Джорджетт Хейер - The Convenient Marriage

She clutched his wrist. “Rule, it—it was not you?” she squeaked.

“But of course it was, Horry. Did you think I would let you lose to Lethbridge?”

“Oh!” cried Horatia on a sob. “Oh, I am so th-thankful!” She let go of his wrist. “But I d-don’t understand. How did you know? Where were you?”

“In the next box to yours.”

“The m-man in the black d-domino? Then—then it was you who trod on my g-gown?”

“You see, I had to contrive that you should be out of the way for a few moments,” he apologized.

“Yes, of course,” nodded Horatia, quite appreciating this. “It was very c-clever of you, I think. And when I c-came back and thought your voice odd—that was you?”

“It was. I flatter myself I imitated Lethbridge’s manner rather well. I admit that the noise those fiddles made helped me.”

She was frowning again. “Yes, b-but I don’t understand quite. D-did Robert exchange d-dominoes with you?”

A laugh lurked in his eyes. “It was not precisely an exchange. I—er—took his, and hid my own under a chair.”

Horatia was regarding him keenly. “D-didn’t he mind?”

“Now I come to think of it,” said the Earl pensively, “I am afraid I forgot to ask him.”

She came a little nearer. “Marcus, did you m-make him give it to you?”

“No,” replied the Earl. “I—er—took it.”

“T-took it? But why did he let you?”

“He really had no choice in the matter,” said his lordship.

She drew a long breath. “You m-mean you took it by f-force? And didn’t he do anything? What became of him?”

“I imagine that he went home,” said the Earl calmly.

“W-went home! Well, I n-never heard of anything so poor-spirited!” exclaimed Horatia, with disgust.

“He could hardly do anything else,” said the Earl. “Perhaps I ought to explain that the gentleman had the—er—misfortune to fall into the lily-pond.”

Horatia’s lips parted. “Rule, d-did you push him in?” she asked breathlessly.

“You see I had to dispose of him somehow,” said his lordship. “He was really quite de trop, and the lily-pond so conveniently situated.”

Horatia gave up all attempt to preserve her gravity, and went off into a peal of laughter. “Oh, R-Rule, how famous! I w-wish I had seen it!” A thought occurred to her; she said quickly: “He w-won’t call you out, will he?”

“Alas, I fear there is no likelihood of that,” Rule replied. “You see, Horry, you are my wife—a circumstance that makes Lethbridge’s position a little awkward.”

She was not satisfied. “R-Rule, suppose he tries to do you a m-mischief?” she said anxiously.

“I hardly think he would succeed,” said Rule, unconcerned.

“W-well, I don’t know, but I wish you will take care, Marcus.”

“I promise you you need have no fear for me, my dear.”

She looked a trifle uncertain, but allowed the matter to drop. She said rather gruffly: “And perhaps you will tell Lady M-Massey that it was you all the time?”

His mouth hardened. “Lady Massey,” he said deliberately, “need not trouble you—in any way, Horry.”

She said with difficulty: “I think I would rather you told her, sir. She—she looked at me in a way that—in a way that—”

“It will not be necessary for me to tell Lady Massey anything,” said Rule. “She will not, I think, mention what happened last night.”

She glanced up at him, puzzled. “Did she know then that it was you?”

He smiled rather grimly. “She did indeed know it,” he replied.

“Oh!” Horatia digested this. “Were you going to t-tell me all this if I hadn’t t-told you?” she asked.

“To be frank with you, Horry, no: I was not,” Rule answered. “You will have to forgive my stupidity. I did not think that you would tell me.”

“W-well, I don’t think I should have told you if Lady M-Massey hadn’t seen me,” said Horatia candidly. “And I d-don’t suppose Robert would have explained it, because it m-makes him look quite ridiculous. And I w-wouldn’t have spoken to him again. Now I see, of course, that he did not behave so very b-badly after all, though I must say I d-don’t think he should have proposed that stake, do you?”

“Most certainly I do not.”

“No. Well, I won’t have him for a friend, Rule!” said Horatia handsomely. “You won’t m-mind if I am civil to him, will you?”

“Not at all,” Rule replied. “I am civil to him myself.”

“I d-don’t call it civil to push a person into a p-pond,” objected Horatia. She caught sight of the clock. “Oh, I said I would d-drive out with Louisa! Only look at the time!” She prepared to depart. “There is one thing that makes me very c-cross,” she said, frowning at him. “It was odious of you to l-let me win the second game!”

