Eligible Partis

9

Eligible Partis

  
    By the time the second visit to Almack’s, which had been intended to be the first, was due to take place, the Miss Parkers were beginning to feel pretty well settled in town.

    The promised horse-riding with Gwendolyn Dewesbury had eventuated and the expeditions had now become a regular thing. Various gentlemen had soon become aware that a bevy of equestrienne beauty was to be seen in the Park in the mornings, and whether it was Sir Noël Amory, Mr Wilfred Rowbotham, Mr Shirley Rowbotham and Mr “Val” Valentine, with or without Lieutenant Wheldon, or Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon, who most fortunately for himself was a close friend of Captain Dewesbury, or Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine, or a selection of these gentlemen, the girls never lacked an escort. It would not have been quite clear to an unbiassed observer’s eye exactly which of the young ladies was admired by which of the young gentlemen; and Quentin Dewesbury for one frankly admitted that for him the great attraction was the “twin stars.”

    It was not absolutely clear, either, how this phrase had got about, but it had certainly begun to be used rather often in polite society. The Parker cousins had not yet taken the town by storm, but perhaps that unbiassed observer might have said with some justice that they were on the way to doing so.

    The second visit to Almack’s was much more successful than the first. Or at least the younger ladies felt it to be so, not realizing that this feeling was largely due to the fact that they now knew not a few young gentlemen and, if they were largely the same young gentlemen whom they had encountered on the first occasion, they were now much more accustomed to making conversation with them. And vice versa. On this occasion Lady Lavinia Dewesbury’s party more or less as a matter of course .joined up with Lady Tarlington’s, and if the latter was not best pleased to see that Gwendolyn’s flaxen prettiness, though in a rather different style, bid fair to rival Dimity’s glowing golden looks and Fliss’s delightful buttery curls, she was not displeased to have been so publicly taken up by one of the most exclusive ladies of the Upper Ten Thousand. And then, Quentin Dewesbury was a personable young man who would be an excellent catch for any of the girls! For her part, Lady Lavinia still had definite hopes of both Aden Tarlington and his cousin Lord Harpingdon for Gwendolyn, and of Miss Dimity for Quentin. Being blissfully unaware of her son’s feeling in the matter of twin stars.

    If Fliss, Dimity, and Gwendolyn unaffectedly enjoyed the evening at Almack’s very much and even Henry found it tolerable, the older ladies of the party, however, were not so happy. Mr Tarlington did not gratify either his mamma’s or Lady Lavinia’s hopes by putting in an appearance. Lord Harpingdon was present, and fulfilled his promise to Henrietta, but after soliciting Miss Parker’s hand and being quietly but firmly refused, he not long after departed the scene. Without having danced with either Gwendolyn or Felicity. Then, Sir Noël Amory, though he certainly danced with all four of the younger ladies, requested first a dance with Miss Parker. Though he also was refused. It was very clear to the two mammas that he turned to the younger girls only as second-best. It was no satisfaction to either Lady Tarlington or Lady Lavinia to perceive that of the four dances, he very clearly enjoyed the one with Miss Henrietta the most.

    A very similar sequence of events took place at the Snodgrass ball. Except that Lord Harpingdon was not present. And except, also, that Mr Bobby Amory was present, and went straight to Miss Parker’s side. When she did not dance with him he led Dimity onto the floor, but the older persons present perceived that he was but humouring her, when he smiled and flirted amiably. He then compounded the felony by ignoring all the other young ladies present at what was generally agreed to be the first real squeaze of the Season, and sitting out three dances in a row in Miss Parker’s company. For the last of which he was joined by Wilfred Rowbotham, very evidently in a state of annoyed jealousy.

    Lady Tarlington made the mistake of complaining bitterly to her eldest son about these matters.

    He shrugged. “Cousin Alfreda is much admired. It appears the fellows ain’t blind, after all,” he noted.

    “I hope you have informed Wilfred Rowbotham the girl is penniless!” she snapped.

    Mr Tarlington shrugged again.

    “And I suppose you do not care that Sir Noël Amory is become quite particular in his attentions to Henrietta! That cat Elvira Quayle-Sturt had the impertinence to draw it to my attention only last night!”

    Mr Tarlington’s nostrils flared slightly but he merely drawled: “Thought you was bosom bows? Or have you dropped her now that you is taken up by the Hammonds?”

    His mamma replied angrily: “I have not been taken up by the Hammonds: I have barely addressed two words in my entire life to the Marquis of Rockingham; and I resent the implication that a Gratton-Gordon needs to be taken up by anyone!”

    “Do you, indeed, ma’am? Well, I would not think that a Hammond, at all events, would launch young ladies into Society for remuneration,” he said in a hard tone.

    “How did you—” Lady Tarlington broke off. “And if I do,” she said sulkily, “it is because you allow me only the most meagre pin-money, and I will not have it!”

    “Rubbish. Well, you will certainly not have it if you indulge in deep basset with the Quayle-Sturt female. However, I should warn you, ma’am, that you may discontinue your attempts to treat our name and my sister’s home alike as marketable commodities.”

    “You are cruel and unfeeling and miserly, Aden!” screamed his mamma.

    Mr Tarlington ignored this. and she promptly burst into tears. Since he also ignored these they did not last long and she soon blew her nose and gave him a vindictive look.

    “I suppose it has not occurred to you,” he said on a very dry note, “that far from lamenting my Parker cousins’ attaching of some very eligible gentlemen, you should be doing your best to encourage it?”

    “At your sister’s expense?” she cried.

    “Rubbish. Neither Noël nor Wilf has ever looked twice at her. –Just reflect,” he drawled sardonically: “would it not be a signal triumph to marry off all four young ladies from under your roof in the one Season?”

    “Alfreda is very far from young, and if you imagine Bobby Amory has a single serious thought in his head— Oh.”

    Aden eyed her mockingly. “Quite.” He went over to the door, but paused and said: “Mamma, I meant what I said. You are not to accept remuneration for launching young ladies. And if you are badly dipped at play you are to come to me instantly.”

   Lady Tarlington was now deep in thought. “Yes, yes, very well,” she said, waving him away impatiently.

    “I mean it.”

    “Yes. Only I have already received the money for the Parkers. –I know! I shall hold— No, the weather is not warm enough as yet for an al fresco breakfast... Wait, Aden! Do you think the Amorys would care to accompany us for a drive to—well, say Richmond?”

    Mr Tarlington merely rolled his eyes and went out, shutting the door rather sharply behind him.

    “Yes... Or a rout party?” said Lady Tarlington to herself. “No: stay: make up a party for the opera?” The trouble with this last was of course that during the intervals undesirables might come and inflict themselves on the party. No, well, perhaps for a start, though? She became immersed in plots…

    “Well, now!” said the kindly Sir Lionel Dewesbury cheerfully. “This is something like!” He beamed upon the gathering of pretty girls in Lady Tarlington’s smaller salon.

   His spouse swallowed a sigh, and tried not to think “Something like what?” She had accepted the invitation for Gwendolyn’s and Quentin’s sakes, but a small dinner party at which there would not be a soul she could talk to, and which was to be followed by what their hostess had described as “An informal hop for the young people” was the most tedious sort of evening imaginable. Added to which, if Lionel were to develop an absurd partiality for one of the Parker girls, as he had done for Miss Amabel Maddern some few Seasons back, it would be, frankly, maddening beyond words! The genial Sir Lionel’s partialities were always completely innocent; nevertheless Lady Lavinia found them intensely irritating: he would beam so fatuously upon the young lady of his choice! And engage her in close conversation regardless of whether the unfortunate Miss wished to be so engaged!

    Resignedly she made him known to the company. Hitherto his partiality had generally been for plump little blondes, Miss Amabel having been a case in point, so she was rather surprized to see his face brighten considerably as he bowed over Miss Henrietta Parker’s hand and to hear him say: “Well, well, well! So this is the little lady of whose intrepidity on a horse we have been hearing so much, lately!” At least, surprized at his choice of recipient of this speech, not alas, surprized by its content. Or its fatuity.

    About two seconds after that he was asking the poor girl if she liked music—it being his own passion—and Lady Lavinia was silently recognizing that the next move would have to be an invitation to the Parkers to join them in Sir Lionel’s box at the opera. Lady Lavinia was not musical. Had she not been a lady she would very probably have closed her eyes and groaned deeply at this point.

    It had not occurred to Lady Tarlington, so eager had she been to balance her table whilst inviting gentlemen who might be supposed to be likely candidates, that in addressing invitations to Sir Lionel Dewesbury, Mr Bobby Amory, Sir Noël Amory, and Mr Rowbotham all for the same event, she was making a fatal error. For Mr Bobby Amory and Sir Lionel were old acquaintances, if Sir Lionel was a fair few years the elder, and when the baronet was not cheerfully attempting to monopolize Henrietta’s big lapis lazuli eyes and riotous black curls, he was attempting to monopolize Bobby Amory. Then, Mr Bobby, his nephew, and Wilfred Rowbotham were all in some sort rivals for Miss Parker’s hand. If Sir Noël, with a good enough grace, sought out Henrietta (when Sir Lionel had not done so), Felicity, or Dimity, neither Mr Bobby nor Mr Rowbotham did. In fact Mr Rowbotham captured Alfreda for the very first dance and then behaved most exceedingly like a dog guarding his bone for the remainder of the evening. And Bobby Amory this time did not even bother to pretend to take an amiable interest in Dimity.

