The Foundling

Chapter II

When the gentlemen at last joined the ladies, they found them established before the fire in the Crimson Saloon, one of a handsome suite of reception rooms on the first floor. Lady Lionel had sent for some working-candles, and her embroidery-frame, upon which latter Miss Scamblesby was engaged in setting stitches in various coloured silks. Her ladyship rarely occupied herself with anything more fatiguing than the knotting of a fringe, but by constantly desiring to have her embroidery brought to her, choosing the silks, and criticizing the design, she was easily able to persuade herself that she was an indefatigable worker, and would receive compliments upon her skill with perfect complaisance.

Mr. Romsey went over to Miss Scamblesby’s side, to observe what progress she had made; and while Lady Lionel informed him for perhaps the tenth time that the work was destined to form an altar-cloth for the Chapel, her husband gave Gilly the letter from his younger uncle, and waited expectantly for it to be handed over to him when Gilly had finished his perusal of it.

Gilly read it in some little surprise. Lord Henry, who was of a saving turn of mind, had managed to avoid the cost of an enclosure by compressing the intelligence he wished to convey on a single, crossed sheet. He wrote to inform his nephew of a very desirable connection he was about to form, through the betrothal of his eldest daughter to a scion of a distinguished family. He contrived to squeeze a number of details into his single sheet, and ended by expressing the hope that the proposed alliance would meet with his nephew’s approval.

The Duke gave up this letter to Lord Lionel in a mechanical way, and his lordship, casting his eye over it, said: “Ha! I suspected as much! Yelverton’s son, eh? Pretty well for a chit not out of the schoolroom!”

“I cannot conceive why he should write to tell me of it,” remarked the Duke.

Lord Lionel looked up from the letter to direct an admonishing frown at him. “Naturally he would do so! It is a very proper letter. You will write your felicitations, of course, and say that you are very well pleased with the connection.”

“But he will not care a button whether I am pleased or not,” objected the Duke, with a touch of impatience.

“Pray do not let me have these odd humours!” begged his lordship irascibly. “One would suppose you do not attend to anything that is said to you, Sale! I have been telling you for ever that you are the head of the family, and must learn to take your place as such, and now you talk rubbishing stuff to me of your uncle’s not caring a button for your approval! If you are so lost to the sense of what is due to your position, you must perceive that he is not! A very pretty letter he has written you: expresses himself just as he ought! I must say, I had not thought he would have contrived such an eligible match for that girl—not but what it is not precisely what I should have cared for myself.”

“No,” agreed Gilly, taking his letter again. “My cousin is not yet seventeen, and I am sure Alfred Thirsk must be forty if he is a day.”

“Well, well, that need not signify!” said Lord Lionel. “The thing is that I have never fancied that brood of Yelverton’s. There is a damned vulgar streak in them all; came into the family when the old man—Yelverton’s father, I mean: you would not recall—married some rich Cit’s heiress. However, it is none of my business!”

The Duke said a little impishly: “Very true, sir, but if it is mine I think I should inform my uncle that I do not like the match. Poor Charlotte! I am sure she cannot wish for it!”

Lord Lionel audibly drew a breath. In the voice of one restraining himself with a strong effort, he said: “You will not, I trust, be guilty of such a piece of impertinence, Sale! Pray, what should a young man of your age know about the matter?”

“But you told me, sir, that I must learn to assert myself,” said the Duke meekly.

“Let me assure you, Gilly, that that kind of nonsense is beyond the line of being pleasing!” said Lord Lionel sternly. “You must be perfectly well aware that this very proper letter of your uncle’s is the merest formality, and not to be taken as an excuse for you to be putting yourself forward in a very unbecoming way! A fine state of affairs it would be if a man of your uncle’s age and experience is to be told how he is to manage his household by a young jackanapes of a nephew! You will write to him as I have directed, and mind you write it fair, and not in one of your scrawls! You had better let me see the letter before it is sealed.”

“Very well, sir,” said the Duke.

Perceiving that he had quite banished the smile from his nephew’s eyes, Lord, Lionel relented, saying in a kindlier tone: “There is no need to be cast into a fit of dejection because I am obliged to give you a scold, boy. There, we shall say no more about it. Give the letter to your aunt to read, and come into the library with me. I have something I wish to say to you.”

