecting grimly that she had the advantage of him, somewhat: for all of his descendants were legitimate.

    When the dance ended he procured her a glass of champagne, saying casually: “I gather you knew Jarvis Wynton—Sleyven, I should say—out in India?”

    “Indeed: Mr Marsh and I saw something of him, at one stage. But he is become so grand, since,” said Kitty soulfully, opening the blue eyes very wide, “that he scarce notices poor little me.”

    Experiencing a certain grudging admiration for the woman’s sang-froid, Captain Cornwallis returned: “May I say that that is Jarvis’s loss, Mrs Marsh? But—er—dare say he has been occupied with his responsibilities since he came home.”

    At this the penny appeared to drop: she fluttered her eyelashes and said: “Oh, is he a friend of yours, sir?”

    “Aye; I was at school with him, Charles Langford and Arthur Jerningham. Though Jarvis was several years ahead of us: one of the swells, y’know!”

    “I see. –Of course you are correct: he must have been very busy; and I seem to remember that in India he was used to socialize very rarely.”

    The Captain felt rather annoyed by this recurrence of the India theme, even though he had introduced it deliberately, to see if she could be put to the blush. After all, she must be aware that the whole of the damned county knew of the affaire out there! Did she expect to put him out of countenance, or what?

    “Aye, that would be right, he was always a pretty sober fellow. Though even sober fellows have their weaknesses: I wonder, have you heard the ridiculous story they tell hereabouts of him and a certain lady and some hens?”

    Kitty was not going to admit she had: in her experience, allowing persons to give you their own version of gossip you had already heard often gave you useful extra facts. She fluttered her lashes in a bewildered way. “Hens? Lord Sleyven?”

    Largely because of the lack of dashing dark-haired Dianas in the neighbourhood, Captain Cornwallis had drunk rather a lot of champagne and topped it up with rather a lot of brandy. He did not mention the lady’s name to Mrs Marsh: he was most certainly not that drunk. But Kitty did not need telling. She exclaimed and giggled obligingly: but the earlier part of the narrative, the story of the wall and the kiss, that Leonard Cornwallis had had off Charles Langford at a period when the Colonel was considerably fed up with Jarvis, was entirely new to her. So also was the news that Jarvis was apparently paying court to the creature this summer, bringing her bunches of roses and attending damned charades at her house!

    Kitty did not pause to recollect her own earlier cool recognition that Jarvis would in all probability ignore herself all evening. But she did recognise one point very clearly: if that little nobody was what Jarvis wanted, he should not have her! Not while Kitty Marsh still breathed.

    She fluttered her eyelashes wildly, giggled a little, and said: “Oh! One can scarcely imagine it! Hens? Charades? But he is so grand and dignified!”

    The Captain, a certain irony in his eye, replied: “But you must not think that he is become too grand to recognize a pretty little lady like yourself! Look, there he is, over there: that’s his cousin he’s with, I think. Shall we go and chat?”

    Kitty swallowed a smile: neither Jarvis nor Lady Judith would like that! And agreed in a childish, innocent little voice that it would be pleasant.

    Captain Cornwallis forthwith led her over to the Wynton cousins. They were not alone, so he was never to know if they would have cut the little bitch dead, could they have done so without Mrs Somerton’s interested eyes upon them. But it was pretty clear, from the stony expression on his face, that Jarvis was wishing the woman at Jericho.

    “Come, come, old fellow, this will not do,” said the Captain on a malicious note as the musicians struck up a waltz. “You must set us the example, y’know! Now, why do you not dance this one with Mrs Marsh, while I lead out Mrs Somerton?”

    The very flushed Mrs Somerton accepted confusedly—thus making it instantly apparent that whatever the rest of the county knew, she most certainly was aware of the former involvement between Kitty Marsh and Sleyven.

    “Why, yes, Colonel—I’m so sorry: Lord Sleyven!” said Kitty with a trill of silvery laughter. “I think the last time we waltzed together was—goodness, Simla, was it?”

    “You mistake, madam,” he said tightly. “Mussoorie. –Thank you for your kind offices, Leonard, but I am not dancing tonight. Please excuse me.” He bowed very briefly and walked off.

    “Oh, my goodness!” said Mrs Somerton with a smothered giggle. “So stern, is he not?”

    Kitty had gone very red. She had not believed Jarvis would behave that badly. “Oh, but he always was, Mrs Somerton. Quite attractive, you know, but at the end of the day, that determined sobriety must strike as rather dull!” She gave a brittle laugh.