    The Parkers had not seen very much of the charming Mr Amory since that first time, when he had appeared so struck by Alfreda. This was partly because, as the Season got under way, he was very much in demand, for in the right circles he could be a witty conversationalist and in other circles he could be trusted to entertain the most dragonish of dowagers without abating his amiable manner one whit. And partly because on mature reflection he had decided he had better avoid Miss Parker’s vicinity for a little. Until he had thought it all out.

    He had now had a chance to think it all out—though it must be admitted that after seeing her again at the Snodgrass ball, an encounter which had not been planned, emotion had entered into the process very nearly as much as reasoned thought. And had decided that, although he was not a rich man, and although Alfreda was known to have no portion, he could well afford to marry, and was not too old for her nor she too young for him; and that although he had for some years past enjoyed a delightful liaison with a lady who had a pretty establishment, if not quite in Green Street itself, then just off Green Street, Hermione had of late become both too clinging and too capricious, and although the husband was normally not in town and markedly complaisant, it was not at all likely, as Hermione had begun to hint, that he would look with complaisance upon the idea of a divorce bill. And even if he should, there was the name to think of. Bobby Amory, as a younger son who had had two older brothers, had never had to think much of the name before, or indeed of anything but his own pleasure, but he did think of it now, and decided that an Amory could not possibly marry a divorced woman. And if he did they would have to go and live quietly in Ostend, or some such God-forsaken hole. Added to which the idea of living fulltime with Hermione was, frankly, appalling.

    So he had given the fair Hermione her congé. He would have done so had he never met Alfreda Parker, but perhaps not quite so soon. There had been an appalling scene, which Bobby had quite expected, and, as he had also quite expected, she had flung his farewell gift at his head. He was a generous and not unkindly man and it had not been some trivial china ornament. but a very fine bracelet of diamonds and rubies. So it had not shattered. Bobby left it where it lay, where meaner men might well have felt justified in picking it up and walking out with it. Hermione had felt justified in retaining it. Bobby had not expected otherwise.

    Now he held Miss Parker’s charming form in the waltz and said with a tiny laugh: “At last! Is this not all that is delightful? –Do not feel you must answer that, my dear Miss Parker! But I assure you it is what I, for my part, am feeling!”

    “Yes,” said Alfreda faintly.

    Mr Amory, experienced though he was with women, was not experienced with modest young women from country vicarages, so he did not realize that she was feeling horridly embarrassed and wishing very much that she had not consented to dance with him. He laughed again and said: “I am so very glad that you feel able to agree! I thought I was never going to be able to fight off that fellow, Rowbotham, and hack my way to your side!”

    “Yes—no,” said Miss Parker faintly. “Mr Rowbotham has been very—uh…”

    “Pesky?” murmured Bobby naughtily.

    “No! Attentive!” she gasped.

    “Mm I noticed that. Indeed, the whole town has noticed that.”

    “What? Oh, no!” gasped Alfreda.

     Mr Amory was not displeased to perceive that she did not seem entirely enthusiastic about his rival’s courtship. He murmured: “I assure you. I think they are counting the posies he sends you, indeed.”

    Of course the girls had made a joke of it, but it had never occurred to Alfreda that Mr Rowbotham’s floral pursuit of her might have caused remark outside her immediate family circle: she was very shaken and gasped without thinking: “Lady Tarlington made me carry this!”

    Bobby was very glad to know it; he had not failed to remark her delicious little posy of white rosebuds, in exquisite taste, and had been very sure it must be one of Wilfred’s. “Oh? So she approves of his pursuit of you?”

    “I— Oh, dear: please do not, Mr Amory,” said Alfreda faintly.

     He laughed, squeezed her hand and said: “Well, he is a decent fellow, after all, and I will not teaze you! But it is generally considered to be encouragement to a gentleman, you know, to carry his posy.”

    “I know,” said Alfreda, biting her lip.

    Bobby frowned a little and said in a lowered voice: “Dear Miss Parker, l would not for the world wish to pry, but are you not very happy in Lady Tarlington’s house?”

    “I— Oh, no! Pray, Mr Amory! She—she has been very good to us!” she gulped.

    Probably quite half of the Upper Ten Thousand was aware, if Aden Tarlington had not been, why it was that Lady Tarlington took young women into her house to launch them into Society. In this matter, Bobby Amory, as he was in most matters of town gossip, was certainly one of the initiate. He said on a grim note: “I am sure. But you must not fancy yourself quite without friends in London, you know: may I say that you could tell me anything that might be troubling you?”

    “Thank you. You are very kind,” whispered Alfreda.

    He was silent for a moment; then he said: “One could not be otherwise, with you, Miss Parker. M’nephew Noël tells me that you often ride out with your relatives and Miss Dewesbury in the Park of a morning. Would it be hoping too much to see you there tomorrow?”

    Alfreda swallowed. “I believe Miss Dewesbury does intend it. If we are not too late tonight.”

    “Well, splendid! Then I may hope to see you there?”

    Alfreda’s hand moved a little in his: Bobby’s heart pounded; he was unaware that his face had taken on an urgent expression that was most unlike his usual pleasantly urbane demeanour.

    Alfreda glanced up at him timidly and caught the expression; and caught also the fact, though without nearly expressing it to herself, that he was a very attractive man who was very excited by her; and said with a little uncertain laugh: “Well, I expect I shall be there, yes!”

    At this his face crinkled into a gratified smile which was more nearly the sort of expression ladies were used to see on the charming, regular features which were very like his nephew’s, and he said gaily: “In that case they will have to shackle me in irons to keep me away!”

    Alfreda blushed very much and did not know where to look, and Bobby Amory was very satisfied indeed. He began skilfully to draw her out on the subject of her home and the countryside thereabouts.

    “Well, damn the fellow,” muttered Wilfred Rowbotham, glaring at the pair.

    Mr Shirley Rowbotham—invited in order to make up the numbers—pointed out, not altogether unkindly: “Well, ain’t he a gazetted flirt? Not to be wondered at, old man. Besides, ain’t she carrying your flowers? And she has already danced twice with you.”

    “Yes, well, that’s true,” he muttered. “Wonder what made her change her mind?”

    “Eh?”

    Reddening, Wilfred explained: “Last time I saw her—would have been the damned Snodgrass ball, I think—she would not take the floor with me.”

    “Oh. Uh—would she with him? Amory?”

    “Well, no,” he said, scowling. “Sat out with him for a damned age, though.”

    “Oh, well, there you have it!” said the Oxford man brilliantly. “Aden’s mamma will have ordered the girl to dance—make a push to attract your interest. Uh, generally speaking, old boy, not you in particular!” he added hurriedly.

    “Why do you not hold your peace, Shirley, you is a damned little gabster!” said his brother bitterly, walking away from him.

    “What did I say?” muttered the crestfallen Oxford man.

    Over on a small green sofa he was the subject of comment, although fortunately for his peace of mind the inexperienced Mr Shirley did not realize it. Gwendolyn had said airily: “Possibly iridescent waistcoats are all the crack in Oxford, for evening wear,” and Henry and Fliss had dissolved into giggles.

    Fliss then gasped: “I would call it flashing, rather than merely iridescent!”

    More helpless giggles.

    Henry wiped her eyes. “I tell you what it will be: he is a sentimental and kind-hearted young man, and his elderly aunt knitted it from the remains of a spangled gauze gown she had as a girl, and he wears it in her memory!”

    This went down very well.

    “Or mayhap it is a piece of one of his mamma’s petticoats, from the days of hoop skirts and powdered wigs!” squeaked Gwendolyn.

    That was a success, too. In fact Fliss gasped: “Nay: his grandmamma’s!” and they all collapsed again.

    “On the other hand,” said Gwendolyn dulcetly when they were almost over that, “my grandmamma has a sofa covered in very nearly the same brocade.”

    That went over really almost the best of all.

    If Quentin Dewesbury was not the brightest young man about town, or even in the hussar regiment which his tall, broad-shouldered form adorned, he was not as thick as some, and he said with a shudder as Sir Noël pointed out the three young ladies were not dancing: “I wouldn’t go over there for a thousand pounds, dear fellow!”

    Sir Noël took another look at the sofa. “Nor I. Not if you made it guineas.”

    After the obligatory sniggering fit the gallant Captain said: “No, but they is all good-lookin’ girls, the Parkers, do you not find?”

    “Mm. Damned pity your papa keeps kidnapping one or other of the twin stars,” noted Sir Noël drily, eyeing the complacent Sir Lionel. Possibly he had transferred his burgeoning affections from the dark star to the golden: at all events he was now ensconced on a sofa with Dimity. He was not doing anything so improper as holding her hand, but he was looking as if he would like to.

    “He’ll be boring on about his damned musical evening. Poor little soul!” said Quentin with feeling.

    “Oh? Is he planning one?”