The Duke looked extremely apprehensive on hearing these ominous words, but he obediently handed over the letter to Lady Lionel, and followed his uncle downstairs to the library on the entrance floor. Since the candles had already been lit, and the fire made up, it was apparent to him that this interview had been premeditated. Insensibly, he braced himself to meet it with becoming fortitude, wishing that he dared light one of the cigarillos which his cousin Gideon had very reprehensively bestowed on him. But as Lord Lionel objected strongly to the vice of smoking, both on the score of itsbeing a vulgar, dirty habit, and of its being excessively injurious to the lungs, he did not dare.

“Sit down, Gilly!” said Lord Lionel, treading over to the fire, and taking up his favourite position before it.

This command was less unnerving than earlier ones (delivered in ferocious accents) to stand up straight and put his hands behind his back, but the prospect of having to sit in a low chair while his uncle loomed over him was almost equally daunting. The Duke’s apprehensive look deepened, and although he did sit down, it was with obvious reluctance.

Lord Lionel, who did not include the taking of snuff amongst the vulgar and dirty habits engendered by the use of tobacco, helped himself to a generous pinch, and shut his box with a snap. “You know, Gilly,” he said, “that letter of your uncle’s comes remarkably pat.”

The Duke’s eyes lifted quickly to his face. “Yes, sir?”

“Yes, my boy. You will be of full age in less than a year now, and it is high time we were thinking of settling your affairs comfortably.”

The Duke was aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes fixed on his uncle’s face. “Yes, sir?”

For once in his life, Lord Lionel seemed disinclined to come speedily to the point of his discourse. He opened his snuff-box again, and said: “I have always tried to do my best for you, boy, I daresay you may sometimes have thought me harsh—”

“Oh, no!” said the Duke faintly.

“Well, I am happy to hear you say so, for I am very fond of you, Gilly, and always have been. I have no scruple in telling you that apart from your health, and a want of spirits in you, you have never caused me anxiety.”

The Duke, feeling that a response was expected, stammered: “Th-thank you, sir!”

“I don’t say that you are as wise as I could wish,” said Lord Lionel, tempering his praise, “or that you have not a great many faults, but on the whole I fancy your poor father might have been not dissatisfied with his son, had he lived to see you today.” Here he took another pinch of snuff. As Gilly was unable to think of anything to say, an uneasy silence prevailed. Lord Lionel broke it. “Your father left you to my guardianship,” he said, “and I think I may say that I have in every way open to me followed out what I knew to be his wishes. I even had you christened Adolphus,” he added, a slight sense of grievance overcoming him, “although it is one of these new-fangled German names that I very much dislike. However, that was a small thing, and you know I have never called you by it. And I have never permitted your uncle Henry to interfere in your education, for all he has been one of your trustees. I have nothing to say against your uncle, and no doubt his notions do very well for his own sons, but they will not do for me, and they would not have done for your father either, and a thousand pities it was that his name should have been included in the Trust. But there is no sense in repining over that, and I hope I know how to deal with my own brother.”

The Duke, drawing upon his recollection, could not feel that this hope was misplaced, but he did not think himself called upon to say so. Instead he uttered an indistinguishable murmur.

“There is no reason why you should be treated like a child, Gilly,” said Lord Lionel, in a burst of candour, “so I shall not conceal from you that I have a very poor opinion of your uncle’s judgment! He does not want, precisely, for sense, but you must know that he never partook of your father’s and my sentiments as one could have wished he might have done, and when he married that foolish woman—but I do not wish to dwell upon that, and if he chose to ally himself with a female out of a canting Methodist family, and to breed a pack of ill-conditioned brats who can think of nothing better to do than to ruin a lawn it has taken fifty years to bring to perfection, I am sure it was not for me to cavil. Although, mind you,” he added admonishingly, “I told him how it would be at the outset. But Henry was never one to listen to those who might be supposed to be a little wiser than himself. I trust you will not turn out to be the same, Gilly.”

The Duke assured him that he would not.

“No, well, I fancy I have drilled a few proper notions into your head,” agreed his uncle. “But all this has nothing to do with what I have to say to you!” He bent his austere gaze upon Gilly’s downcast face, and was silent for a moment. “I am speaking of your marriage, Gilly,” he said abruptly.

The Duke looked up, startled. “My marriage, sir!”

