Джорджетт Хейер - The Foundling

Harriet clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “Mama,” she said, fixing her eyes on Lady Ampleforth’s face, “may not a lady of quality—love?”

Her ladyship laughed. “As to that, my dear, I daresay she is no harder-hearted than the rest of her sex! But she must always be discreet, and I cannot too strongly impress upon you that nothing of that nature must be thought of until you have presented your husband with an heir! You must never give your parents cause to blush for you, Harriet, and I am sure you will not, for you are a good girl, and you know what is due to your position.”

“Oh!” said Harriet faintly, lifting a hand to her hot cheek. “I did not mean that! Mama—were you not in love with Papa when you married him?”

“I was a great deal too young to know anything of the matter. He was presented to me by my parents: I doubt if I had clapped eyes on him above half a dozen times in my life. But I became very sincerely attached to him, as I hope you may do to Sale. But be upon your guard, my child! You have a romantical disposition, I am afraid, and you are a great deal too fond of showing when you feel a strong partiality for anyone. And that, you know, may lead you into jealousy, which will never do! A man may have his chères-amies: they do not concern his wife. She must turn a blind eye towards such little affaires.”

“Perhaps,” said Harriet, turning away her face, “he may welcome caresses from his chères-amies!”

“Very likely, my love. It is something I am happy to think neither you nor I can know anything about. A man of Sale’s breeding will expect a different style of conduct of his wife, that I can vouch for! Remember it, Harriet!”

“Yes, Mama,” said Harriet unhappily.

The Duke, returning to Sale House, spent an unprofitable half-hour, trying to draft an advertisement for the Gazette. He gave it up finally, exclaiming aloud: “It seems I need a private secretary besides all the rest!”

The door into the library opened. “Your Grace called?” said his footman.

The Duke stared at him in gathering wrath. “Were you standing outside the door?” he demanded.

The man looked quite scared. “Yes, your Grace!”

“Then don’t do it!”

“No, your Grace! I beg your Grace’s pardon! I thought your Grace had called!”

“I did not!”

“No, your Grace!” said the footman, much discomposed, and preparing to bowhimself out again.

“When I need you, I will ring for you,” said the Duke. “At this present I want nothing! At least—Yes, I do! If Mr. Scriven should not have left the house, desire him to come to me, if you please!”

“Yes, your Grace!”

It seemed that Mr. Scriven had not left the house, for in a very few minutes he presented himself in the library. He found the Duke sitting at the big carved desk, biting the end of a quill, and regarding with dissatisfaction a scrawled sheet of paper. Several screwed-up balls of paper cast in the direction of the fireplace bore witness to frustrated literary endeavour.

“You wished to see me, my lord?” said Mr. Scriven, advancing into the room.

The Duke looked up, a boyishly rueful smile in his eyes. “I can do not the least thing for myself, Scriven!” he said. “Here have I been wasting I know not how long trying to write the simplest notice, and making the sorriest work of it!”

“You know you may depend upon me, my lord, to do anything for you that you desire,” said Mr. Scriven, in a soothing voice. “May I know what it is that is giving you so much trouble?”

“Merely the notice of my engagement for the Gazette! You would say a simple matter, but only see what a botch I have made of it!”

Mr. Scriven had been moving towards the desk, but at these words he halted. “Your engagement, my lord!”

“Yes, to the Lady Harriet Presteigne. It must be announced, you know, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you will draft a suitable notice for me.”

“May I say, my lord Duke,” said Mr. Scriven, deeply moved, “that there is no task you could lay upon me which I could undertake with more gratification? I hope your Grace will permit me to offer my sincerest felicitations upon this most happy event!”

“Thank you: you are very good.”

“I shall take advantage, my lord, of my long association with the House of Sale, to say that nothing could afford those who have your interests at heart greater satisfaction than thus intelligence. And I venture to say, my lord, that there is no one amongst your dependants who has not your interests at heart.”

“Thank you!” said the Duke again, startled, but a little touched.

“Your Grace may safely leave this matter in my hands,” said Mr. Scriven. “The notice shall be sent immediately to all the society papers: I shall attend to it myself. May I enquire when the Happy Date is to be?”

“I do not precisely know. In the spring, I think: nothing is fixed yet!”