    “Planning several,” he reported glumly. “But yes, he is to have one quite soon. Dare say Lady Naseby may play at it. He was hopin’ for m’cousin Rockingham but could not get him. You ever heard him play?”

    Sir Noël’s pale sherry eyes twinkled but he replied solemnly: “Indeed, I have had that privilege. The Marquis is one of the finest pianists I have ever heard.”

    “Oh,” he said. “Well, so m’father maintains. For myself, I would a thousand times rather see him fight!”

    Sir Noël agreeing that the Marquis of Rockingham could take on any man up to the great Jackson himself with a fair chance of flooring him, the conversation became considerably less aesthetic in tone.

    By now Lady Tarlington was regarding the disposition of the protagonists in her music room, which was where the little hop was being held, with some dismay. The only one of her charges to be dancing was Alfreda, the late Mr Parker’s heiress was sitting with a married man, and the other girls were in a giggly huddle. And if ever there was anything calculated to put the gentlemen off—!

    Aden was now leaning against a wall talking to Mr Shirley Rowbotham; Lady Tarlington excused herself politely to Lady Lavinia, and went off to buttonhole him.

    “Aden,” she said grimly, having pulled him bodily away from Mr Shirley: “if you do not immediately do something, I shall fall into strong hysterics!”

    “Lionel Dewesbury’s like that,” said Aden immediately. “Quite harmless.”

    “Cannot you break it up?”

    “No. Well, only if you want me to suggest a hand of piquet.”

    “You will do no such thing!” she hissed.

    “Er—well—whist?” he said with a shrug. “But be warned: Lady Lavinia is used to play with the Countess Lieven and her set.”

    Lady Tarlington bit her lip. “We must do something!”

    “Whist, then.”

    “Good.” She caught at his sleeve. “And please, Aden, request your friends to invite the girls to dance!

    “Your wish is my command, ma’am.” He turned round and before his mother could move or utter said loudly: “Shirley, you will instantly invite my sister to dance, or risk bein’ sent down!”

    Grinning, Mr Shirley said: “Oh, I’ve come down, you know! Er—of course, old boy,” he added hurriedly, catching sight of Aden’s mamma’s face. “Only too delighted!”

    “That enough?” said Aden, turning back to his mother.

    “Go and get Sir Lionel,” she returned grimly.

    “Very well. Only which of ’em shall I sic onto Dimity? Wilf is in the sulks, and Noël may not look it, but he isn’t much better. Young Dewesbury?”

    “Yes. Ideal.”

    He raised his eyebrows. “Thought you was lining him up for Fliss? –Very well.” He strolled off and could be seen apparently addressing Captain Dewesbury in the same terms as he just had young Shirley. Certainly the hussar laughed very much and saluted him. Lady Tarlington was glad she could not hear.

    Lady Lavinia agreed to a hand of whist with such alacrity that, even though she knew that she had a passion for the game, Lady Tarlington had the sinking feeling that her guest must be feeling fully as bored as she had feared.

    The following morning Fliss and Dimity elected to have their sleep in, after the party. So it was only Miss Parker and Henrietta who received Gwendolyn, Captain Dewesbury, the horses from Sir Lionel’s stable, two grooms, and two other ladies and a young gentleman.

    “Do you know my friend, Lady May Claveringham?” said Gwendolyn gaily. “And this is her sister, Lady Jane Claveringham. Oh, and their cousin, Mr Edward Claveringham.”

    Miss Parker acknowledged the introductions and mentioned that she had met Lady Sarah Claveringham; her sisters smiled and explained that Sarah did not care for riding. Mr Edward, a slight, inoffensive-looking gentleman of the inarticulate variety, looked at Henry with terrific admiration but did not dare to say anything very much.

    Lady May, who was, as she immediately revealed, in her first Season, was quite a captivating little person: small and light-boned, with a laughing, rather crooked little pointed face, big sparkling hazel eyes and crisp light brown curls. Her sister, who must be, Miss Parker at least realized, the eldest Claveringham daughter and therefore in some sort playing chaperone to her little sister, was also brown-haired, but her curls were limper, her eyes, also hazel, had a softer look, and her expression was somewhat meek, and truth to tell, thought the kind-hearted Alfreda, a little downtrodden. They were both mounted on very quiet-looking hacks and it was not very long at all before Lady May was confiding to Henry, laughing, that her mount was a terrible slug but Mamma would not permit her to ride anything livelier.

    “For myself I confess I prefer a quiet horse; and I am rather fond of my old Brownie,” said Lady Jane to Alfreda, patting her mount’s neck and smiling shyly.

    “Oh, I, too: we have just such a dear old horse at home, and his name is Brownie, too!” said Alfreda, laughing a little.

    Lady Jane smiled and asked politely where her home was, and they all progressed slowly down the street in a body.

    They had not been in the Park very long before, sure enough, Mr Bobby Amory was seen coming towards them. And no sooner had he joined them—Miss Parker, since no-one else seemed to be volunteering to do so, very properly making sure he knew everybody—than from another direction two more familiar figures were espied: Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine and his brother, Lord Harpingdon.

    This time it was Bobby Amory who made sure that everyone knew everyone else, and he did so with an air of proprietorship that did not escape Harpingdon, at least.

    Captain Lord Rupert was rather splendid in regimentals this morning, and excused his appearance by saying he was due at the Horse Guards shortly, only as the place would not gallop off whilst he was not looking, he had thought it fairly safe to let it wait.

    “What is it you actually do, Lord Rupert?” asked Henry with interest.

    Lord Rupert made a face. “Dull stuff, Miss Henrietta. Ordnance, mostly. I will not bore you with it.”

    “But that is very interesting. Why, you have the whole picture of the movements of the British Army passing under your eyes: for an army must march on its stomach—and on its horse fodder and tents and gunpowder!” ended Henry with a gurgle.

    “Sounds all right in theory, Miss Henrietta,” he said sadly, shaking his head. “Dull work in practice. Little bits of paper. And then they is mad as fire if one is mislaid.”

    “Fortunately he was not at the Horse Guards during the late conflict,” noted Harpingdon, ranging up on Henry’s other side.

    “Or we should all be speaking French: quite!” she choked.

    “Well, I was not cut out to be a clerk,” said Lord Rupert glumly.

    “Mr Tarlington mentioned, I think, that you were thinking of selling out?” she said kindly.

    Lord Rupert and his brother exchanged glances. “Aye, but Papa will not hear of it,” he admitted.

    “We think we may talk him round, however,” said Lord Harpingdon cheerfully. “May I ask if you have heard from your mamma, Miss Henrietta?”

    Henry replied with a smile that they had: they had had a very excited letter and Mrs Parker was due to arrive two weeks hence. Harpingdon expressed interest and soon Henry was chatting away confidingly about her family. She was a little surprized to have Lord Rupert then join in and ask her some quite searching questions about the local farms and the methods of cultivation thereabouts: but he was, as he explained, very much interested in country matters. Henry was able to give him very full answers: Lord Rupert was too absorbed to register surprize at this knowledge in a young lady, but Harpingdon reconfirmed his first impression that Henrietta was an intelligent girl, and looked at her with a quizzical but kindly little smile.

    Mr Amory meanwhile, having established himself at Miss Parker’s left, chatted entertainingly to her and Lady Jane, who was at her right, about Society personalities and events. He tempered his mode of speech considerably for the ears of these two unmarried ladies, but it was evident to Alfreda that he was very much a man of the world, with all the latest on-dits at his fingertips, and, she could not help thinking, with perhaps no very strong principles, if he was well-meaning enough. She found him very witty and entertaining, but saw that Lady Jane began to look uncomfortable, and after a while quietly but firmly changed the subject, beginning to chat about her little brothers and sisters.

    Mr Amory was quite astonished to have the reins of the conversation thus removed from his grasp; but after a moment he perceived why she had done it and, though he smiled a little wryly, joined them in bland and harmless chat. The little worried crease disappeared from Lady Jane’s forehead and she began to smile more easily and look much happier. And, what with the loss of her discomfort combined with the fresh air of the Park, really quite a lot prettier.

    Miss Parker, of course, did not neglect to lend an ear to the goings-on of Gwendolyn and Lady May, but though they were laughing quite a lot they were not doing so in an unladylike way, and Mr Edward Claveringham and Captain Dewesbury seemed to be behaving with propriety. And she could see that Henry was quite absorbed with Lord Harpingdon and his brother, though as they were a little ahead, she could not hear what they were saying. She smiled from time to time at nice, quiet Lady Jane and thought what a sweet person she was, and wondered a little about what her life must have been like, to give her that sad, worn expression. She smiled also at Mr Bobby Amory, for he was so very pleasant and likeable, after all. But could not forbear to wonder whether she was inadvertently giving a certain other gentleman the wrong impression: the which she did not in the least mean to, but what else could she do? Not that there was any reason to suppose that this gentleman would ever look twice at a portionless young woman from a country vicarage—and indeed, every reason to suppose that he would not.

    They had been riding for some little time when three more riders were seen approaching.

    “Oh, Lor’! We shall be enough to form a regiment!” said Lord Rupert with a laugh.

