False Colours

4

Shortly before eight o’clock that evening, my Lord Denville’s town carriage, an impressive vehicle which bore its noble owner’s arms emblazoned on the door-panels, drew up in Mount Street to set down its solitary, and extremely reluctant occupant.

No one, observing this gentleman’s composure, could have guessed that it had taken the united efforts of his mother and his brother’s valet to coax and coerce him into lending himself to what he persisted in calling an outrageous masquerade.

Fimber and Mr Clent had done their work well. Mr Clent, a dedicated artist, had given Mr Fancot a modish Corinthian cut, accepting without question the explanation offered him that the length of his supposed lordship’s glowing locks was due to his prolonged absence from London; and Fimber had spent a full hour teaching him how to tie his neckcloth in the intricate style favoured by his lordship. He told him that it was known as the Trône d’Amour, a piece of information which drew from the exasperated Mr Fancot the acid rejoinder that it was a singularly inappropriate style for the occasion. Mr Fancot also took exception to the really very moderate, though highly starched, points of his collar, saying that it seemed to him that his brother had become a damned dandy. But Fimber, treating him firmly but with great patience, described in such horrifying detail the height and rigidity of the very latest mode in collar-points, that he subsided, thankful that at least he was not obliged to wear these uncomfortable “winkers”. He added that if he had known that he would be expected to rig himself in raiment more suited to a ball than to a family dinner-party nothing would have induced him to yield to his mama’s persuasions. Lady Denville, striving to impress upon him the need to treat with the greatest formality an old lady who could be depended upon to take an instant dislike to any gentleman arriving at an evening party in pantaloons, did nothing to reconcile him to the ordeal awaiting him; but Fimber, deeming it to be time to put an end to such contrariness, speedily reduced him to schoolboy status by telling him severely that that was quite enough nonsense, and that he would do as he was bid. He added, as a clincher, that Mr Christopher need not try to gammon him into believing that he wasn’t in the habit of wearing full evening-dress five days out of the seven. Furthermore, neither he nor her ladyship wished to listen to any further gibble-gabble about walking to Mount Street: Mr Christopher would go in the carriage, as befitted his station.

So Kit, driven in state to Mount Street, entered Lord Stavely’s house looking complete to a shade. Not only was he wearing the frilled shirt, the longtailed coat, the knee-breeches, and the silk stockings which constituted the fashionable attire of a gentleman bound for Almack’s: he carried a chapeau-bras under one arm, and one of his brother’s snuff-boxes in his pocket, Fimber having thrust this upon him at the last moment, with an urgent reminder that my lord was well-known to be a snuff-taker.

Having relinquished the chapeau-bras into the tender care of a footman, Mr Fancot trod up the stairs in the wake of the butler, and entered the drawing-room on that portly individual’s sonorous announcement.

At first glance, he received the impression that he was being scrutinized by upwards of fifty pairs of eyes. He discovered later that this was an exaggeration. His host, who was the only person whom he recognized, was chatting to a small group of people; he moved forward a step to greet the guest, and so also did two ladies. Fancot realized that he had been imperfectly coached: he had no idea which of them was the lady to whom he was supposed to have offered his hand. For one agonized moment he thought himself lost; then he saw that the taller of the two, a fashionably attired woman with elaborately dressed fair hair and a rather sharp-featured but undeniably pretty face, was in the family way; and barely repressing a sigh of relief, he bowed to her, and shook hands, exchanging greetings with a cool assurance he was far from feeling. He then turned towards her companion, smiling at her, and carrying the hand she extended to him to his lips. He thought that that was probably what Evelyn, a practised flirt, would do; but even as he lightly kissed the hand he was assailed by a fresh problem: how the devil ought he to address the girl? Did Evelyn call her Cressy, or was he still on formal terms with her? He had had as yet no opportunity to take more than a brief look at her, but he had received the impression that she was a little stiff: possibly shy, certainly reserved. Not a beauty, but a good-looking girl, grey-eyed and brown-haired, and with a shapely figure. Well enough but quite unremarkable, and not at all the sort of female likely to appeal to Evelyn.