    Lady Judith had stood by mumchance during the whole exchange. Though she had been conscious of a fleeting, unworthy wish that David were here to appreciate it. Now she said on a dry note: “It is a Wynton trait, alas. But pray, do you and Captain Cornwallis go and dance, Mrs Somerton; as we are no longer girls in the first blush, it cannot signify to Mrs Marsh and myself if we are to be wallflowers for this one.”

    Thankfully Mrs Somerton allowed the Captain to lead her onto the floor, for although it had been thrilling it had also been terrifying.

    Lady Judith did not feel particularly sorry for Mrs Marsh but she said in a kindly enough tone: “I have heard of Simla, Mrs Marsh. but I did not recognise the other name that my cousin mentioned. Muss-something, was it?”

    “Mussoorie; it is a hill station. My husband and I had a bungalow there. Please excuse me, Lady Judith, my hem needs pinning,” said Kitty through trembling lips. She hurried away.

    Lady Judith did not think the lips were trembling because the lady had been about to cry: on the contrary, she had seldom felt such a wave of anger emanate from another human being. She looked after her thoughtfully. It was lucky that the woman was not in a position to do Sleyven any particular harm.

    There was only one lady in the little room provided for the ladies’ use. Kitty stopped short with a gasp.

    Midge was, frankly, hiding from Miss Humphreys’s continued nods and smiles of encouragement whenever the Earl so much as glanced their way. She rose uncertainly at the sight of Mrs Marsh. She would have gone quietly away but the woman was so plainly distressed— She hesitated, and then said in a low voice: “Pray forgive me, but you seem rather upset. Is there anything I can do?”

    “No.” said Kitty faintly, sinking onto a chair. After a moment she said: “Thank you, Miss Burden.”

    “Please do not hesitate, if there is anything you would like me to do for you. Could I fetch your sister, perhaps?”

    “No,” said Kitty faintly. “I am not unwell. I—I have just had a—a shock.” This was true enough. Though whether the shock were more damned Jarvis’s treating her, so, in front of Lady Judith and Mrs Somerton, not to say to say Mrs Patterson’s cursed brother, or walking in and finding his new interest before her— At first her brain had seemed quite numbed, but now it began to work with amazing speed. She had no need to exaggerate her disturbance, and, indeed—though perhaps Lady Judith would never have believed it—she was not only angry, she was also very near tears. She said in a voice that shook quite of its own accord: “He—he is the hardest man I have ever met.”

    Midge went very white and did not say anything.

    Kitty glanced at her from under her lashes. “Miss Burden, you did well to send his hens back, and—and may I urge you,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek, “nuh-not to get mixed up with him, for your own sake: for he is greedy and cold, and cruel and unfeeling!”

    Miss Burden did not think he was, quite. Not unfeeling: not the man who loved his absurd batman and could inspire both him and the earnest little Tonkins with such very apparent devotion. She sat down very slowly. “Yes?” she said huskily.

    Kitty sniffed. More tears ran down her cheeks. “I know you are a very respectable unmarried luh-lady, and—and I should not be saying such things,” she gulped. “Buh-but he has just insulted me in front of his cousin and Mrs Somerton, and Mrs Patterson’s brother!”

    “Oh, dear,” said Midge kindly, thinking, if he had done it in front of them it was probably not so very bad. “What did he do?”

    Kitty sat up very straight, the tears trickling down her cheeks, and looked her in the face, and cried: “It is not what he did of this instant, Miss Burden: it is the fact that he is the father of my youngest child, and he has just turned his heel on me in public! As if I was not fit for him even to dance with!”

    Midge was now deathly pale. “I see. That was, indeed, appallingly unkind.”

    Kitty burst into a storm of overwrought sobs. On the one level, they were quite genuine: she did feel she could not hold them back any longer. But at the same time, part of her mind said: “Good! That’s given the smug-faced little nobody a disgust of him, and no mistake!”

    She sobbed for some time. Miss Burden rose and timidly patted her on the back. Eventually the tears dried up and Kitty said in a broken voice: “It is always the woman who suffers.”

    “Indeed it is,” said Miss Burden tightly.

    “And if it comes out,” said Kitty, sniffling, “it will not be he who is shunned, you may be sure.”

    “Mrs Marsh, I promise you no-one will learn of it from me,” said Midge steadily. “And for my part, I can assure you that if anyone is to be shunned, it will be he. A man is fully as much to blame as a woman, in such circumstances. And there is no excuse for his slighting you in public.”

