“Pooh! No need for any Cheltenham tragedies! It’s a fair bargain, and one that’s being struck more often than you know. Yes, yes, you have formed what you believe to be a lasting passion for Julia! Lord, if we were all to marry our first loves what a plague of ill-assorted marriages there would be! Put her out of your mind! You may believe me when I tell you that she’s no more fitted to be the wife of a marching officer than — ”
“This is unnecessary, sir!” Adam interposed. “If I haven’t been able to put her out of my mind, you may rest assured that there’s no thought of marriage to her there, or to anyone!”
“Now, listen, Adam!” begged Oversley. “If you’re thinking that Miss Chawleigh is like her father, she’s not! She’s not a beauty, but she always seemed to me an agreeable, well-behaved girl. I see no reason why she shouldn’t make you an amiable wife. She’s a little shy, to be sure, but perfectly sensible, and will give you no cause to blush for her manners. As for Chawleigh, I don’t think he’ll embarrass you. He’s not encroaching. Yes, I know he has a bee in his brain where his daughter’s concerned, but he don’t himself wish to be admitted into the ton. You might not believe it, but he’s never been across my threshold till today. I’m under a considerable obligation to him, and I did think I might be regularly in for it, but not a bit of it! All he wanted me to do was to put Jenny in the way of meeting what he calls the nobs! Refused the only invitation I ever sent him to dine in Mount Street: told me he’d be happy to dine with me in the City, but wouldn’t come to my house. There’s much in him that I like — and there is no one whose credit stands higher in the City!”
“I’m sure he’s a very respectable person,” said Adam, “but I have no desire to marry his daughter.”
“Come out of the clouds, Adam!” said Oversley sternly. “They say — and I believe it! — that he’s one of the richest men in the country, and that girl of his will inherit his whole fortune! He has a name for driving devilish hard bargains, but he’s not a screw, and the more he spends on his Jenny the better pleased he seems to be. Marry her, and you will live as high as a coach-horse for the rest of your life! You will not only be able to hold Fontley: you will be able to bring it back to what it was in your grandfather’s day.” He laid his hand on Adam’s shoulder, gripping it. “Listen to me, you young fool! You’ve no right to refuse the only chance offered you to restore what your father squandered! If you could do the thing by your own exertion I wouldn’t urge you to this marriage, but you can’t. You talk of rejoining your Regiment, and for anything I know you might achieve the highest rank. But once Fontley has passed out of your hands you will never win it back again. You think that over, boy, and remember that you’re the head of your house, and have the power to prevent its falling down — if you choose to exert it!” His grip tightened. “Don’t make a piece of work over it!” he said, with rough kindness. “It’s a fair bargain: no need to feel you’re offering false coin! The girl knows you’re not in love with her. As for the rest — I wish with all my heart you might have had time to recover before this came upon you, but, believe me, Adam, you will recover! Now, that’s all I have to say. Good God, look at the time! I must be off!”
A quick handshake, and he was gone, distressed by the drawn look in Adam’s face, but not (as he later informed his lady) unhopeful of the issue.
And on the following day, after passing a sleepless night, Adam wrote to accept Mr Chawleigh’s invitation. Two days later still he set out in a hackney-coach, to take his pot-luck in Russell Square.
He had been bidden for six o’clock, and warned that the occasion was to be informal, but although he had at first supposed this to mean that morning-dress would be worn, a doubt later shook him, and resulted in his assuming the long-tailed coat, white waistcoat, black pantaloons, and silk stockings which constituted correct evening attire. Possibly he would find himself overdressed, but to be under-dressed, he suspected, might be taken as a slight.
It took some time to reach Russell Square, which was of recent date, built on the site of Bedford House, when this ducal mansion had been demolished fourteen years previously. Adam retained a dim memory of having been taken to Bedford House, as a child, but as the hack proceeded on its slow way over the cobbles it seemed to him, in the oppression of his spirits, that he was being carried beyond the realms of gentility. However, when he at last reached his destination he was agreeably surprised by the size and style of the square. It covered a very large area, and was almost surrounded by brick houses which were sufficiently imposing to enable house-agents to advertise them as Desirable Mansions. In the centre was a railed garden, with several trees, shrubberies, and an enormous statue of a man leaning on a plough. Having paid off the hack, Adam trod up the shallow steps to Mr Chawleigh’s front-door. It was flung open before he had had time to do more than lift his hand to the massive brass knocker, and he was bowed into the house by what at first glance appeared to him to be a platoon of footmen. There were, in fact, four of them, besides a butler, far more stately than his own at Fontley, who conducted him up the crimson-carpeted stairway to the drawing-room on the first floor, and sonorously announced him.
It was still daylight, but although the curtains had not been drawn across the windows the candles had been lit in the magnificent crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and in all the wall-lustres. A myriad points of light momentarily dazzled Adam. He had a confused impression of glitter, mingled with yellow satin, gilded mirrors, chairs, and picture-frames before his attention was claimed by his host, who surged forward to meet him, his hand out-thrust, and a loquacious welcome on his lips.
“Come in, my lord, come in!” he said hospitably. “I’m heartily glad to have the honour of receiving you, and on the stroke of the hour, too, which I didn’t look for, not after the scold I got from my ladies here for having invited you to dine so early! Well, well, I know it ain’t fashionable to dine before eight, but I hope you’ll pardon it, for the fact is I get so sharpset if I’m kept waiting for my dinner that there’s no bearing it. But I don’t know when I’ve been so put out! If your lordship didn’t drive up in a common hack! Now, if you’d only told me you hadn’t brought your carriage up to town I’d have sent my own to fetch you! Well, you’ll not go back to Fenton’s in a hack, that I promise you! Here, Butterbank! send round to the stables to tell ’em the carriage will be wanted later on!”
“My dear sir, you are very good, but I assure you it is unnecessary!” Adam said. “Don’t turn your coachman out on my account, I beg!”
His protest was swept aside, Mr Chawleigh observing that his servants all seemed to live at rack and manger, and would be the better for some work to do.
Up till this moment, his formidable bulk had obscured the other two occupants of the room from Adam’s view, but he now bethought of him of his duties as host, and turned to perform the necessary introductions. This he did in a fashion of his own, saying: “Well, now, here we have Mrs Quarley-Bix, my lord, and that’s my daughter!”
An angular female came forward, extending her hand and uttering, in a voice expressive of disproportionate delight: “Lord Lynton! How do you do? I believe I have not previously had the pleasure of meeting you, but I must have recognized you, I believe, from your resemblance to your amiable mother.”
Adam shook hands, responding with some mechanical civility. He realized, thankfully, that his instinct had not betrayed him when it prompted him to present himself in a swallow-tailed coat. Mrs. Quarley-Bix was wearing a low-bosomed gown of lilac sarsnet, with a train, and a quantity of ribbon-trimming. A turban was set on her head, kid gloves covered her arms, and as well as her reticule she carried a fan.