At this moment, and just as he released Miss Stavely’s hand, one of the assembled company, an elderly spinster who had been observing him with avid curiosity, confided to a stout matron in the over-loud voice of the deaf: “Very handsome! That I must own!”

Startled, and far from gratified, Kit looked up, involuntarily meeting Miss Stavely’s eyes. They held a look of twinkling appreciation; and he thought suddenly that she was more taking than he had at first supposed. He smiled, but before he could speak Lord Stavely interposed, saying: “Come, Denville, my mother is anxious to make your acquaintance!”

He led the way across the room to where the Dowager Lady Stavely was seated in a large armchair, grimly watching their approach.

Listening to his mama’s daunting description of the Dowager, Kit had insensibly formed the impression of a massive lady, with a hook nose and a commanding bosom. He realized that his imagination had misled him: the Dowager was small, and spare, with a straight nose and a flat bosom. She had a deceptive air of fragility, and her thin fingers were twisted by gout. Her expression was not that of one anxious to make Lord Denville’s acquaintance. When her son rather obsequiously presented Kit, she said: “H’m!” in a disparaging tone, and looked him over critically from head to foot before holding out her hand. That tickled his ready sense of humour, and brought a dancing smile into his eyes. He said demurely: “I am honoured, ma’am!” and bowed politely over her hand.

“Fiddle!” she snapped. “So you are William Denville’s son,” are you? You’re not as good-looking as your father.”

Lord Stavely cleared his throat deprecatingly; a faded lady of uncertain age and a harassed demeanour, who was standing beside the Dowager’s chair, looked imploringly at Kit, and uttered a faint, twittering sound. He was aware of tension amongst the assembled members of the family, and began to be very much amused. He replied: “Oh, no! But, then, my father was exceptionally good-looking, wasn’t he, ma’am’?”

She glared at him; and, in another attempt to put him out of countenance, said: “And, by what I hear, you’re not as well-behaved either!”

“He was exceptionally well-behaved too,” countered Kit.

Someone behind him gave a smothered guffaw; the faded lady, blenching, said, in the voice of one expectant of a blistering set-down: “Oh, pray, Mama—!”

“Pray what?” demanded the Dowager sharply.

Lord Stavely, jerked out of paralysis by a nudge from his wife’s elbow, hurried into the breach, saying: “I must make you known to my sister Clara, Denville! I believe you have not previously met, though you are acquainted, I fancy, with my eldest sister, Lady Ebchester.”

Kit, casting a swift glance round the room, saw that one of the middle-aged ladies present was favouring him with a slight smile, and an inclination of her turbaned head, and said promptly: “Yes, indeed! But—” drawing a bow at what he believed to be a fairly safe venture—“I have not hitherto had the pleasure of making Miss Clara Stavely’s acquaintance. Your servant, ma’am!”

“And my brother!” said Stavely, edging Kit away from the Dowager’s vicinity. “You must let me present Mr Charles Stavely to you, Denville!”

“Overdoing it, George!” said Mr Stavely, in a caustic undervoice. “I’ve been acquainted with Denville since his come-out.” He nodded to Kit, and gave him two fingers, observing that he hadn’t seen him in the club lately.

Kit, realizing that he had placed rather too much reliance on his mother’s airy assurance that Evelyn was not acquainted with any other of his betrothed’s relations than her father, now knew that it behoved him to tread with even greater wariness than he had foreseen. He responded that he had lately been out of town, and passed on, to be presented to two ladies, one of whom said that they had met before, though no doubt he had forgotten the occasion. Since any gentleman, accustomed, as Kit was, to a succession of routs, balls, and official receptions, was familiar with this gambit, he dealt with it easily enough. He was then spared any further introductions by the intervention of Lady Ebchester, who shook hands with him in a very robust way, adjuring her brother in a pungent aside to stop trying to addle the poor boy’s brains by presenting him to every member of the family.

