Ten
Few invitations conferred so great a distinction on the social aspirant as one to Nassington House. Lady Nassington’s parties were extremely exclusive, for she disliked fashionable squeezes, and was contemptuous of hostesses who rated the success of their entertainments by the number of guests they could cram into their saloons. It spoke volumes for her forceful personality that she had long since convinced the ton that a card of invitation to one of her assemblies was an honour no more to be refused than a Royal Command.
Lady Oversley was amongst the fortunate recipients of these missives. She studied hers with mixed feelings, for Lady Nassington had included the Hon. Julia Oversley in her invitation, and Lady Oversley would have given much to know whether Lord and Lady Lynton had also been invited. On the one hand, it seemed unlikely; on the other, Adam was her ladyship’s nephew, and she had presented his bride at Court. With anyone else that would have settled the matter, but with Lady Nassington one never knew: having performed what she believed to be her duty she was quite capable of ignoring there-after young Lady Lynton’s claims upon her notice.
Lady Oversley wrote a formal acceptance, reflecting that unless Julia remained permanently in Tunbridge Wells meetings between her and Adam were inevitable. A letter from her mother-in-law encouraged her to hope that Julia was showing signs of recovery, her grandmama having arrested her decline by arranging a succession of pleasure-parties which no damsel in the possession of her senses could have failed to enjoy. Admirers had not been lacking; the Beauties of Tunbridge Wells had been eclipsed; and to complete her triumph she had lately added to her court no less a personage than that noted connoisseur of female charm and elegance the Marquis of Rockhill. In the Dowager’s opinion, that conquest was enough to drive thoughts of young Lynton out of any girl’s head. She added that while it would be absurd to suppose that Rockhill nourished serious intentions, he was sufficiently captivated to make Julia the object of his gallantry ‘for long enough to serve our turn’.
Julia’s mama was not so optimistic. She was flattered to think that her daughter had pleased the Marquis’s discriminating taste; but she could not feel that a widower, well into his forties, would prove to be a formidable rival to a young and charming man for whom Julia had formed a violent attachment. She was also inclined to look a trifle askance upon the Marquis’s gallantry, but in this, her lord informed her, she showed herself to be a great goose. ‘Nonsense!’ he said. ‘Rockhill’s a gentleman!’
‘Good God, you don’t think he wishes to marry her?’ she gasped.
‘No, no, of course I don’t!’ he replied testily. ‘He found himself in Tunbridge Wells for some cause or another, and began a flirtation with the prettiest girl in the place to save himself from being killed with boredom, that’s all! I only wish it may last until she’s recovered from the other affair, but I don’t depend on it.’
The possibility that Julia, recovering from one abortive love-affair, might fall a victim to a second occurred to Lady Oversley, but she thought it wisest not to suggest this to his lordship. When Julia returned to London she showed no sign of succumbing to Rockhill’s charms, merely saying that he was very kind and amusing, which, in Lady Oversley’s opinion, was what any girl might be expected to say of a man old enough to be her father. She did not speak of Adam at all; she seemed bent on extracting every ounce of enjoyment from this, her second London Season, laughed to scorn the idea that an endless succession of parties would prove too much for her constitution, and made plans to fill every moment of every day. Her father might think this hopeful: Lady Oversley could not like the glitter in the eyes that seemed too big for Julia’s face, or feel that her restlessness betokened a mind at peace. She did not know what to do about it, and could only hope that one of Julia’s adorers would succeed in capturing her bruised heart.
Julia received the news that she had been honoured with an invitation to Nassington House with apparent pleasure. Lady Oversley had meant to have warned her that she must be pre-pared to meet the Lyntons there, but somehow she could not find just the right words; and in the end she said nothing, salving her conscience with the reflection that Julia must know that there was a strong likelihood that they would be present.