“There is nothing to be surprised about in that, surely!” said Lord Lionel. “It is not, I fancy, unknown to you that I have already made certain arrangements on your behalf. I do not believe in making a secret of a very ordinary business, and since I am quite as much concerned with the question of your future comfort and happiness as with the very important one of securing the succession, I have been careful to choose for you a bride who will bring you, besides the necessary advantages of birth and fortune, a reasonable chance of harmony in your future life. In this, I hope you will realize, my boy, that I have had all these modern notions with which I make no doubt you are imbued in my head. You are not to suppose that my mind was irrevocably fixed upon the first and most obvious choice. I have had several young females in my eye, but I believe they will not do for you, and it is now some years since I have entertained any other idea than that you should, as soon as you had come of full age, marry Lady Harriet Presteigne.”

The Duke got up suddenly, and said in some little agitation: “Yes—no! It had not been unknown to me. But the succession cannot be in danger, sir, while my cousin Gideon and, indeed, my Uncle Henry’s five sons—”

“Do not talk to me of your Uncle Henry’s sons!” commanded Lord Lionel wrathfully. “If they are all to take after the eldest of them, who, I am hearing, is for ever in some disgraceful scrape, as I have very little doubt they will do, for what can one expect, if a man will marry a Methodist?—I can only say that I am astonished you should entertain the notion of seeing one of them here in your shoes for as much as a moment!”

“But I should not see them in my shoes,” pointed out the Duke reasonably. “And really, you know, sir, Mart’s scrapes cannot be called disgraceful! And in any event I am sure that Gideon would fill my shoes far better than I could ever do. Surely—”

“You may put that out of your head once and for all!” said Lord Lionel, in his sternest voice. “Understand me, Gilly, I have never thought to see my son in your place, and nothing could more distress me than the knowledge that it must come to that in the end! I venture to say that Gideon shares my sentiments to the full. I do not know what cause he can have given you to suppose—”

“None! Oh, none!” Gilly said hurriedly. “I only meant—I only wished to say that it cannot be thought necessary for me to marry so soon!”

“So soon?” repeated his uncle, raising his brows. “My dear boy, it has been an understood thing between myself and Ampleforth any time these five years! I make no doubt the young lady herself is fully aware of it, for her mother is a woman of great good sense, and will have made it her business to prepare the girl for the position she is destined to occupy.”

“You think that Harriet herself knows of it?” the Duke said, in a stunned voice.

“Certainly. Why should she not?” replied his uncle. “If you have some romantic notion in your head, I advise you to rid yourself of it, boy. Romantic notions do very well in a trashy novel, and I daresay they may not come amiss amongst the lesser ranks of society, but they are not for persons of our order, and that you may depend upon. Yes, yes, you think me very unfeeling, I daresay, but you may believe me when I tell you that I have seen more unhappiness arising out of a so-called love-match than from any other cause in this world. I dare swear you, at twenty-four and with your head full of nonsense, have not half as much idea of what will suit you as I have. But don’t imagine, Gilly, that I would tie you up to someone for whom you feel the least degree of dislike! You cannot have failed to notice that your aunt and I have taken every opportunity of inviting the Ampleforths to Sale. I have encouraged you to visit them, and you have not been backward in accepting invitations to Ampleforth. I have made it my business to observe you narrowly, and I own that I shall be surprised to learn that you are wholly indifferent to Lady Harriet.”

The Duke grasped the back of a chair. He looked even paler than was natural in him, and acutely unhappy. “No, indeed! I have the greatest regard—She has always been most amiable—But marriage—!”

“Come, Gilly!” said Lord Lionel, a little impatiently, “you do not mean to tell me that you had never considered the question! You knew very well that the matter was arranged!”

“Yes,” the Duke said, in a hollow tone. “Yes, I did know. Only I hoped—I thought—”

“Well, and what did you think and hope?”

“I don’t know,” said the Duke helplessly. “Only that perhaps something would occur—or some other man offer—or—or that it might not be quite yet!”

His uncle looked shrewdly at him. “Have you a tendre for some other female, Gilly?” he asked.

The Duke shook his head.

“Well, I thought you had not, for you have never been in the petticoat-line, but you need not scruple to tell me so if I have been mistaken.” He waited, but the Duke only shook his head again. “Then what is the matter? Be open with me, I beg of you!”

The Duke took out his handkerchief, and pressed it to his lips. “I hardly know. I do not mean to say anything in Harriet’s disparagement! I have always been excessively attached to her, ever since we were children. She is everything that is amiable and obliging. Indeed, she is all compliance and good-nature, and is very pretty besides, but—but I had thought that when I came to marry I should choose awife for myself, a lady for whom I felt—with whom I might be in love, sir!”

“Oho! Here is a high flight!” said his uncle, rather amused. “And where is this fine lady?”