“They all know who he is,” she said trenchantly, “and if he don’t know who we are, so much the better for him! If I had guessed you meant to invite the whole family, stock and block, I wouldn’t have come here tonight, and nor, I dare say, would he. Anyone but a chucklehead would have known that it would only serve to make Mama as cross as crabs!” She waved him aside, and addressed herself to Kit, saying: “No need to take fright! I don’t know what maggot my brother got into his head, but very likely you’ll never set eyes on most of these old quizzes again. How does your mother do?”

“Very well, ma’am, and desired me to convey her compliments to you.”

“Mighty civil of her—or of you!” she replied. “We’ve never been on better than bowing terms. So you’re going to marry my niece! I wish you happy: it won’t be her fault if you’re not.”

“Then we shall be, ma’am, for I am determined it shan’t be mine.”

“You’re full of pretty speeches,” she said, putting him forcibly in mind of the Dowager. “I see young Lucton wanting to edge in a word. Heaven knows what he’s doing here, for he’s the merest connexion! However, I dare say you’re glad to see a face you do know!”

She nodded dismissal, and he turned away to confront a young gentleman of dandified appearance, who was hovering close at hand, and who greeted him with a broad grin, and drew him a little apart, saying: “I warned you, Den! Devilish, ain’t it? Dashed nearly sherried off to Brighton this morning: can’t think why I didn’t!”

“A want of nerve!”

“No, no, that wasn’t it! The old lady don’t take a particle of interest in me. Fact is, I wanted a word with you. You haven’t forgotten that little matter I broached to you, have you?”

“No, but to own the truth I’ve been too busy to think about it.”

“What a fellow you are!” said Mr Lucton. “No wish to press you, but you said you’d give me an answer within a day!”

“Oh, lord, did I?” said Kit, thankful for the first time in his life for his twin’s well-known forgetfulness. “I was called away suddenly, and it went out of my mind.”

“Ay, I guessed as much, so I’ve done nothing about it. Don’t want to press you, Den, but I wish you will tell me one way or the other!”

“Yes, but not at this moment!” protested Kit. “It’s neither the place nor the occasion.”

“Oh, very well!” said Mr Lucton discontentedly. “I’ll give you a look-in tomorrow, then. Though I must say—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the dinner-gong, and, as Lady Stavely came up at that instant to take possession of Kit, the rest of the sentence remained unuttered.

Kit found himself placed between his hostess and Miss Cressida Stavely at the dinner-table. He was relieved to see that the length of the table separated him from the Dowager; had it separated him from Cressida he would have been profoundly thankful.

For the first ten minutes his attention was fully engaged by Lady Stavely, who regaled him with a flow of vivacious small-talk. This presented him with no difficulty, since she allowed him little opportunity to speak, and asked him only such commonplace questions as anyone would have been able to answer. She was, mercifully, more anxious to show herself off than to draw out her guests, but he found her empty, incessant titter of laughter irritating, and was not altogether sorry when she turned from him to converse with Mr Charles Stavely. Sooner or later he would be obliged to talk to Cressida; he thought that to do so at the dinner-table might be the best way of avoiding a tête-à-tête. He glanced at her. Her head was turned a little away, as she listened to what her other neighbour was saying to her. It struck Kit that she had all the unconscious assurance lacking in her stepmother. Lady Stavely was overacting the part of Society hostess; she had been for too long the daughter who had failed to catch a husband to slip easily into her new position. It was not difficult to understand why she should be jealous of Cressida, so quietly poised, so well-accustomed to the management of her father’s establishment, and to the entertainment of his guests. She appeared to be absorbed in her conversation with her neighbour, but she must have noticed that Lady Stavely had transferred her attention to her brother-in-law, for she brought her conversation to a natural conclusion and turned towards Kit, saying, with a faint smile: “I wish this were not such a dull party: you must be dreadfully bored!”

“Not at all!” he replied.

She looked quizzically at him. “A high treat, in fact!”

“Well, I shouldn’t describe it in quite those words,” he owned, “but the truly boring parties, you know, are the formal squeezes, when one is obliged to do the polite to all the people one would least wish to talk to.”

