“Well, of course I am!”

“But also just a trifle relieved! Confess!”

“Miss Merriville! No, I swear I’m not!”

“You will be,” she assured him. “You know how comfortably you go on as a bachelor, and how very much you would dislike to be tied to a wife’s apron-strings.”

He laughed a little ruefully, but denied it. “I shouldn’t dislike being tied to your apron-strings.”

“Or to play the mentor to my brothers?” she asked, quizzing him. “You would be obliged to include them in your household, you know!”

“Yes — at least, won’t they live with your eldest brother?”

“Oh, no! Poor Harry! They would drive him distracted! He is too young for such a charge — too young to command either respect or obedience. Besides, he and Jessamy would be at outs within a sennight!”

“I see. Well, I know nothing about rearing boys, but I would do my best!” he said heroically.

She laughed, and held out her hand to him. “Even though your blood runs cold at the very thought of it! How kind you are, my dear friend! Thank you! What a fix you would be in if I did accept your offer! I shan’t, however, so you may be easy!”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Not quite that. May I still, and always, count myself your friend?”

“Indeed, I hope you will,” she replied cordially.

She could not help laughing a little, when he had gone, but kindly. There had been enough dismay in his face, swiftly though he had recovered himself, to strengthen her belief that it would not be long before he was thanking providence for his escape. The intrusion into his care-free existence of two such enterprising young gentlemen as Jessamy and Felix provided her with a vision that appealed instantly to her sense of humour. Only Buxted, she thought, could make sadder work of bridling them. Alverstoke could do it, and without rousing even the shadow of hostility, because they had decided, for inscrutable reasons, that he was a person eminently worthy of respect. But at this point her musings came to an abrupt halt. She was obliged to give herself a mental shake, renewing a resolve not to think about Alverstoke, at all. This was not easy. Whether he knew it, or not, he had developed an uncomfortable habit of intruding upon her thoughts; and to allow him to do so could only bring her to fiddlestick’s end. That was certain; and she hoped she had enough commonsense to realize it. Enough pride, too, not to add to the number of his victims. He was a confirmed bachelor — far more so than Darcy More-ton, who carried a warm heart in his breast. There was no warmth in Alverstoke, and no softness. If he was kind it was for his own ends; when it pleased him to make himself agreeable he could be the most delightful of companions; but his treatment of his sisters, and of anyone who bored him, was ruthless. Hard, cold, and selfish: that was Alverstoke! And a rake into the bargain, if the on-dits were true. Probably they were, but one must be just, even to such an abandoned character: he had shown no signs of the rake in his dealings with her, or with her lovely sister. She had on one occasion suspected him of trying to get up a flirtation, but had soon decided that she was mistaken. Moreover, it was only fair to acknowledge that although he had consented to sponsor her and Charis with no other motive than a malicious wish to infuriate his sister Louisa, he had been extremely kind to Jessamy and Felix as well. Still being just to his lordship, she recalled the expedition to Hampton Court, which must surely have been intolerably boring to him; the readiness with which he had rescued Lufra from an untimely end; and the skill with which he had handled Jessamy. It was impossible to discover in these activities any base, ulterior motive: he had behaved as though he really were their guardian, so that she had come, insensibly, to regard him as one to whom she could turn in any difficulty. This vexed her, for she had not previously looked for support or advice; and she had a shrewd notion that if she were to maintain her own strength she must not allow herself to fall into the habit of depending upon his. For some unknown reason it amused him, at present, to befriend the Merrivilles; but he might grow bored at any moment, shrugging them off as easily as he had adopted them. For what, after all, she asked herself, did she know about him? Nothing much beyond what the gossips recounted: not even if he liked her above the average! Sometimes she had been encouraged to think that he did; but at other times, when he let half the evening slip by at some assembly before strolling over to exchange a few words with her, she had been convinced that he regarded her with indifference. Which, when one thought the matter over dispassionately, was in all likelihood the truth; for if the truly dazzling beauties who showed themselves perfectly ready to receive his addresses bored him (as they demonstrably did), how much more must he be bored by a country-cousin endowed with no more than passable good-looks, and long past the first blush of her youth? Indeed, when she considered the handsome Mrs Parracombe, or the dashing widow who was commonly thought to be his latest flirt, she could only be surprised that he continued to interest himself in her affairs. Had she been told that she was rapidly becoming an obsession with him, she would have been incredulous.