    “In that case you may be off to your desk, I’m sure it’s champin’ at the bit by now,” returned Captain Dewesbury with a chuckle, “and we shall be but a company! Hulloa, Aden!”

    Mr Tarlington looked at him with a very sardonic expression indeed and saluted briefly: the Captain laughed so much he nigh fell off his fine dapple grey. “Aye! Doin’ my duty!” he gasped. “I say, you know all these, do you?”

    Mr Tarlington and Sir Noël Amory, the latter bowing and smiling, agreed they knew all these; Mr Wilfred Rowbotham did not know Lady May, and so had to be introduced.

    Mr Tarlington apparently thought the acknowledgement that he knew the company sufficient, for he did not greet them all personally, but came up to Miss Parker and said: “Well, Cousin Alfreda! So you managed to get out of your bed, at all events!”

    “Yes, Cousin: Henry and I are generally early risers,” she said, smiling at him.

    “Appalling do last night, was it not?” he said with a grin.

    Poor Alfreda could hardly say so, with one of her main dance partners at her elbow. “It was very pleasant,” she replied repressively.

    “Ho! –See that little pleat at her lips? Charmin’, ain’t it?” he noted to Bobby. “Means she is lyin’ her head off, but will not let herself laugh.”

    “Please! Cousin!” gasped Alfreda, unable at this not to laugh. And also blush.

    Mr Tarlington looked very pleased with himself; Bobby Amory began to look annoyed. Lord Harpingdon, the party having come to a halt, was now near enough to have overheard the exchange: his lips tightened a little and he made no attempt to join in the conversation.

    Soon the company—or regiment—sorted itself out a little and, since Lord Rupert had now recollected he had heard Bobby knew of a fellow who was sellin’ up his teams and had drawn him aside in order to consult with him on the matter, Sir Noël took the place at Miss Parker’s side. Beating Mr Rowbotham to it by a short nose.

    “What a lovely morning it is, is it not?” he smiled.

    “Indeed. The air of the Park is so fresh at this time,” agreed Alfreda. “I so much enjoy my rides: it is so very kind of Sir Lionel Dewesbury to mount us.”

    “Indeed. And are you enjoying the morning, Lady Jane?” he asked kindly across Alfreda. “I think one does not often see you on a horse?”

    To Alfreda’s surprize, for clearly Lady Jane was not a very young woman, she did not seem at ease, returning a somewhat disjointed answer. Did she perhaps affect him? It was not unlikely: Sir Noël was a very attractive man. But, come to think of it, she had not seemed at ease when she greeted Mr Tarlington, nor Lord Harpingdon, earlier, either. As Sir Noël chatted easily, requiring only conventional replies to his remarks, it occurred to Alfreda that possibly the poor lady had one of those matchmaking mammas who had been throwing her relentlessly at these highly eligible partis. Oh, dear: poor, sweet, downtrodden Lady Jane! Whether this was so, or whether she did in fact affect the fashionable baronet was impossible to determine, but in either case Alfreda felt very sorry indeed for her new acquaintance and determined she would try to make a friend of her. Though this might not be easy: it had taken her a little time, but on Lady Jane’s mentioning her eldest brother, Lord Broughamwood, she had realized that her parents must be the Earl and Countess of Hubbel. Alfreda had not met either of them and she very much doubted that in the normal course of events a humble parson’s daughter ever would: they were extremely grand indeed.

    Had Alfreda been more au fait with the personalities of polite society she would have known that Lord and Lady Hubbel were famous as much for their cold, hard personalities as their exclusivity: the which certainly accounted in very large measure for Lady Jane’s downtrodden expression. Lady Jane was not quite thirty years of age and, since her formidable mamma had brought her out at seventeen, had now been on the town for some considerable time. She had spent the last several Seasons in abeyance, Lady Hubbel having successfully married off the two intervening daughters and then deciding to concentrate on Sarah instead—though that had not answered, either, and so May had been brought forward. Alfreda had not been mistaken in Lady Jane’s reaction to Harpingdon: this year the Countess of Hubbel was quite determined to bring about a match between Jane and Lord Blefford’s eldest son. It would be entirely suitable: the Narrowmines were an excellent old family, and if Jane was no longer in the first blush, Harpingdon was certainly no youngster himself. And Jane might count herself lucky that the Narrowmines were considering her, for she had passed up so many chances in the past!

    Poor Lady Jane had not passed up any chances, for no-one had ever offered for her, in spite of Lady Hubbel’s determined pursuit of such eligibles as Noël Amory and Aden Tarlington; but possibly her mamma merely meant she had not encouraged the gentlemen enough. Lady Jane liked Lord Harpingdon, for who could not; but she was not in love with him and if left to her own inclinations would certainly never have married him. But she was not capable of standing up to her mamma, let alone her papa, and if the thing had been only up to the Claveringhams, Harpy’s ring would have been on her finger by now.

    She had observed his Lordship’s approach with a sinking feeling; and could only be glad that he paid her no particular attentions during the ride. She knew she should make a push to speak first; but she also knew herself to be incapable of it.

    On their return from their ride Alfreda and Henry came into the morning-room to find that Fliss and Dimity were now up, and Dimity immediately cried, with a giggle: “You will never guess what has been delivered for you, Alfreda!”

    “Not another posy?” she said weakly.

    Inexplicably Fliss, who was very jealous of the attentions the gentlemen were paying to her portionless connection—though she did not desire these particular gentlemen for herself—went into a burst of giggles at this point.

    “Not precisely!” squeaked Dimity. She also went into a burst of giggles.

    “Do infatuated gentleman send anything but?” wondered Henry in a bored voice.

    “Oh! Don’t! You sound just like Aden!” gasped Fliss.

    Henry reddened a little. “Well, do they?”

    Dimity and Fliss exchanged glances. Dimity gave an explosive snort and clapped her hand over her mouth. Fliss gave a high-pitched squeak and did likewise.

    “Well, where is it, whatever it is?” said Miss Parker on a resigned note.

    “They!” squeaked Fliss.

    “Er—they.”

    Fliss gulped and wiped her eyes. “Taunton will bring them when I ring.”

    “Then pray ring, dear Fliss,” said Miss Parker with a sigh.

    “Just wait, Alfreda!” she predicted. “You will laugh, too!”

    Alfreda did not think she would laugh: Mr Rowbotham’s posies were becoming an embarrassment. In especial as Lady Tarlington now beamed upon the arrival of each one.

    Taunton entered, looking majestic. “You rang, Miss Felicity?”

    “Yes: please bring them in now, Taunton,” said Fliss eagerly.

    “Certainly, Miss. –Would you desire refreshment, perhaps, Miss Parker?”

    “A tray of tea would be most welcome, indeed, Taunton; although it is a beautifully fine day the air is somewhat fresh,” she said, smiling at him.

    “Indeed, Miss Parker. I shall send it up directly.” Taunton bowed and withdrew.

    The young ladies waited, Henry looking tolerant, Miss Parker looking resigned, and Fliss and Dimity looking as if they might burst.

    Taunton returned with a large tray—not his usual little salver at all—laden with floral offerings. Miss Parker’s hand went to her bosom.

    “Put it on the table, please, Taunton,” said Fliss with glee.

    Taunton did so. His majestic demeanour did not abate one jot but those who knew him well would have discerned a gleam in his eye.

    “How many are there?” croaked Alfreda as the door closed behind the butler’s majestic person.

    Dimity gave an ecstatic yelp. “Count!” squeaked Fliss.

    Alfreda picked up the nearest posy. A mixture of delicate white blooms interspersed with a few blue ones, and tied up with pale blue ribands. “This is for you, Dimity,” she murmured.

    Dimity and Fliss spluttered.

    “Good gracious: from Sir Lionel Dewesbury!” discovered Alfreda. Dimity and Fliss held onto each other in agony.

    Alfreda put it down. There was another exactly like it, except that the ribands were of a deeper blue. She picked it up in a palsied hand. “Henry—” she said in a strange voice.

    “What?” said Henry with a suspicious glare.

    Mutely Alfreda held the posy out.

    “This is some trick the two of you have dreamed up together, is it not?” said Henry loudly to the spluttering Dimity and Fliss.

    “No!” they cried in astonished indignation.

    Grimly Henry took the posy. “Hah, hah,” she said sourly.

    “Truly it was not us!” cried Dimity.

    “No. In any case. it could not have been us, Henry, we have spent all our pin-money,” Fliss reminded her.

    This was true. Henry bit her lip.

    “Read the message!” urged Dimity.

    There was a small envelope attached to the posy. Grimly Henry broke the wafer.

    “Well?” said Alfreda limply, observing the other two were shaking and clutching each other.

    “I have it! This is a joke you have dreamed up with your stupid brother, and he put up the money for the flowers!” said Henry angrily.

    “No! And if Aden had chosen the flowers, they would not be so pretty! Truly it is genuine, Henry!” cried Fliss.

    Henry read the note again. “It is hard to believe that anything this fatuous would not be genuine,” she conceded.

    “Is it that bad?” said Dimity eagerly.

    “What does yours say?” demanded Henry.