She was surprised. “But I thought you never attended such parties!”

“Not when I can avoid them,” he said, retrieving the slip.

“Which, in general, you find yourself able to do! And when you are not so able,” she added thoughtfully, “you take care not to become bored by arriving late, and leaving early, don’t you?”

“A gross aspersion upon my character!”

She laughed. “Did you think that because I am not very much in the habit of attending such squeezes that I don’t know your reputation? You are the despair of hostesses!”

“You have been listening to slanderous reports.”

She smiled, but shook her head. “You will be able to leave this party early, at all events. My grandmother doesn’t keep late hours. I am afraid, however, that she will wish to hold further conversation with you. Can you bear that?”

“Easily! I consider she has been much maligned. I will allow her to be disconcerting, but by no means the petrifying Gorgon I was led to expect.”

“Not by me!” she said quickly. “I never said that of Grandmama!”

Mr Fancot, whose courage had been strengthened by the excellent food and drink offered him, replied coolly: “Oh, yes! If not in actual words, by inference! Can you deny it?”

She exclaimed instead: “What an odd, unexpected creature you are, my lord! Can you deny that you looked forward to this party with the gravest misgivings? You told me that the very thought of running the gauntlet of my family put you into a quake!”

“That was because I had been misled,” said Kit brazenly.

She looked at him, amused, yet with a puzzled crease between her brows.. “But you weren’t in a quake—even before you decided that you had been misled. I own, I thought Grandmama would have put you out of countenance, but she didn’t.”

“To be honest with you, she did, but I thought it would be fatal to betray my embarrassment.”

“Yes, very true: she despises the people she can bully. You gave her a homestall, and she may very likely have taken a fancy to you.”

“Can she bully you?” he asked.

“Oh, no! That is, I shouldn’t let her do so, but the occasion hasn’t arisen: she is always very kind to me.” She fell silent for a few moments; and when she spoke again it was in a more formal tone, and as though she were carefully picking her words. “Lord Denville, when you did me the honour of asking me to marry you, we discussed the matter—we began to discuss the matter quite frankly. But we were interrupted, as I expect you will recall, and there has been no opportunity since that day to resume our discussion.” She raised her eyes to his face. “I should like to be able to do so before coming to an irrevocable decision.”

He had been regarding her over the rim of his wineglass, but he set the glass down at this, saying involuntarily: “I thought you had come to a decision! How is this?”

She answered apologetically: “I’m afraid I gave you reason to think so. And indeed, at that moment, I believed I had done so. I can’t explain it to you tonight. I had hoped to have seen you again before this party, but you had gone into the country, and Albinia—Lady Stavely—sent out the invitations without telling me.”

He cast a swift glance towards his hostess, to assure himself that her attention was still being claimed by her brother-in-law, before asking bluntly: “Do you wish to cry off, Miss Stavely?”

She considered the question, frowning. “You will think me a perfect wet-goose, Denville, but the truth is that I don’t know! If Albinia had not come into the room when she did—”

“Unfortunate!” he agreed.

“Yes, and so stupid, if she but knew it, poor thing! To be sure, there was some awkwardness attached to our discussion, but we were on the way to an understanding—or, so I believed. I have felt ever since that a great deal was left unsaid. You too, I dare say. When Albinia came in you had just said there was one stipulation you must make—but you weren’t granted the opportunity to tell me what that may be.”

“Good God, did I really say anything so uncivil?” he asked, startled.

“No, no, you were not uncivil! Remember that I begged you to be plain with me—not to stand on points!”

“I seem to have taken the fullest advantage of that request, if I did indeed talk about stipulations!”

“I thought that was the word you used, but I might be mistaken, perhaps. Yet—”

“I fancy you must have been, for I haven’t the smallest recollection of it.”

“But you can’t have forgotten that you said something of that nature!” she objected, considerably surprised.

He laughed. “But I have forgotten, which proves that it can’t have been a matter of much consequence. If only we had not suffered that untimely interruption—!”