    Kitty lifted her face up, gave her a woebegone smile and said in a trembling voice: “My husband was very old, and besides was away so very much... And—and perhaps you cannot see it, but in private Jarvis can be so terribly charming and... persuasive,” she ended, with an artistic gulp.

    Miss Burden was now very red. “I am sure,” she said shortly.

    “He would not leave me alone, and— You do not know what India is like, with those long, warm nights, and... And I was so lonely,” she ended, dropping her voice artistically.

    “Yes. Please do not feel you need justify yourself to me, Mrs Marsh.”

    “Buh-but why must he be so cruel, now?” she said tearfully, her lip wobbling.

    “I know not. But I think you are well rid of him,” said Midge through her teeth.

    Kitty dropped her eyes—largely so that Miss Burden should not perceive the spite that sparkled in them. “Yes...” she sighed.

    “I shall fetch your sister to you,” decided Midge.

    “Thank you. Please—” she said, catching at her hand.

    “Yes?”

    “You do promise you will not tell a soul, don’t you?”

    “Of course I promise,” said Midge reassuringly, hurrying out.

    Kitty sat back. After a moment she smiled, just a little.

    Miss Burden felt very sick. She did not believe absolutely everything that Mrs Marsh had said, however. She had heard a very great deal of that lady from Mr Hutton. Nevertheless she did not discount everything Kitty had said, either: Hutton, there was no denying it, was so partisan, he would probably agree that black was white if his old master said so. ...And then, of course, he was a man, and men always took the side of their own sex in such matters. Miss Burden’s lips tightened. She fetched Miss Harrod, saw her safely to her sister’s side, and hurried quietly away.

    When the dance ended Colonel Langford got Leonard Cornwallis away from Mrs Somerton without any difficulty and pulled him into a convenient kala jugga. “Leonard, what in God’s name was that all about?”

    The Captain opened his mouth to say “What?” and thought better of it. “Uh—well, actually, it was all my fault, old boy. Did not think Jarvis would cut up that stiff. Um—well, to tell you the truth, the Marsh woman had got under my skin, a bit, so I trotted her over to old Jarvis and—um... suggested that they take a turn on the floor,” he muttered. “Whereupon he ups and says he ain’t dancing, looks at her like she was a slug or somethin,’ and turns on his heel.”

    Colonel Langford eyed him coldly. “Congratulations, Cornwallis, you have just undone months of assiduous fence-mendin’, more or less on the part of half the county.”

    “Eh? No, look here, to hear Percival tell it, half the county is gossipin’ their heads off about the two of them!” he cried.

    “Ssh. You damned idiot, they may be gossiping but until tonight they were also able to pretend there was nothing between the pair of them!”

    “Uh—oh. Hell,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

    “Oh,” said the Colonel with huge irony: “it may not be noticed: I dare say only half of half the county is here tonight.”

    “Look, Charles, if he’d simply danced with the woman there would have been no harm done!”

    “Oh, hold your peace, Leonard,” he said tiredly.

    Captain Cornwallis eyed him uncertainly.

    Charles Langford pulled his ear slowly with his good hand. “I dare say she will ride out the storm, if storm there be. She’s hard enough.”

    “Mm.”

    “But one or two of us were hoping that he might manage not to give a certain other lady the worst possible impression of, let us say, his character and conduct.”

    The Captain looked at him limply. “Oh.”

    The Colonel sighed. “Go back to your damned ship, Leonard.”

    “Can’t. They’ve got me pushing papers at the Admiralty,” he said, scowling.

    “Serves you right,” replied the Colonel sourly, walking out of the kala jugga.

    In the wake of the Nettlefold Hall dance Mrs Waldgrave was highly gratified to receive a visit from Mr Simon Golightly, with a posy for Amanda. He had rid over from the Deanery and, not being accustomed to the exercise with a large bunch of flowers in the hand, had crushed the blooms somewhat; but Mrs Waldgrave’s gratification was not diminished by this inessential point. She chatted to him most graciously and served a pot of the good tea. Miss Amanda appeared vague but pleased, and Simon, telling her a lot about the farm he rather thought he might be interested in over near Turpen’s Way, did not register that the ladylike stitchery in which she was occupied consisted of the construction of some favours for the bonnet, shoulder, etcetera, from purple satin ribbon.