At first it seemed as though she had been right to keep her tongue between her teeth. She could not discover the Lyntons in any of the saloons; and Julia, ravishing in palest blue gauze over an underdress of white satin, was in a mood to be pleased. There were a number of young persons present, and she was soon the centre of a group, delighted to be with her particular friends again, and rapidly drawing her usual court about her. Lady Oversley was able to relax her vigilance, and to join a group of her own intimates, who were discussing all the latest on-dits, from the sudden death of the Empress Josephine from a putrid sore throat, to the news that the Allied Sovereigns were coming to London to take part in gigantic Peace Celebrations.
The Lyntons arrived half-an-hour later, and presently made their way across the first saloon to a smaller one beyond it.
There were perhaps twenty people in the room, but Adam saw only one. Julia was standing near the door, and the sound of her laughter made him stop for an instant on the threshold.
‘An ice-maiden! Oh, how absurd! – when I am so hot!’ She turned as she spoke, and saw Adam, gave a sharp gasp, audible to everyone in the saloon, and fainted.
He was standing so close that when he saw her sway he was able to start forward, and to catch her as she crumpled up.
The startled silence was broken by Jenny’s matter-of-fact voice. ‘That’s right: lay her on the sofa, Lynton, and open one of the windows! She never could abide a hot room, poor Julia!’
Almost as pale as his fair burden, Adam obeyed. A gentleman whose air and raiment proclaimed the Man of Mode had taken a hasty step forward, but he checked himself, his inscrutable gaze travelling from Adam’s face to Jenny’s.
Looking up from her task of fanning Julia, Jenny glanced round the circle, and said, with a friendly smile: ‘She will be better directly. Pray don’t be alarmed! It is only the heat!’
A quiet voice behind her said: ‘Take this, Lady Lynton!’ and a delicate hand came over Jenny’s shoulder with a vinaigrette in it.
‘Thank you! That’s just what’s needed, and I don’t possess!’ said Jenny, waving it under Julia’s nostrils. She added, in a conversational tone: ‘I’ve never fainted myself, but when we were at school together Miss Oversley was for ever doing it.’
‘Someone – you, Mr Tollerton, if you will be so good! – find Lady Oversley, and tell her that Miss Oversley is overcome by the heat!’ commanded the same quiet voice.
‘Yes, and do you procure a glass of water, Lynton, if you please!’ said Jenny.
He left the room immediately, and, by the time he returned to it, Julia had come round, and was leaning against her mother’s shoulder, murmuring in some agitation that it was nothing – so stupid! – the room so stuffy!
Most of the other guests had discreetly withdrawn from the saloon, but one or two remained; and Adam, handing the glass of water to Jenny, found himself being regarded through a quizzing-glass raised to the faintly smiling eye of the Man of Mode.
The smile touched a pair of thin, satirical lips. ‘Lynton, I fancy?’ said the gentleman. Adam bowed. ‘Just so! I was pretty well-acquainted with your father, and am happy to make your acquaintance.’ He let his quizzing-glass fall, and held out his hand, saying, as Adam took it: ‘You don’t resemble him very much, but I felt sure I couldn’t be mistaken. Ah – I’m Rockhill, you know!’
Adam, still shaken by the evening’s event, replied with mechanical civility. The Marquis said sympathetically: ‘Such an unfortunate contretemps, but not, we must trust, a serious matter.’ He levelled his quizzing-glass again, this time at Jenny. ‘Your wife?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Adam replied.
‘Admirable woman!’ sighed his lordship. ‘I felicitate you!’
‘Thank you! you are very good!’ Adam smiled a
t Jenny, as she came towards him, and held out his hand. He had pulled himself together, and if he still looked pale he was able to say quite easily: ‘Is she feeling better? Let me introduce Lord Rockhill to you: he has been complimenting me on your presence of mind!’
‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know why he should do so,’ she answered prosaically. ‘There was nothing to be in a fuss about! How do you do? I think we should leave Julia with her mama now, so shall we go into the other room? Then they may slip away quietly, for Julia is not feeling quite the thing.’
She made as if to lay her hand on Adam’s arm, but realized that she was still holding the vinaigrette. She exclaimed at her own stupidity, and turned back to restore the crystal phial to its owner, who received it from her with a smile, and a searching look that was at once kind and appraising. ‘Thank you! You, I collect, are Lady Lynton. I am Lady Castlereagh. I think I saw you at the Drawing-room, didn’t I? Are you fixed in town now? And ready to receive morning visitors? Then I shall hope to further my acquaintance with you. Let me say that you did very well just now – very well indeed!’