“Exactly so! You must feel as I do that it left us uncomfortably situated. Would it be possible for you to visit me tomorrow, a little after eleven o’clock? We may be secure against another such interruption, for Albinia means to go shopping with her mother directly after breakfast, and my grandmother never leaves her room until noon.” She thought he hesitated, and added, colouring slightly: “I ought not to suggest it, perhaps, but my situation is a trifle difficult. Surely it can’t be thought improper in me—at my age, and in such circumstances—to receive you alone?”

“Improper! Of course not!” he said immediately. “I shall present myself at—a quarter past eleven? Unless I find a carriage waiting at the door to take up Lady Stavely, when I shall conceal myself behind a lamp-post until I see her drive away.”

“Thus investing a morning-call with the trappings of an intrigue!” she said, laughing.

Her attention was then claimed by the cousin who sat on her other hand; and in a very few moments Kit was once more engaged by his hostess.

When the ladies withdrew, and the cloth was removed from the table, Lord Stavely came to sit beside Kit, unconsciously rescuing him from Mr Lucton, who had formed the same intention. Conversation became general; and as Lucton was too shy to raise his voice amongst so many seniors, and Mr Charles Stavely, in his late forties, had only a casual acquaintance with young Lord Denville, no pitfalls awaited Kit. He would have been happy to have remained in the dining-room for the next hour, but Lord Stavely was under orders not to allow the gentlemen to linger over their wine, and he very soon declared it to be time to join the ladies.

In the drawing-room, the supposed Lord Denville had inevitably been the subject of animated discussion. Opinions were varied, one party, led by Lady Stavely, extolling his air and address; another warning Cressy that she would be very unwise to marry a man so notoriously volatile; and a third, headed by Lady Ebchester, stating that it was a very good match, and that Cressy, at the age of twenty, and with a dowry of only £25,000, would be a fool to draw back from it.

This brought Lady Ebchester under the Dowager’s fire. Sitting forward in her chair, and leaning on her ebony cane, the old lady looked like the popular conception of a witch. She fixed her daughter with a gleaming eye, and snapped: “Besides what I may leave her!”

Lady Ebchester was rather taken aback by this, but she said: “Oh, well, Mama, that is a matter for you, of course, but you will hardly leave any great sum to Cressy when you have sons who have nearer claims on you. Not to speak of your daughters—though, for my part, I expect nothing, and nor, I dare say, does Eliza. As for Caroline, however, and poor Clara—”

“Oh, pray don’t, Augusta!” begged Miss Clara Stavely, tears starting to her eyes. “So very improper—so disagreeable for dear Cressy!”

“Don’t cry, Aunt!” said Cressy cheerfully. “If Grandmama leaves her fortune to me, I’ll engage to give it back to the family immediately.”

The Dowager uttered a cackle of mirth. “Do you want to start a civil war, girl?”

“Not in the least, ma’am—and if Aunt Augusta doesn’t know that there won’t be any occasion for me to do so, I do!” retorted Cressy, twinkling at her.

At this point, the deaf cousin, who had formed a very imperfect impression of what had been said, nodded at Cressy, and stated in the voice of one prepared to go to the stake in defence of her beliefs: “Well, dear, I said it before, and I’ll say it again: he’s very handsome!”

As this declaration coincided with the arrival of the gentlemen, Kit, ushered first into the room by his host, was once more privileged to hear this tribute. He managed to preserve his countenance, but his eyes met Cressy’s across the room, and he was obliged to grip his lips tightly together. Cressy retreated to the end of the room, her shoulders shaking; and the Dowager, having informed the deaf cousin that she was a fool, commanded Kit to come and sit beside her.

He obeyed her, drawing up a chair. The Dowager tartly adjured Clara not to hang about her, and told the rest of the company that they were at liberty to indulge in their usual bibble-babble. Correctly interpreting this as a prohibition on any attempt to intrude into her conversation with the principal guest, her relations meekly drifted away, to form small groups in various parts of the room.

“Gabblemongers, all of ’em!” said the Dowager, sardonically observing their efforts to maintain a flow of small talk. She brought her piercing gaze to bear on Kit’s face, and said “Well, young man? What have you to say for yourself?”