    In the wake of the Nettlefold Hall dance Mr Butterworth, piqued by Miss Patterson’s, as he considered it, cavalier treatment of him, transferred his attentions to her younger sister. Miss Rosalind, it must be confessed, greeted the appearance of a beaming Mr Butterworth in her Mamma’s blue salon with a posy for herself in his hand, with a horrified shrinking; and Mrs Patterson greeted it with a cool neutrality; but Mr Butterworth was undeterred: after all, she was the younger sister, and not in the first blush. And she was a quiet, well-behaved young woman who would make a conformable parson’s wife. Added to which was the not inconsiderable point that the Pattersons were a wealthy family and her portion could scarcely be meagre. Whereas Miss Waldgrave, to name but one, would bring her bridegroom very little beyond her trousseau.

    In the wake of the Nettlefold Hall dance Mrs Marsh decided grimly that if the Prince imagined he could play fast and loose with her affections, he had another think coming. She could not immediately decide whether she would show him that two could play at that game, and run the risk of losing him, or simply make herself irresistible to him. In order to do the latter she would, of course, have to be very sure what constituted irresistible in that particular gentleman’s eyes, but that would not be impossible.

    And in the meantime, the odd little dinner party en famille might not come amiss. Well, on second thoughts, not quite en famille, for a prince. But most certainly not the Pattersons, while that swine Cornwallis was with them! And not the Somertons: she did not trust Mrs Somerton, after the scene with damned Jarvis. And the little daughter had been making sheep’s eyes at the Prince all night. It was true she had no figure to speak of, but she was a lively little thing, and— Kitty did not voice, even to herself, the thought that Lacey had youth on her side. But she did decide it should not be the Somertons. So… Well, Mr Bottomley-Pugh? He was not a gentleman, but he was extremely wealthy and very interested in herself. And his daughter could keep Teddy amused, while Susannah could have the son. Yes: splendid! The Bottomley-Pughs it would be!

    Kitty, it must be admitted, did not spare Miss Burden’s feelings so much as a glancing thought after the dance. She did, however, reflect that damned Jarvis would be served out nicely for insulting her like that, if the mousey little nobody gave him his congé. And made a mental note to get a report every day from Susannah and Jenny of just who had called at Bluebell Dell, and what the outcome of the call had been.

    The Earl, in the wake of the Nettlefold Hall dance, felt that he was getting nowhere with Miss Burden. Even when she did turn up at one of the damned rural jollifications, it was impossible to hold a conversation with her: the situation was too public. He had best lay his cards on the table—put the proposition to her frankly.

    In the wake of the Nettlefold Hall dance the Prince said to his old friend and comrade: “Hot pursuit, is what we may now expect, Peter Ivanovich.”

    “So you did blow hot and cold, Alexei Alexandrovich, your Royalness?”

    “Aye: said I would, and I did. She’s hopping mad as well as hot for it. Couldn’t be better, could it? For no-one will be able to say,” he said, looking pious, “that it was I who did the pursuing.”

    “You want to watch it, Alexei Alexandrovich, you’ll end up with her fortune in your pocket,” noted Mr Hartington sardonically.

    “Lud, would not that be a tragic dénouement to our comedy of manners?” he drawled.

    “Gawdelpus, Sid, yer wouldn’t?” he gasped.

    “Er—well, as has been mentioned, it’s on offer, ain’t it?”

    Mr Harold Hartington goggled at him. “Did Joe have that in mind, when he sicced you onto her, though?”

    Alexei Alexandrovich replied with the glinting smile that had made Roland Lefayne one of the most courted actors in London: “I have no notion. But why look a gift-horse in its mouth?”

    On consideration, Mr Hartington, scratching his head, had to concede: Why, indeed?

    It was a great pity that the conspirators could not have known in advance that Sid’s blowing hot and cold would produce a result which was diametrically opposed to the desired one. True, it had spurred Mrs Marsh on to hot pursuit of the Prince. But it had also contributed in no small measure to the bitterness which had induced her to speak so spitefully to Miss Burden. And, after all, the real aim of Mr Bottomley-Pugh’s cunning plot was to leave Miss Burden as the sole contender for his Lordship’s hand. But if Miss Burden’s feelings towards Lord Sleyven had been softening a little over the past month—and Miss Burden was not nearly ready to admit to herself that they had—they now hardened again. She determined that if he should call again, with or without flowers, and no matter who else might be sitting with her at the time, she would have Hawkins say she was not at home.

Next chapter:

https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/12/proposals-and-disposals.html