    Of course Dimity had already opened her envelope, and the tray was only for Alfreda’s and Henry’s benefit. She read it out: “Here: ‘To a Golden Star, with thanks for a delightful evening.’ What does yours say?”

    Henry bit her lip. “The same, only he has called me a Dark Star, and somehow it sounds so much—”

    “Worse!” screamed Dimity, collapsing in fresh paroxysms.

    Henry grinned. “Silly old buffer.”

    “Dearest, that is unkind! It was a kindly thought. And—and after all, he has a daughter of your age: perhaps he thought you girls might not have received many posies, as yet,” said Miss Parker weakly.

    “I suppose they are pretty,” Henry conceded.

    “But twin bouquets! And the reference to stars, when the whole world knows what you are being called in the clubs!” giggled Fliss.

    Miss Parker’s lovely brow furrowed. “What did you say, my dear?”

    Fliss bit her lip. “Cousin Rupert Narrowmine told me, last evening. Truly it is not indelicate, Alfreda! They are calling Dimity and Henry the ‘twin stars’.”

    Henry collapsed in sniggers.

    Miss Parker looked at the twin bouquets, and gulped.

    “Yes!” said Dimity pleasedly. “Is it not totally absurd? And if you are over that shock, dear Alfreda, do, pray, examine the other bouquets!”

    There were three large posies left. Alfreda picked up the pink one. “Very lovely: Mr Bobby Amory has exquisite taste,” she said firmly, ignoring the fact that her cheeks had gone as pink as the posy. And also the fact that all three of her young relatives were now sniggering.

    “Now the mixed blooms!” urged Fliss.

     Alfreda read the card. “Lovely: a very delicate mixture indeed.”

    Fliss snickered. “Yes: Mr Rowbotham is known also to have exquisite taste!”

    “Help, that makes four he has sent altogether,” said Henry in a hollow voice. “And he has asked her to go out driving with him tomorrow.”

    “No!” gasped Dimity excitedly. “Alfreda, is it not thrilling! How surprized Aunt Venetia will be, to know you have caught the eye of a such an elegant London gentleman!”

    “Such an elegant Pink, I think you mean. I should say Mamma will be staggered,” said Henry. “Did you remark his neckcloth last evening?”

    “Henry, it was a Mathematical, and the most elegant thing!” protested Fliss.

    “I would call it a Ridiculous,” said Henry firmly.

    “Girls, please!” cried Alfreda.

    “Read the card of the last one, Alfreda,” said Fliss, her eyes sparkling, “and you will see that Mr Rowbotham is not the only elegant Pink whose eye you have caught.” –The end of this speech was drowned by Dimity’s shrieks.

    “Ssh! Girls! It is not really a laughing matter, when a gentleman is so kind and thoughtful as to...” Alfreda’s voice trailed off. She stared numbly at the card attached to the posy of mixed delicate early roses and white camellias, with trailing ribbons. “Very lovely,” she managed.”

    Henry came to peer over her sister’s shoulder, quite sure that the girls’ excessive mirth was provoked by nothing except their age, their own giggly inclinations, and the fact of their having found themselves at a loose end of a morning. “What?” she gasped.

    The card said: “With compliments, Tobias Vane, Esq.” At least, the “Tobias Vane, Esq.” was printed on it, and an unknown hand had written the “With compliments.”

    “Er—yes,” said Alfreda valiantly: “Mr Vane did mention that he has a friend with a fine garden at—at Richmond, I think it was, who is very interested in the cultivation of roses and,”—she swallowed involuntarily—“the camellia.”

    “Of course!” choked Henry delightedly. “For tea is the leaf of a variety of camellia!”

    Dimity and Fliss shrieked, and collapsed in helpless giggles. Henry grinned pleasedly.

    Poor Alfreda was rather flushed. “Hush, my dears! It is not that funny. It is very sweet of him: they are lovely flowers.”

    “Not—only—that!” gasped Dimity.

    “No!” squeaked Fliss, wiping her eyes. “On the buh-back—”

    “Yes! Turn it over!” urged Dimity.

    Miss Parker took a deep breath and turned the card over. On it, in the same hand as the “With compliments”, was a short acrostic, which read: “Such is my whole: My middle but the last of Me: Your elegant self. –In Remembrance of a Pleasant Encounter.”

    The Parkers were used to playing word-games at home, and besides, it had to be admitted that Mr Tobias Vane’s effort was distinctly weak—especially, to anyone used to such amusements, the second line. Within approximately two seconds Henry gave a shriek and fell around the room, laughing herself silly.

    Miss Parker gulped. The solution to Mr Tobias Vane’s acrostic was, very evidently:

Such is my whole: tea (T).

My middle but the last of Me: E.

Your elegant self: Alfreda (A).

    “‘Tea’!” shrieked Henry. “The imbecile!”

    Miss Parker bit her lip.

    “It is entirely elegant,” said Fliss, straight-faced. “The flowers first, you see, dear Alfreda, and you will note that the roses are the sort which have a scent of tea: the whole posy is the subtlest of hints to remind you of your pleasant encounter—”

    “Stop it,” said Miss Parker unsteadily.

    “And then, in the case you should not have got the reference,” continued Fliss airily—Miss Parker bit her lip hard—“you turn the card over and here is his exquisite little—”

    Miss Parker collapsed in helpless giggles.

    “Tea?” echoed Mr Rowbotham the next day. “Fellow is a gaby! Why does he wish to compare you to tea? How can that flatter you?”

    Miss Parker, rather at a loss as to what to say to Mr Rowbotham in his phaeton, had fallen back upon telling him of Mr Tobias Vane’s acrostic. Without, at the same time, placing any pointed emphasis upon the posy motif: no sooner had she embarked upon the topic, indeed, than she was wishing she had not. “I am sure I know not,” she said limply. “And it was a very weak acrostic.”

    Mr Rowbotham gave a short laugh. “Never say so!”

    “Yes.” Miss Parker looked fixedly at his horses’ heads. A laugh bubbled up in her throat: she swallowed hard and gripped her hands tightly in her lap.

    Mr Rowbotham must have noticed something, for he said kindly: “Not nervous. are you? It ain’t a high-perch phaeton; would not dream of takin’ a lady in one of those.”

    “No, thank you, Mr Rowbotham,” said Miss Parker faintly, still wanting to laugh, for they had several times seen a very dashing lady in the Park actually driving a high-perch model. After a moment she added: “Are you a member of the Four-Horse Club, sir?”

    “Oh, Lor’ no, Miss Parker, not I! Aden is, out of course. Bit of a Corinthian, y’know, Aden,” he explained.

    “I see.” Alfreda was silent for a little, looking about her at the scene, and then she said: “This is so very pleasant, Mr Rowbotham. I have only driven out in the barouche, hitherto. And usually with my back to—” She broke off, a little dismayed at what she had let her tongue betray her into.

    “You mean to tell me those slips of girls will let you sit with your back to the horses?” he said indignantly.

    Miss Parker found she was smiling at him: if he was not, perhaps, very bright or a sparkling conversationalist, he certainly appeared to have a kind heart. “Well, I don’t really mind.”

    After a moment he said on a pleased note: “So this is the first time you have driven out with a gentleman?”

    “Well, yes!” said Alfreda, laughing a little and blushing.

    “Well, if I had known you was wanting to, I would have asked you before! And I say, you mean to say that fellow, Aden, has not taken you for a spin?”

    “Why, no,” she said blankly.

    Mr Rowbotham’s slim chest rose on an indignant breath. “Well! I know he don't care to take the team out in the late afternoon, when they is all out paradin’: says it’s too dawdling and he cannot support a press—and the horses don’t like it, neither—but at least a little morning spin! If you was my cousins, I would have taken you all— What about the girls? Don’t tell me he has let them mope at home of a morning, too!”

    Miss Parker was seized again by an awful desire to laugh: Mr Rowbotham had taken up the tone of some fatherly old relative! “We have been quite occupied in the mornings, really, sir, with our walks and rides, so none of them has moped. And—and he did once take Henry for a drive,” she remembered.

    Mr Rowbotham sniffed.

    “It is said he does not care to drive ladies,” she ventured.

    “Got nothin’ to do with it! Fellow does not know his duty when he sees it in front of his nose! –Aye, and so I shall tell him,” he added, scowling.

    Miss Parker swallowed hard and managed to say, albeit faintly: “I am sure the girls would be delighted, sir.”

    She was about to ask him if he had sisters, himself, when he said with a frown: “So that fellow Bobby Amory has not driven you, then?”

    “Well, no. Does he drive?” asked Miss Parker cautiously.

    Mr Rowbotham sniffed again. “Oh, aye: he drives, all right.”

    Miss Parker eyed him cautiously. Should she ask? But she could not for the life of her think of what else to say, so she did ask: “What sort of carriage, sir?”

    “He drives a high-perch phaeton,” said Mr Rowbotham, scowling ferociously, “tandem; and that, let me tell you, is the most dangerous way of gettin’ about town there is!”

    Miss Parker was conscious of an unworthy desire, not only to see this exciting equipage, but to ride in it, for she was not at all faint-hearted. But she said kindly: “So I understand, sir.”

    “Yes. Only these mornings,” said Mr Rowbotham with awful irony, “one gathers he is not drivin’ so much!”