“I don’t think I have anything to say for myself, ma’am, and I stand in too much dread of being thought a gabble-monger to say it if I had,” he replied.

“Balderdash!” she said. “You’ve a mighty ready tongue in your head, sir!”

He smiled at her. “Well, what do you wish me to say, ma’am? You can’t expect me to recite a catalogue of my vices, and as for my virtues, would you really think better of me if I puffed them off to you?”

“Have you any?” she demanded.

“Yes, a few, and quite a number of good intentions,” he replied.

“So your Uncle Brumby seems to have told my son. But I have a very good memory, and I recall that he once told me that your brother was worth a dozen of you!”

This speech, had it been shot at him before dinner, would have shaken him badly, but he was now sufficiently fortified to be able to answer it with smiling ease. “Yes, my uncle has a great kindness for my brother. Kit is his protégé, you know, ma’am.”

She seemed to be satisfied with this response, for she abandoned the subject, and said, after considering him for a few moments: “Well, it’s my way to open my budget, so I’ll tell you to your head that I’m not mad after this marriage. Mind, I don’t dislike you! In fact, you’re better than I looked for. But whether you’re the man for my granddaughter is another pair of shoes.”

Knowing Evelyn as he did, he found himself in agreement with her, and might have added that Miss Stavely was not at all the sort of girl to attract Evelyn’s roving fancy. He said: “I can only hope, ma’am, that I may be able to prove you wrong. It will be my endeavour, I promise you.”

“I’ll say this for you,” she remarked dryly, “you have excellent address! That’s in your favour—or it is to persons of my generation. I detest the scrambling manners some of you younger men affect! Brumby tells my son you have no faults that won’t be cured by a suitable marriage, but from all I hear, Denville, you’re a here and thereian! I put it no more strongly than that, though, to use words with no bark on ’em, there are those who don’t scruple to say you’ve libertine propensities.”

“Are there?” Kit said, his brows drawing together. “I didn’t know it, ma’am,—and it is untrue!”

“No need to fire up!” she replied. “I set no store by reports of that nature. How old are you? Four-and-twenty? Lord, what’s the world coming to if sprigs of your age ain’t to be allowed a few petticoat affairs without a parcel of windsuckers setting it about that they’re loose-screws? I’ve no patience with such prudery!”

He laughed. “Why, thank you, ma’am!”

She directed another of her piercing glances at him. “All very well, young man, but if you marry my granddaughter you’ll put a period to your philandering! She’s a rational girl, and a well-bred girl, and I don’t doubt she’d take it with composure, but she wouldn’t like it, and I don’t mean to have her made uncomfortable, that you may depend on!”

“Nor do I, ma’am—and that you may depend on!” he retorted, a little stir of anger in his heart. His twin might have been going the pace rather too rapidly; he might be careless, even lightminded; he was certainly forgetful; but he was not insensitive; and Kit was ready to swear that if he married Miss Stavely he would never use her unkindly, or wound her pride by blatantly pursuing some other female. Whether he would remain faithful to her was another and more doubtful matter; but he would conduct his affaires with discretion. Presumably Miss Stavely, no schoolroom miss, but a rational woman, entering openly into a marriage of convenience, was prepared for some divagations, and would demand no more of Evelyn than the appearance of fidelity.

The Dowager saw the flash in Kit’s eyes, and was pleased. All she said, however, was: “Easy to say, Denville!” She relapsed into silence, staring grimly ahead. After a long pause, she said abruptly: “When I was young, our marriages were arranged for us by our parents. I could name you a dozen females who were barely acquainted with their bridegrooms. I don’t know that it was a good thing.” She brought her gaze back to Kit’s face. “If you’re expecting me to give you my blessing because you’ve a glib tongue and engaging manners, you’re out in your reckoning! I want to know you better before I do that, and I want Cressy to know you better too. I’m tired now: tell my daughter Clara I’m ready to go to bed! And you may tell your mother to come and visit me one morning! Good night!”