XVII

The Marquis, in fact, was behaving with unusual circumspection, careful to give the tattle-mongers no food for gossip. Well-aware of his notoriety, of the scandalous on-dits which would instantly attend the least sign he gave of having formed a partiality for Miss Merriville, he was taking inordinate pains to shield her from envious, or merely malicious tongues. To satisfy the curiosity of those who might wonder why he was gratifying so many hostesses by appearing at their balls, drums, and assemblies, he set up the dashing Mrs Ilford as his flirt, knowing that the lively widow’s charms were equalled by her shrewdness: the Marquis, man-of-the-town though he might be, had no desire to break hearts; and the objects of his gallantry had never yet included guileless innocents. In general, he had ignored the handkerchiefs thrown to him, but he had his own, remorseless way with any over-bold damsel who disgusted him by too-obviously setting her cap at him. He would indulge her with a brief, desperate flirtation, conducted under the envious or the shocked eyes of her contemporaries, and, at their next encounter, fail to remember her name, or even that he had met her before. These merciless tactics had earned for him the reputation of being dangerous, and caused prudent parents to warn their daughters against encouraging his advances. They even caused his closest friend to remonstrate with him once or twice, but Mr More-ton’s accusation of cruelty was productive of nothing but a contemptuous smile, and a coldly uttered hope that the victim had learnt her lesson. From the hour of his come-out, the Marquis had been a matrimonial prize, but the years had not taught him to accept this position with equanimity, to tolerate the schemes of match-making mamas, or to be amused by the lures cast out by their ambitious daughters. Since the day of his discovery that his first love would have been as ready to marry a hunchback possessed of his rank and fortune as himself, he had grown steadily more hardened in cynicism, until, at the age of seven-and-thirty, when Frederica thrust herself into his life, he had no more intention of saddling himself with a wife than of throwing himself into the Thames.

But Frederica had seriously ruffled the calm waters of his agreeable existence. Not quite immediately, but soon enough, he had found himself strongly attracted to her, and in a way that was strange to him. The only women who had previously interested him were the well-born flirts, with whom it was amusing to dally, and the barques of frailty with whom he enjoyed more intimate relations. He felt no affection for any of these ladies, and not the smallest wish to establish with any one of them a more permanent connection. To be leg-shackled to a female who, however lively or beautiful she might be, would inevitably become a bore within a very few months was a fate too hideous even to be contemplated. He did not wish for female companionship; and still less did he wish to saddle himself with the trials and responsibilities that attended the married state.

Then came Frederica, upsetting his cool calculations, thrusting responsibilities upon him, intruding more and more into the ordered pattern of his life, and casting him into a state of unwelcome doubt. And, try as he would, he could discover no reason for this uncomfortable change in himself. She had more countenance than beauty; she employed no arts to attract him; she was heedless of convention; she was matter-of-fact, and managing, and not at all the sort of female whom he had ever wished to encourage. Furthermore (now he came to think of it), she had foisted two troublesome schoolboys on to him, which was the last thing in the world he wanted!

Or had she? A rather rueful smile flickered at the corners of his lordship’s mouth as he considered this point. No: she had not. He had allowed himself to yield to the blandishments of Felix (detestable imp!); then Jessamy had got himself into a scrape (tiresome young chub!), and had turned to him for help, which, naturally, had to be given to him; but it would really be quite unjust to blame Frederica for these happenings. She had been as cross as crabs over Jessamy’s affair, top-lofty little peagoose that she was! Top-lofty, gooseish, managing, no more than passably good-looking: why the devil did he like her so much?

Unconsciously following the example Frederica had set, he began to do her justice, trying to discover what quality in her it was which had jerked him out of his idle hedonism into a state of nagging uncertainty. It was a pleasant exercise, but it brought him no nearer to solving the problem. He liked her composure, her frankness, the smile in her eyes, her ready appreciation of the ridiculous, the gay courage with which she shouldered burdens too heavy for a girl to bear, the way she caught herself up guiltily on a cant phrase culled from her brothers’ vocabularies, the intent look which came into her face when she was pondering a ticklish question, the unexpected things she said, and — but what was there in all this to disrupt his present life, and to place his untrammelled future in jeopardy? Nothing, of course: she had certainly aroused in him feelings he had not known he possessed, but she could be no more than a passing fancy.