She nodded in a friendly way, and moved away before Jenny could speak, which was perhaps as well, since Jenny, who had been warned that this stately lady’s favour was hard to win, flushed to the roots of her hair, and uttered something that was as inaudible as it was disjointed.
In spite of her momentary embarrassment, however, the knowledge that she had been approved by one of the Patronesses of Almack’s gave her new confidence; and when she presently perceived an acquaintance of her school-days, and received a cordial greeting from her, she began almost to feel at home. She was a little daunted by a cold stare from Mrs Burrell, and some critical ones from several other haughty-looking dames, but before she could be seriously discomposed she saw the lanky form of Lord Brough bearing down upon her, and was immediately at her ease again. She had met him only once before, but he spoke to her as though they had been friends of long standing, saying, as he came up to her: ‘How do you do? No need to ask – you look famously – not even bored!’
Her eyes narrowed in amusement. ‘No, indeed! Why should I be?’
‘Don’t you think this is a devilish dull party? I do – wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t been dragged here! You and Adam are the only people I’ve met whom I wished to meet – never saw so many quizzes and dragons in my life! Always the same at Lady Nassington’s parties: I can’t think why anyone comes to ’em!’
‘For goodness’ sake – !’ she protested. ‘You’ll be heard!’
‘Oh, no, no! Not in this hubbub! Queer thing, isn’t it? – All persons of the first consideration, making a din like lions at feeding-time. Come and be introduced to my mother: she wants to meet you.’ He added, with his lazy smile: ‘Most amiable creature in the world! You’ll like her: I do myself.’
This, though it made her laugh, seemed a very odd thing to say of his mother, but he was perfectly right in thinking that she would like Lady Adversane, a stout and placid lady of unfashionable appearance and a warm heart. Jenny sat beside her on a sofa, and thought how easy her new life would be if all great ladies were as kind and as homely.
Had she but known it, she was meeting with far more kindness than might have been expected. Everyone knew under what circumstances Adam had succeeded to his father’s room, and everyone wished him well. Sally Jersey might exclaim to Lady Castlereagh: ‘Oh, goodness me! Don’t, I implore you, give her vouchers for Almack’s!’ but even she, with a shrug and a pout, said: ‘Oh, well, no! – I don’t mean to cut her! Poor, dear Bardy’s son – ! Goodness me, what would Bardy have said to such a connection? My heart is positively wrung with compassion for that poor young man! She presents such a very off appearance, doesn’t she? But I’ll call in Grosvenor Street, and – yes, I’ll send her a card for my rout-party next month! Anything, short of vouchers for Almack’s! Oh, goodness me, one must draw the line somewhere! Tell me – you are so much better acquainted with Lady Oversley than I am! – is it true that young Lynton was previously betrothed to Miss Oversley? And that she swooned just now – actually swooned! – at the sight of him?’
‘She did swoon,’ acknowledged Lady Castlereagh, ‘but Lady Lynton, whose conduct, I must tell you, was such as to command my respect, informed us that she always does so in overheated rooms.’
‘Oh, excellent address – if she knew the true cause! I daresay she doesn’t: she looks stupid! I’m persuaded she’s not awake upon any suit!’
She was mistaken: Jenny was quite awake upon that suit; and under a stolid demeanour she turned it over and over in her mind. Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid did she betray to Adam how fully alive she was to the implications of Julia’s dramatic swoon; nor did she glance for more than an instant at his face, as it was bent over Julia, lying like a broken flower in his arms. In that one instant she had seen all that his chivalry would have wished to conceal from her; and her immediate intervention had sprung from no innate address but from a fierce resolve to protect him from the curiosity of those others who were witnesses of the episode. She had not looked at him again, and she did not mention the matter when, later, they drove back to Grosvenor Street. Neither of them had ever spoken of his previous attachment: it was a tacitly forbidden subject, which she dared not broach, though it lay heavily between them. There was only one thing to be done in such a situation, and that was to talk about something else. So she beguiled the short drive with commonplaces about Brough’s droll sayings, his mother’s kindness, the Prince Regent’s condescension, and her surprise at having a perfectly plainly dressed gentleman pointed out to her as the great Mr Brummell.