He laughed, and caught her hands, pulling her towards him. “Horry, shall we consign Louisa to the devil?” he suggested.

“N-no, I must go,” Horatia answered, suddenly shy. “B-besides, she hasn’t seen my landaulet!”

The landaulet, the possession of which was enough to set any lady in the forefront of fashion, was glitteringly bright and new, having only just come from the coach-maker. Lady Louisa duly admired it, pronounced it to be extremely comfortable, and was so obliging as to say that she had not in the least minded being kept waiting over half an hour. Since she had shopping to do in Bond Street the coachman was instructed to drive there first, and the two ladies leaned back against the cushions and embarked on a discussion concerning the proper kind of ribbons to wear with a ball dress of green Italian taffeta for which Lady Louisa had just purchased two ells of stuff. By the time the rival merits of ribbons a Vinstant, a Vattention, au soupir de Venus, and a great many others had been fully weighed, the carriage drew up outside a fashionable milliner’s, and the ladies went in to select a branch of artificial flowers which Lady Louisa hoped to make bearable a hat she had bought two days ago, and quite detested already.

It was naturally impossible for Horatia to visit a milliner without purchasing something on her own account, so when the flowers had been selected, she tried on a number of hats, and bought finally an enormous confection composed chiefly of stiff muslin in Trianon grey, which was labelled, not without reason, “Grandes Pretentions’. There was a collet monte gauze scarf in the same delectable shade of grey, so she bought that as well. A cap a la glaneuse caught her eye as she was about toJeave the shop, but she decided not to add that to her purchases, Lady Louisa having had the presence of mind to declare that it made her look rather prim.

Horatia was just a little nervous of her sister-in-law, whom she suspected of disapproving of her, but Lady Louisa was behaving quite delightfully, and had not suggested by so much as a look that she thought it extravagant of Horry to buy that hat. She had even said that it was ravishing, so when they stepped into the landaulet again Horatia was feeling more friendly towards Louisa than she ever remembered to have felt before.

This was precisely what Lady Louisa wanted. As the carriage moved forward she pointed her furled sunshade at the coachman’s back, and said: “My dear, how much does he hear of what one says?”

“Oh, n-nothing!” Horatia assured her. “He is very d-deaf, you know. D-didn’t you notice how I have to shout at him?”

“I fear it would take me an age to grow used to an open carriage,” sighed Lady Louisa. “But if he is really deaf—my dear, there was something I wanted to say to you. That is—no, I don’t want to say it at all, but I think I ought to, for I know Rule never would.”

Horatia’s smile faded. “Indeed?” she said.

“I detest people who interfere,” said her ladyship hastily, “but I do feel you have a right to know why you shouldn’t admit Lord Lethbridge to your friendship.”

“I am aware, L-Louisa,” said Horatia stiffly. “His r-reputa-tion—”

“It isn’t that, my love. Only he, and Rule, and I know, and Rule won’t tell you because he’d never give me away, bless him!”

Horatia turned, round-eyed. “G-give you away, Louisa?” Lady Louisa sank her voice to a confidential murmur, and started bravely to tell her sister-in-law just what had happened in a mad spring-tide seven years ago.

At about the same moment that Lady Louisa was engaged laying bare her past history for Horatia’s inspection, Lord Lethbridge was being admitted into a house in Hertford Street. Declining the footman’s escort he walked up the stairs to the saloon overlooking the street, where Lady Massey was impatiently awaiting him.

“Well, my dear,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I am flattered of course, but why am I summoned so urgently?”

Lady Massey was staring out of the window but she wheeled about. “You had my billet?”

He raised his brows: “If I had not, Caroline, I should not be here now,” he said. “It is not my practice to pay morning calls.” He put up his glass and critically surveyed her through it. “Allow me to tell you, my cherished one, that you are looking something less than your usual incomparable self. Now what can be amiss?”

She took a step towards him. “Robert, what happened at Ranelagh last night,” she shot at him.

His thin fingers tightened perceptibly about the shaft of his quizzing glass, his eyes, narrowed to mere slits, stared across at her. “At Ranelagh...” he repeated. “Well?”

“Oh, I was there!” she replied. “I heard you speak to that little fool. You went into the pavilion. What happened then?”

He had let his glass fall and drawn a snuff-box from his pocket. He tapped it with one finger and opened it. “And pray what is that to you, Caroline?” he asked.