    Miss Parker swallowed.

    After a moment he added glumly: “Owns a fine pair of chestnuts. You would not have seen them.”

    “Er—no.”

    “Will not sell ’em at any price,” he explained.

    “Well, perhaps he does not wish to, having gone to the bother of training them up to run in his carriage in that odd fashion,” said Miss Parker in what sounded in her own ears as a horridly specious tone.

    Mr Rowbotham, however, apparently noticed nothing wrong, for he cheered up and said: “Aye. that will be it! But what do you think of my own pair? I find ’em not bad goers! Took a long time to find a good matched pair, y’know.”

    Miss Parker was rather fascinated by this insight into the preoccupations of a gentleman-about-town and, though perhaps she should not, began to question him about horseflesh and the problems it posed and the ways of acquiring it. Mr Rowbotham chattered on very happily without apparently thinking that perhaps he should not.

    They were not heading anywhere more exciting than the Park, for, although Miss Parker had expressed a wish to drive past the Houses of Parliament, Mr Rowbotham had explained kindly that that would not be quite the thing: one was apt to meet shag-rags of persons who might quiz a lady, in that area. In the Park they drove very sedately along a well-frequented path, so many persons bowing or waving to Mr Rowbotham that he had scarce time for conversation. This was just as well, for. what with the longing, spaniel-like look in his eye whenever it alighted upon her, Miss Parker had begun to find it very difficult to keep up her end of the conversation. She fell back on asking him about the personalities they encountered.

    “Who was that, sir?” she said, as a fat gentleman in a blue coat, mounted on a sturdy black, nodded briefly, and the gentlemen with him, who had not noticed Mr Rowbotham at first, then all bowed and smiled.

    Mr Rowbotham frowned. “You don’t wish to meet him, Miss Parker.”

    “Very true. But who was it?”

    “Duke of York. Knows m’brother,” he said briefly.

    “Oh!” said Miss Parker in some excitement.

    “May be one of the King’s sons, but he’s a dashed loose—” He broke off, reddening. “Not the sort of person a young lady would wish to know,” he said stiffly.

    Miss Parker gave him a kindly look, for he was being very sweet, really: so careful of her welfare! Though she did not think it would do her any actual harm merely to meet His Royal Highness.

    “Of course: you are referring to your brother Sir Cedric Rowbotham, are you, sir?”

    “Mm? Oh: aye!” he said with a grin. “Young Shirley don’t know him. Well, he might by now if I had been silly enough to take him along to White’s, like the fellow wanted!”

    “Would they let him in?” said Miss Parker dubiously.

    “Not on his own: no. Why he wanted me to take him. I’m a member,” he explained.

    “I see.”

    “Play’s too deep there for a silly young shaver like Shirley,” he said, shaking his head.

    “Oh, yes, sir: you did very right not to take him!” cried Miss Parker approvingly.

    Mr Rowbotham blinked a little and said: “Uh—mm. Thank you, ma’am.” And looked very gratified.

    They had been driving for some time, and Alfreda’s gallant escort had decided it would not be the thing to linger longer and had turned his glossy bays for home, when a young lady in a barouche, accompanied by an elegant gentleman considerably her senior, was seen to be waving and dimpling at Mr Rowbotham.

    “Look, a lady is trying to catch your attention, sir,” said Miss Parker kindly.

    Mr Rowbotham turned a deep purple. “No!” he gulped.

    “Er—I think so,” she said in some surprize. “And—and do you not know that gentleman, sir? I think we have seen him at one or two of the larger parties we have been to.”

    “Aye: it’s Curwellion,” he growled.

    “Oh, yes: Lord Curwellion. That must be his daughter, then?”

    “Not his daughter, no, Miss Parker,” said Mr Rowbotham with a strangled cough, “and—and I beg you will not persist!”

    “Good gracious!” gasped Miss Parker unguardedly.

    Mr Rowbotham gave another strangled cough.

    After a few moments Alfreda realized that it was not Lord Curwellion’s conduct in driving with his inamorata in a fashionable area of the Park that was embarrassing her companion, so much as the fact that it had been the young lady, not the elderly lord, who had attempted to attract his attention. She could not forbear glancing at him in some surprize: it threw a new and not altogether welcome light on Mr Rowbotham’s character. She realized, of course, that he was not a very young man and had been upon the town for many years now and, for she was a sensible young woman, that there was no reason for him to have behaved like a monk. Nevertheless she could not help involuntarily contrasting this with, for example, the conduct and principles of her own dear papa and her brother Theo, and feeling rather shocked. And also rather disappointed.

    She turned the subject and began politely to chat of the dances and parties coming up; Mr Rowbotham responded gratefully.

    Alfreda descended from the phaeton with very mixed feelings indeed. She was not unaware that as the oldest daughter of an impecunious family it was her duty to marry, if a gentleman to whom she felt she could give her hand and heart should present himself. And, although she did not in the least desire a loveless marriage, she had begun to wonder if perhaps Mr Rowbotham, after all, could be that gentleman. For she certainly did not dislike him, and he appeared to be all that was kind and attentive. The drive had revealed to her such different sides to his character that now she did not quite know what to think. For on the one hand he had spoken so feelingly of Mr Tarlington’s neglect of his young relatives, and had shewn himself so protective of both his young brother Shirley and herself—even though she had not really needed protecting from either the quizzy people near the Houses of Parliament nor the Duke of York. And yet... Well, he was very clearly accustomed to lead what she must suppose was the usual sort of life of a man-about-town without thinking twice about it! And if he should ask her, could she, after all? For when it was a case of the gentleman’s principles being so entirely different from one’s own...

    Alfreda was very silent for the rest of that day.

    Astonishingly, it appeared Mr Rowbotham was as good as his word and spoke to his friend on the subject of driving the girls out, for it could scarcely be a coincidence that Mr Tarlington turned up but two days after and said carelessly to Dimity and Henry, who were sitting with Alfreda in the morning-room: “Dare say I might squeeze the both of you into my curricle, if you were wishful for a turn about the town.”

    Henry looked at him drily. “I thought your mamma had ordered you not to?”

    A flush rose to his cheekbones. “You were wrong. But do not come, if you do not care for it. I shall be happy to take Cousin Dimity alone.”

    Alfreda knew that this would only add fuel to his Mamma’s misguided hopes for a match in that direction: she looked anxiously at Henry.

    “Oh: you cannot wish to miss out on the treat, Henry!” cried Dimity.

    “Well, no,” she admitted.

    “Then you may both run upstairs and put on your bonnets and pelisses. –Yes, pelisses, Dimity, there is quite a wind, and it is but May,” said Miss Parker very firmly, but smiling at Mr Tarlington.

    When the door had closed behind the girls’ backs he said: “Do that pair make you feel an hundred?”

    “Very frequently, sir!” she said, laughing.

    “Aye,” he said glumly. “Well, tomorrow it is your turn. Understand you are interested in the F.H.C.?” he added with a gleam in his eye.

    Alfreda gulped, and nodded.

    “I shall wear the dashed regalia and have the team poled up and drive at a strict trot.”

    At this the proper Miss Parker quite forgot herself and gasped: “Cousin! Your greys?”

    “Very well, then: my greys,” said Mr Tarlington, having intended no such thing.

    Alfreda laughed, clapped her hands and thanked him.

    So on the following day the town was gratified by the spectacle of Mr Tarlington in a blue and yellow striped waistcoat and a spotted muslin cravat driving his famous greys in the company of a striking young woman in a midnight blue pelisse and matching bonnet trimmed with fronds of sapphire ostrich plume. The which outfit had been presented to the astonished Alfreda only a little earlier by Lady Tarlington herself. Her Ladyship being now quite determined, though this had not as yet become wholly apparent to the Misses in her charge, upon achieving the signal triumph of marrying off all four young ladies under her roof in a single Season; and not only respectably, but well. Though it was true she did not intend Alfreda for Aden.

    This time the Duke of York was again encountered but this time he pulled his entourage to a stop and eagerly demanded an introduction. Mr Tarlington did not smile, but he bowed and introduced his cousin civilly enough. His Royal Highness professed himself delighted, paid Alfreda a fulsome compliment along the lines of “slain with a sapphire dart”, and passed on.

    “Well?” he said drily.

    “Good Heavens, sir,” she returned faintly.

    Mr Tarlington wrinkled his straight nose. “Aye: ain’t he? –Well, here is Harpy,” he added more cheerfully: “now let us see if you may slay him with your sapphire darts!”

    Miss Parker blushed brightly and, far from attempting to slay Lord Harpingdon, greeted him very shyly.

    The Viscount was riding with a slim, pale-featured, dark-haired man of perhaps his own age or a little older: Alfreda had not met this gentleman before; he was introduced as Lord Broughamwood. Smiling, Alfreda revealed she had recently met his sisters, Lady Jane and Lady May Claveringham. Lord Broughamwood agreed that Lady Jane had told him of it.

    “What a pleasant gentleman he is, to be sure,” she said to Mr Tarlington as the two bowed and rode off.

    “Mm? Oh: Broughamwood? Yes, he is. Not unlike Harpy, actually: same quiet manner. –Not a well man,” he added, frowning.