It required no great effort to reply suitably to these trivialities; Adam even found them vaguely soothing. Emotional exhaustion had communicated itself to his body: he had never felt more fatigued in all the strenuous years of his service. He had steeled himself to meet his lost love, but not to encounter the heartrending look in her eyes when, for a moment before she fainted, they gazed into his. He had caught her, and had held her in his arms, and the sweet, nostalgic scent she always used agonizingly recalled the past. He hoped he had not uttered the words that had leapt to his tongue: Julia, my love, my darling! He thought he had not. Jenny’s flat voice had jerked him back to his senses, prosaically directing him to lay Julia on the sofa. He had obeyed, and, as he straightened himself, he had seen the rampant curiosity in a dozen faces, and had realized that he must at all costs command himself. Providence – in the shape of Jenny, desiring him to procure a glass of water – had come to his rescue, granting him a respite. By the time he had been obliged to return to the room he had regained command over himself: enough, at least, to enable him to play his prescribed rôle throughout an interminable evening.
It was not surprising that it should have exhausted him, for it was more complicated than he had foreseen, and he was obliged to play it while labouring under severe spiritual stress. It was his duty, as he saw it, to thrust his bride into the heart of the ton. It never occurred to him that his own charm and address might achieve his object with the expenditure of very little effort. He saw himself as the insignificant son of a man of immense popularity; and he went to Nassington House determined, however distasteful the task might be, to exploit this popularity, and to persuade his father’s friends, if he could, to accept Jenny because they liked him well enough not to wish to wound him. This in itself was sufficiently disagreeable to make him look forward to the evening’s entertainment with revulsion; when, at the very outset, to this obligation was added the more urgent need to exert himself to the utmost in an effort to shield his love from malicious tongues – and his wife, too, poor little soul! – what had been designed as a party of pleasure became a prolonged ordeal through which he had moved, exchanging light-hearted conversation with his fellow-guests as though nothing had happened to disturb him. Whether he had succeeded in convincing the suspicious he had no idea: he had done his best, and if that proved to be not good enough he was much to
o tired to consider what more could be done.
So he was grateful to Jenny for her comfortable common-places. They might argue a certain insensibility, but they were preferable to the comments and questions he had dreaded – and why, after all, should she show sensibility over an episode which (if she had realized its significance) could scarcely have wounded her, however much it might have mortified her?
Except that she did not mention the matter at all, which was a little surprising, he could have believed that she really did think the heat responsible for Julia’s collapse. She was her usual, matter-of-fact self, though rather sleepy; she demanded neither explanation nor reassurance: he could relax at last.
Some hours later, when he saw her over the teacups at the breakfast-table, he thought she looked as though she had not slept very much after all. She had not, but she merely said that she was unused to such late nights.
‘You should have stayed in bed. I wish you may not have got up merely to make tea for me?’
It was what she had done, knowing that he was very unhandy with urns and teapots, but she said: ‘As though you couldn’t make it yourself! No, indeed!’
‘I can’t,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘I can never get it as I like it, and if they make it for me downstairs it’s worse. Thank you: that is exactly as it should be!’
She smiled, but having supplied his wants turned to the perusal of an advertisement which had been sent her through the post, and which adjured her, in the strongest terms, to lose no time in procuring a new and infallible Nostrum for Gout. She had not the smallest use for this commodity, but if she sat with nothing to occupy her she knew that Adam would bestir himself to talk to her, and Adam did not like breakfast-table conversation.
He went away presently; and after sitting for some time, pondering the problem which had kept her awake during what had remained of the night, she got up from the table, and sent a message to the stables. An hour later, having executed a commission in the Strand, she was being driven back, not to Grosvenor Street, but to Lord Oversley’s house in Mount Street.