“I have not met one. I—”

“I am happy to hear it, for if any one thing is more to be depended on than another is that she would be quite ineligible! We have all our youthful fancies, Gilly, but it will not answer to be fashioning our lives on them. Now, you are not a schoolboy. You have been about the world a little: I took care that you should do so. You have been presented at Court, you have taken your seat in the House, you have travelled, you have had a season in London. Had you formed an attachment for some female it would not have surprised me in the least, and had your affections become fixed upon an eligible object you would not have found me unreasonable. But although you have met any number of young females of ton, none has succeeded in capturing your fancy. I do not feel that in urging you to come to the point with Ampleforth I am tying you up in matrimony before you have had time to know your own mind.”

“Do you mean that I shall never feel a—a stronger degree of attachment for a female than—than—”

“My dear Gilly, this is being foolish without permission! In plain terms, the sort of passion you have in mind has little to do with marriage. I grant that to be obliged to live with a woman whom you held in aversion would be a sad fate, but we need not consider that. You own that you are not indifferent to Lady Harriet. For a female, I believe her to have a superior understanding. Her disposition is amiable, and if you mean to object that there is a want of spirits in her I would point out to you that you have very odd humours yourself, and would find less rational comfort with a woman of more vivacity than with a quiet girl who would, I am persuaded, partake of many of your sentiments, and study to please you.”

“Oh, yes, yes!” interrupted Gilly. “But—”

Lord Lionel held up his hand. “No, listen to what I have to say to you, my boy! You think I do not enter into your feelings upon this occasion, but you are mistaken. I shall be plain with you. In Lady Harriet you will not find yourself saddled with a wife who will expect more from you than you are inclined to give. She is a very well brought-up girl; and while, on the one hand, I am satisfied that she will conduct herself, as Duchess of Sale, with propriety and discretion, she will not expect you to be always at her side. If you choose to mount a mistress, she will know how to look the other way, and you will not be obliged to face the reproaches which might be levelled at you by a woman of lesser breeding. In short, you may be assured of a well-conducted household with an amiable woman at its head, and may indulge what romantic fancies you please out of it.”

“Do you suppose, sir,” said Gilly, in an extinguished tone, “that it is with such sentiments as these that Harriet thinks of marriage with me—or—or with another?”

“I have been acquainted with Augusta Ampleforth any time these twenty years,” responded Lord Lionel readily, “and “I entertain no fears that Harriet has been allowed to fill her head with romantical stuff and nonsense. I daresay Lady Ampleforth may have some faults—”

“I have always thought her the most unfeeling woman I have ever met!” the Duke said.

“Well, well, now you are in your high ropes again! She is an ambitious woman, but she has a great deal of common-sense, after all!”

The Duke released the chairback, and took a turn about the room. He was evidently agitated, and his uncle allowed him to walk about for a few minutes before saying: “If you dislike it so very much, Gilly, you should have told me of it earlier. To draw back at this late date will be as bad as to declare off.”

The Duke turned a startled face towards him. “Oh, no, surely not!”

“It has been understood between the two families for some years, and from what I hear the announcement of your engagement is pretty widely expected.”

The Duke looked quite horrified. “But it cannot be! I have never offered never said a word to Harriet, or given anyone the least reason to suppose that my affections had become fixed!”

“My dear boy, in our world these affairs are generally known. Ampleforth has refused one offer for Harriet’s hand already, and I have little doubt that her ladyship will have dropped a hint or two abroad. It would be a great piece of folly to pretend that you are not a splendid matrimonial prize, Gilly, so we will not indulge ourselves with any humbug about that. In fact, except for Devonshire, who must be nearing thirty by now and seems to be a settled bachelor—besides he is extremely deaf—I do not know of one to equal you. Depend upon it, Augusta Ampleforth will not have been able to resist the temptation of telling her friends—in the strictest confidence, of course!—that she has such large expectations for her daughter. She must be the envy of her acquaintance!”

The Duke passed a hand through his fair locks. “I had no idea of this! Do you tell me that the Ampleforths—Harriet—have been expecting me to declare myself?”

“Oh, well, no, I do not say that,” replied Lord Lionel. “In fact, I told Ampleforth I would not have you established too early in life. Your health was too uncertain, and I wished you to have time to look about you before making your choice.”

“My choice!” Gilly ejaculated. “It seems I have none at all, sir!”

“Yon have certainly made none,” said his uncle dryly.

There was a defeated silence. After a few moments, Gilly said: “I do not know what to say. I must see Ampleforth, and—and Harriet too. Until I am persuaded that she does indeed expect me to offer—Well, I must see her!”