    The bright colour faded from Alfreda’s cheeks; she faltered: “Lord Harpingdon is not well?”

    “No, no! Poor Broughamwood!”

    “Oh,” she said limply.

    “He must be feeling more the thing this Season, or he wouldn’t be in town.” He frowned. “Mayhap Harpy has changed his mind.”

    “About what, sir?”

    “There may be nothing in it. No reason Broughamwood and Harpy should not be taking a ride together: they aren’t close, but they have known each other for years. Uh—well, Harpy don’t wish for it. Or didn’t last I heard. Um—well, Blefford and Hubbel—or more like Lady Hubbel,” he amended, wrinkling his nose, “seem to have decided to marry Harpy off to Lady Jane Claveringham.”

    After a moment Alfreda said hoarsely: “it would seem very suitable, sir.”

    “Suitable! Christian deserves something better than suitable!”

    Alfreda took a deep breath and said: “I liked Lady Jane very much indeed, Mr Tarlington.”

    “Aye: the girls was tellin’ me you seemed to,” he said.

    “She—she is a very pleasant woman, sir.”

    “Christian has been through one loveless marriage: ain’t that enough for any one man in a lifetime?”

   Alfreda’s eyes filled with tears; she said with difficulty: “Yes. But Lady Jane is all that is good and proper. She would make any man an admirable wife.”

    He sighed. “No doubt.”

    They drove on for a little way: Mr Tarlington frowning, but not neglecting effortlessly to control the feisty greys.

    Eventually he said: “Surely you don’t approve of loveless marriages, Alfreda?”

    “No.”

    “I’m sorry,” he said with an impatient sigh. “I suppose I should say Cousin Alfreda.”

    “What? Oh—think nothing of it, Mr Tarlington.”

    “You could call me Cousin Aden, at least,” he said glumly.

    “Very well, I shall if you wish it, Cousin Aden.”

    Suddenly Mr Tarlington transferred the reins to his whip hand and put his driving hand over hers, squeezing hard. “I like you, Cousin Alfreda,” he said.

    “I like you, too, Cousin Aden.”

    “Good. Don’t let Mamma push you into anything you don’t want: she has some damned scheme in her head,” he said, frowning.

    From behind them Tomkins gasped: “Major, sir, the greys is fresh and there’s a barouche a-heading—”

    “I’m not blind, Tomkins,” he said, transferring the reins back to his driving hand.

   Alfreda waited until the barouche, which was filled with a party of shrieking young women and being driven very fast by a young man with a loosened neckcloth, had lurched by them; then she said: “Thank you, Cousin Aden. It was kind of you to warn me. I don’t think I’m in danger of being pushed into anything.”

    “Mm. –Wilf is not a bad fellow, of course: you could do worse.”

    “I know that.”

    “Is your family putting pressure on you?”

    “No!” Miss Parker paused. “At least,” she admitted with some difficulty, “although Papa said he hoped to see me happy but I must not marry where I could not truly love and respect, Mamma—Mamma said that—that…”

    “Mm?”

    She gulped a little. “I suppose I should not be telling you this.”

    “Why not? Think of me as your brother.”

    Alfreda found she would very much like to, indeed. She looked at him gratefully. “Well, Mamma has a great deal of common sense, and she said that—that falling in love, as such, was not necessary if—if one had but mutual respect.”

    “Cold comfort,” he said, very grimly indeed.

    “Oh, dear,” said Alfreda, biting her lip.

    “Look: don’t. Common sense may be all very well, but it won’t make you happy for the rest of your life.”

    “No,” she whispered.

    “I know your mamma is due quite soon, so if the pair of them start pushing you, come to me.”

    “You are very good, but—but—”

    “Come to me as a brother. If necessary I’ll drive you all the way home to your papa. –Oh, Lor’!” he added in dismay as two large tears rolled down the proper Miss Parker’s oval cheeks.

    “I’m sorry!” she gulped.

    “Come on, don’t cry; I at least am on your side.”

    “Yes!” she gasped, sniffing valiantly and blowing her nose. “Thank you!”

    “That’s a good girl. Look, I could drive to Gunther’s: should you fancy an ice?”

    Miss Parker recognized he was trying his best to cheer her up: she smiled a trifle mistily. “It’s very sweet of you, Cousin Aden, but I think it is a little cold today, for an ice.”

    “Very well, then. Nothing you would like, is there?”

    “Um—Henry said…”

    “What?”

    The proper Miss Parker tucked her handkerchief away and admitted: “I know it is not the done thing, but Henry said, that first time you drove her out, you went very fast. I would so like that.”

    “Eh?”

    “When we took ’em up and down to shake the fidgets out, sir,” put in Tomkins’s voice. “Only if Missy thought as that were fast, she don’t know his teams, Miss!”

    “No, indeed: they are famous, are they not?” said Miss Parker, turning round and smiling at him eagerly.—Mr Tarlington perceived with a certain resignation that it must run in the family.—“And in especial the greys!”

    “Very well. –Where the Devil was that path, Tomkins?” he asked.

    “Um—oh, aye: bear right, Major.”

    Mr Tarlington bore right, Tomkins found the unfrequented path, and they duly flew up and down it. Aden was relieved to see that the colour returned to his Cousin Alfreda’s cheeks and the sparkle to her sapphire eyes.

    The girls were somewhat surprized to find that after that day, Alfreda would not hear a word against her Cousin Aden and took them up very sharply if Henry or Dimity called him “Mr T.” or Fliss referred slightingly to him.

    For his part, Mr Tarlington began to appear more regularly at the family home for dinner or to escort his mother’s party. Lady Tarlington, very gratified, preened herself on having made her son mind his manners at last, and began to hold out definite hopes in regard to Dimity. Very fortunately it did not dawn on her, for of course she herself was not normally up at that hour, that he also fell into the habit of calling regularly to collect the girls for their morning ride. Dimity was not so keen a horsewoman as Alfreda and Henry and so would not always go; some mornings Mr Tarlington escorted Alfreda and Henry only.

    Very naturally this behaviour did not go entirely unperceived: Mr Rowbotham and Mr Bobby Amory, both conceiving themselves to have an interest in that direction, began to look upon Mr Tarlington with an exceedingly jaundiced eye. Mr Rowbotham redoubled his efforts with the posies for Alfreda; Bobby also began to send her floral offerings. Lady Tarlington was aux anges and Alfreda, frankly, lacked the courage to tell her hostess to her face that she could not care for either of these gentlemen.

    Mr Amory also afforded her the signal honour of being seen out with him in his high-perch phaeton with the perfectly matched chestnuts; Mr Rowbotham entered into the list with more rides behind his bays.

    Just at the first it did not dawn upon Aden that Alfreda’s two chief suitors were jealous of him as well as of each other; when it did, sad to say, his withers remained unwrung. He began, in fact, to join the girls in telling up the total of Alfreda’s bouquets and would sometimes drop in to the house just to see if another one had come. As these calls naturally involved getting his head together with at least one of the younger girls, his mother managed to convince herself—the more so since it was what she desired—that he really was beginning to take an interest in Dimity at last. To do him justice this point did not dawn on Mr Tarlington: but also to do him justice, he would not have cared, if it had.

    On the day that Mr Tobias Vane gave Aden the cut direct at White’s it dawned, deliriously, that the stout gourmet was also jealous! He went straight out and purchased an enormous bouquet of roses for Alfreda.

    “What are these for?” she gasped, staggering under them as he presented them in person, with a sweeping bow. –Most fortunately his mother, having driven out to pay a call, was not in the small sitting-room at the time.

    “They are to congratulate you on haying stormed the citadel, Miss Parker,” he said solemnly.

    “What?” she said weakly.

    “The citadel. I imagine it as one of those towering blancmanger confections that are so popular at the more boring type of dinner party,” he said dreamily. “Large and—er—wobbly, and quite possibly pale pink, and covered with small china ornaments.”

    “What are you talking about, Cousin?” said Alfreda weakly.

    “It is some obscure joke at your expense: be careful, Alfreda,” warned Fliss, glaring at her brother.

    “No such thing! I am all admiration! His heart has never heretofore been touched! Well, not by a lady, at all events. But I am convinced that you have ousted a delicate fricassée of sweetbreads or an excellent joint of pressed beef in his affections.”

    “Mr Vane again!” gasped Fliss.

    “No!” cried Dimity.

    “What’s happened?” asked Henry eagerly. “Help, he hasn’t asked your permission to pay his addresses, has he?”

    “Not yet,” he said on a regretful note. “It’s lookin’ hopeful, though. He must have seen us in the Park yester morning, Cousin Alfreda.”

    “On that cob, yes! I said he was looking daggers at you!” cried Henry.

    “You were right, Cousin: for he has just cut me at White’s.”

    The girls shrieked, and collapsed in ecstatic laughter.