Mr. Scriven bowed. “We shall have to see to the refurnishing of the Duchess’s apartments,” he said. “In fact, there will be a great many details to be attended to, my lord. You may rely on me!”

The Duke, who felt that he had listened to enough plans for his marriage for one day, said hastily that he was sure of it, but that there was time and to spare. Mr. Scriven thereupon bowed again, and went off to enjoy himself very much in drafting an advertisement in terms grandiloquent enough to satisfy his sense of what was due to his noble employer’s dignity.

The Duke, who had previously ascertained that his cousin was on guard-duty that day, thought that he might perhaps be dining at White’s, and determined to seek him there. He did not succeed, however, in leaving the house without encountering a good deal of opposition, first from his valet, who took it amiss that he did not mean to change his pantaloons for knee-breeches and silk stockings; then from Borrowdale, who had not supposed that his Grace meant to dine from home, and thought that it looked like rain; and lastly from Chigwell, who, forbidden to send a message to the stables, was horrified, and exclaimed: “But your Grace will have the carriage!”

“I do not need it; I am only going to White’s,” replied the Duke, taking his cane and gloves from his footman’s hands.

“Your Grace will not go on foot, and alone! Only let me call a chair!”

“Chigwell, I am not a child, nor shall I melt for a drop or two of rain!” said the Duke.

“No, indeed, your Grace, but they say the town abounds with pickpockets, and street-robbers! I am sure his lordship would desire you to take a chair, and a linkboy!”

“I shall take neither, however.”

Chigwell and Borrowdale both looked very much upset. “But, your Grace, you will be very much more comfortable in your carriage!” protested Chigwell. “It can be brought round in a trice, and—”

“No!” said the Duke, with sudden and unaccustomed violence.

They fell back, and the porter, who had been standing all the time by the door thought well of opening it.

“As your Grace wishes!” said Chigwell feebly. “At what hour will your Grace be returning?”

“I have not the smallest notion,” said the Duke, drawing on his gloves.

“No, your Grace. Quite so! And your Grace would not wish to have the carriage call for you—?”

“I would not!” said the Duke, and ran down the steps into the forecourt, leaving his faithful henchmen to stare after him in great surprise, and no little perturbation.

He did not find his cousin at White’s, but just as he was ascertaining from the porter that Captain Ware had not been seen in the club that day, Viscount Gaywood walked in, and instantly pounced upon him. “Sale! By God, I was in half a mind to call at your place! My dear fellow, how do you do? I have just heard the news! Never more glad of anything in my life! Come and dine with me!”

Lord Gaywood, who was tall, lanky, and a great rattle, bore little resemblance to his sister Harriet, but had a beak-like nose that brought Lady Ampleforth forcibly to mind. He was said to be a severe trial to his parents, and had certainly occupied his adult years in tumbling in and out of a great many scrapes. He swept the Duke upstairs to the coffee-room, saying cheerfully: “Well, this is a capital go, old fellow! But what a complete hand you are! I was ready to swear you were not hanging out for a wife yet awhile! Why, I don’t believe you ever so much as gave Harry’s hand a squeeze at hands across!”

“Well, do not shout it to the whole world!” said Gilly.

“Oh, no one ever attends to me!” replied his lordship. “You know, it’s not for me to puff m’sister off, but she’s a devilish good girl, Sale, and deserves her fortune. The shyest thing in nature, mind you, but you’re a trifle in that line yourself! I’m glad you didn’t declare off: don’t mind telling you my mother was thrown into gloom when you left town without coming up to scratch! What a business it is! They will be trying their hands at finding a bride for me next, I daresay. Do you want to buy a horse?”

“Yes, but not one of yours,” said the Duke frankly.

“What do you mean, not one of mine?” demanded his lordship, affronted. “I’ve got a prime bit of blood I wouldn’t mind selling you. Shows off well; complete to a shade!”

“Touched in the wind?” asked the Duke, taking his seat at the table.

“Devil a bit of it! Perfect in all his paces!”

“I may look like a flat, but I’m not such a green one that I’d buy one of your breakdowns, Charlie,” said the Duke.

Lord Gaywood grinned. “Well, it ain’t a breakdown, but I never crossed a greater slug in my life! fit only to carry a churchwarden!”