“Not before you have spoken with her father!” exclaimed Lord Lionel.

“Oh, no!” Gilly said wearily.

“There is no need for you to be in a hurry,” said Lord Lionel. “I believe the Ampleforths are in London at present, but they will be removing into the country at any moment now, I should suppose. Ampleforth is bound to invite you to one of his battues, and you may then—”

“No, no, I would rather by far visit him in town!” Gilly said. “I had been thinking that I would go up to see my cousin. If you do not object, sir, I will do so.”

“Object! Pray, why should you always be supposing that I may object to what you wish to do, Gilly,” demanded Lord Lionel. “But you will find London very thin of company at this season, and I own I do not like the fogs for you, and they will soon be starting, you know. However, if you like to go for a few days it can very well be arranged. I will send an express to Scriven, to warn him to have Sale House in readiness for you. Romsey may accompany you, and—”

“I should like to go alone—and to an hotel!” said the Duke desperately.

“Alone and to an hotel!” repeated his uncle, thunderstruck. “Next I shall be told that you would like to travel to town on the stage-coach!”

“No, I don’t wish to travel on a stage-coach, but I do not want Romsey!”

Lord Lionel eyed him speculatively. “Now, what mischief are you up to, Gilly?” he asked, not displeased. “Do you mean to go raking in town?”

The Duke smiled rather perfunctorily. “No, sir, but I find Romsey very tedious, and I am very sure he will find me a dead bore, for I mean to see a good deal of Gideon, and you know that they could never agree! And I thought I might shoot at Manton’s, and look in at Tatt’s besides, and that sort of thing is not in Romsey’s line at all.”

“No, very true,” agreed Lord Lionel. “So you mean to buy another horse, do you? What is it you want? Something showy to lionize a bit, eh? You had best find out Belper, and desire him to go with you. Not that I mean to say you are not able to judge a horse for yourself, but Belper can advise you.”

The Duke was too thankful to have escaped the company of his clerical tutor to jeopardize his position by demurring at having his other bear-leader thrust upon him. Captain Belper might override him in the matter of choosing a horse, but he was not likely to moralize, and he would not be staying under the same roof as his erstwhile pupil, and so would not be able to keep his movements under strict surveillance.

“You will tell Scriven to draw on Child’s for whatever money you may require,” said Lord Lionel. “No need to trouble yourself about that. But as for staying in an hotel, certainly not, Gilly! I would not vouch for the way they air the sheets even at the Clarendon, and when yon have a very good house of your own it would be the height of absurdity not to use it. Borrowdale may go to London ahead of you—”

“I do not mean to entertain largely. Should Borrowdale not remain with you, sir?” said the Duke.

“We shall do very well with the under-butler. Naturally Borrowdale and Chigwell go with you. You must not blame me for keeping only a skeleton-staff at Sale House, Gilly. While you were under age I should not have considered it proper to squander your fortune in keeping up several establishments as they of course must be kept up when you are married. And you have lived so little in London that it hardly seemed worth while—But that must all be looked into presently. And that puts me in mind of something else! You need not discuss the marriage settlements with Ampleforth, you know. He will not expect it of you. You are of age, but you will do very much better to leave all such matters in my hands.”

“Yes,” said the Duke.

“I have nothing to say against your being with your cousin: indeed, I hope you will see as much of him as you may, but do not let yourself be drawn into that military set, boy! Gideon is older than you, and can be trusted to keep the line, but there are some fast fellows amongst them, such as I would not wish to see you associating with too freely. And you never know where that kind of society may lead you! Park-saunterers, and half-pay officers, hanging out for invitations: toad-eaters of that style! It will not do for you by any means.”

“No,” said the Duke.

“And if you take my advice, Gilly, you will be a little on your guard with Gaywood!” further admonished his lordship. “I hear that he is being very wild, and if once he gets it into his head that you are to marry his sister I should own myself very much astonished if he did not try to borrow money from you, or some such thing. I do not mean to be dictating to you, mind! But if he tries to introduce you to one of these pernicious gaming-houses, do not go with him!”

“No,” said the Duke.

“Well,” said his lordship, glancing at the clock, “I do not think there is anything more I wish to say to you at present, and I see that Borrowdale will be bringing in the tea-tray in a few minutes. We had better go back to join your aunt.” He nodded graciously at his nephew, and added, a little inaccurately, but in great good-humour: “We have had a comfortable prose together, have we not?”