    The suitors themselves, though perhaps the nature of the emotion prompted optimism, were not in such good heart. Both Mr Rowbotham and Mr Amory now frequently called: as these encounters were always, of course, in Lady Tarlington’s presence, both of them had the uneasy feeling that, since her Ladyship would greet any invitation to Alfreda with cries of joy, not to mention any floral offering for Alfreda, whilst Miss Parker herself merely smiled politely, it was perhaps only because her Ladyship desired it that she would consent to go out with them. Likewise all those dances they were managing to get with her. Bobby, in particular, was aware that he was making something of a cake of himself, haunting Almack’s Assembly Rooms in the hopes of a sight of her like a lovelorn boy of half his age; nevertheless he went on doing it. Not unaware that Mr Rowbotham was also haunting the place. It did not help, at all, that the very young and very unfledged Mr Lilywhite had also developed a definite tendre in that direction and was also seen at Almack’s, looking desperately toward the door in the hopes Lady Tarlington’s party would come in. He was not, of course, a serious rival, for he was something like six years Alfreda’s junior; but her two elegant, worldly suitors could not but feel there was something more than a little ridiculous in putting themselves in the same class with him.

    The solemn-natured Mr Tobias Vane, by contrast, did not haunt Almack’s. He did, however, frequently call when Lady Tarlington was likely to be receiving visitors, and more and more his large figure would be found in the small sitting-room, emanating an odd mixture of hope and complacency. Had the girls wished to, they could have learnt a great deal about fricassées, syllabubs and white soup over the two weeks that preceded Mrs Parker’s arrival in London; but it was to be feared they did not wish to.

    At first it was, of course, hilarious; then it became so frequent as to be only amusing; after that, alas, having to sit and listen to him became frankly a dead bore. Henry took to visiting the circulating library at times when he might be expected; since she could not, of course, go alone in London, she usually persuaded one or other of the girls to accompany her, with a footman following behind.

    On one particularly fine day, when Mr Tobias Vane might well be expected, Henry and Fliss, having reached the library, happily informed Frederick, the footman, that they would be a while and he might go. He could call for them in, say, two hours’ time. Poor Frederick, wondering what Mr Taunton would say, at first demurred; but he had had prior experience of waiting for them there, and on Henry’s burying herself in a large tome, took himself off.

    Immediately his back was out of sight, the girls set off for the Park. They had nothing more wicked in mind than a stroll in the fresh air unencumbered by Frederick’s presence, but nevertheless were quite aware that it was a very daring thing to do.

    “This is splendid!” said Henry, breathing deeply, when they got there.

    “Yes!” said Fliss with a giggle. “Let us go along there!”

    The girls went along there.

    After a little another small pedestrian party was espied, also taking advantage of the lovely day: Lady May Claveringham with her sisters, Lady Sarah and Lady Jane, and their cousin Mr Edward. Greetings having been exchanged, the two parties became one.

    The group rounded a bend and Henry, espying a rustick bench down a side path, decided she would sit on it for a little; she had a letter she particularly wanted to re-read. Mr Edward looked at her longingly but did not propose anything so improper as staying back with her. Lady Jane said placidly she could see no objection: they would go no further than the end of the walk, and return in a little while.

    Henry sighed deeply as they left: Mr Edward was becoming almost as particular in his attentions to her as the eligible partis who were pursuing Alfreda, and the afternoon before the Grahame ball had sent her a gigantic posy—fortunately bright pink, which clashed horridly with the ribbons on her gown, so she could not possibly carry it. It was true he still barely spoke in her presence, but he looked a lot. He was certainly well-connected, and she was ready to believe he was well-meaning, but he was also, in spite of having been upon the town since he was about eighteen, one of the most boring young men in London. Or, thought Henry drily, extracting her letter from her reticule, quite possibly because of it. Silly parties and fashions and the latest on-dits were all he knew. It was the worst of bad luck that it should be he whom they should encounter today!

    The letter was from Pansy. It apologized for not having sent her cousins news of them for so long, though assuring them they had written to Aunt Venetia, and its ostensible purpose was to tell the exciting news of the enormous sum of five thousand guineas that Dr Fairbrother had obtained for them from Great-Uncle Humphrey.

    Then it proceeded, with considerable detail, to tell Henry all about Poppet and the navigation lessons Pansy was having from Commander Carey, with a considerable amount about the Commander himself and even more about the splendours of Finisterre. And quite a considerable amount about Elm-Tree Cottage, Delphie’s efforts in the garden, Ratia Bellinger, and the exploits of Horatio Nelson Cat.

    At first Henry, who had not so far had an opportunity really to savour the letter, read it over smiling to herself. Then she re-read certain sections. Then her face became thoughtful, and she re-read a particularly vivid description of a trip in which Pansy with Matt Dawson had adventured down the coast a long way and had to beat back against the wind with nasty-looking clouds gathering in the sky and the seas rising ominously.

    Then she stared at the neat view of trimmed grass and clipped bushes, and a tear stole down her oval cheek.

    “Why, Miss Henrietta: my dear child, what is it?” said a kind voice.

    Henry jumped where she sat. “Oh! Sir Noël! It’s nothing!” she gasped, hurriedly wiping the tear away.

    Sir Noël Amory, looking concerned, came and sat down by her. “I think it cannot be nothing.”

    Henry sniffed, and smiled sheepishly. “No, really. You will say I am foolish: this is a letter from our Cousin Pansy Ogilvie: I was just comparing her lot with mine and—and wishing so much I was in her place!”

    “From Miss Pansy Ogilvie?” said Sir Noël in a strange voice, staring at the letter.

    “Mm,” said Henry, blowing her nose. “Oh, but of course: you have met her!”

    “Yes: she gallantly aided to pull me out the briny down on the south coast. –My own fault, went too near the rocks in unknown waters,” he said, making a face.

    She smiled at him. “Yes, we heard of your accident. Our cousins have had such a piece of luck, and now they may stay in their dear little cottage forever, and Pansy has bought a sailing boat and is learning proper navigation from a retired naval commander: I do so envy her! When I compare the freedom and—and adventure of her life with the stupid restrictions of mine!”

    “Er—indeed,” he said faintly. “Miss Ogilvie has bought a boat?”

    “Just a little one. Well, I didn’t quite understand all the nautical terms,” said Henry with a smile, “but she claims to be able to manage it alone, so it cannot be a large one! –Here: would you like to read it?” Sir Noël looked eager, but hesitated. “There is nothing at all private in it: please do!”

    He took the letter.

    Henry watched him as he read it. “Well?”

    “What?” he said blankly.

    “Do you not envy her the lack of restriction in her life? Imagine being able to wake up and know that today you might sail down the coast of England!”

    “Er—yes. They—they are living in a cottage at Guillyford Bay?” he croaked.

    “Why, yes. They have been for some time. Did you not know?”

    “No,” he said, biting his lip. “Naturally, when I went over to visit with Aden at the Place before we came on up to London, I called at Miss Blake’s school to see how Miss Ogilvie went on; but Miss Blake informed me she had left the school.”

    “Well, yes, they had. They were so fortunate as to get a little cottage in Guillyford Bay.”

    “Miss Henrietta,” he said in a shaking voice: “do you mean to tell me the young ladies are living alone in a tiny cottage?”

    “Yes, indeed! Well, they have Ratia Bellinger and Horatio Nelson Cat!” said Henry with a laugh. “Don’t you think it sounds the most wonderful existence?”

    “No,” he said grimly, “I do not. It—it is quite ineligible!”

    Henry looked at him dubiously. “I suppose you would think so. Well, anyone who was accustomed to take the starchy, proper life of London Society as the norm would. But my papa’s opinion is that it will do them no harm to be independent for a while, and that they should be given the chance to prove that they can manage sensibly for themselves.”

    “I cannot agree,” he said tightly.

    Henry returned dubiously: “Well, Papa is a clergyman, you know. And no possible harm could come to them at Guillyford Bay.”

    “Who is this Commander Carey?” he replied grimly.

    “Um—well, I know as much as you. A retired naval gentleman, it appears.”

    Sir Noël’s hands clenched. “Aye.”

    “Do you really think it so improper?”

    “I think it intolerable!”

    “Oh.”

    He bit his lip. “I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Henrietta. Of course I didn’t mean to criticize your papa’s decision. But…” He got up and began to pace up and down, frowning.

    Henry watched him uncertainly. Finally she said: “Well, I would change places with them tomorrow.”

    “What?” he said, looking at her distractedly. “I am very sure you would not enjoy life in a tiny cottage with no amenities, Miss Henrietta. But—where is your party? Surely you are not alone in the Park?”

    “No. I said, London is starchy and restricting and stuffy. The others have just gone down that walk,” said Henry glumly.

    Sir Noël forthwith insisted on conducting her back to them. Henry sighed, but did not resist.

    “He is in a hurry,” spotted Mr Edward unerringly as he then, with a brief bow to the company, hurried off as fast as his legs would carry him.

    That highly eligible parti, Sir Noël Amory, went straight back to his Uncle Bobby’s rooms, ordered up his Uncle Bobby’s curricle, and threw some clothes, willy-nilly, into a small travelling bag, to the distress of his valet.

    “I shan’t need you, Kettle. Tell Mr Bobby I shall be back in town in a day or so, will you?”

    “But Sir Noël—!”

    But Sir Noël had gone.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/more-visitors-at-guillyford-bay.html