Frederica might not be wholly conversant with the usages of ton parties, but she knew that in inviting her and Charis to dine at Alverstoke House before the ball, the Marquis was conferring a signal honour on them. The few lines he had scrawled on the back of the gilt-edged card, directed in his secretary’s neat handwriting, left her in no doubt of his motive, which was to present them to his eldest sister, and several persons who might, he believed, prove useful. He underlined that word, certainly with malicious intent; and ended with a request (but it read more like a command) that they would come to his house a little before the stated hour. The brief message was rather too autocratic for Frederica’s taste, but she decided to overlook this, since his lordship was clearly bent on paving the social way for her. She was not to know that he had, in fact, exerted himself most unusually on behalf of his adopted wards, arranging for their benefit a dinner-party composed, with a few exceptions, of persons whom he either avoided, or never noticed at all. Into the first category fell his eldest sister and her husband, his sister Louisa, his loving cousin Lucretia, and Lady Sefton, whose amiability did not, in his eyes, excuse the affectations which never failed to irritate him. The second category was comprised of his two nephews; his two nieces; the eligible and very dull Mr Redmure, who was betrothed to his eldest niece; his heir; his heir’s sister Chloë, and the Honourable Alfred Parracombe, who had the doubtful felicity to be the husband of the handsome brunette whose name had quite recently been linked with his lordship’s. It had been linked with several other gentlemen’s names too, and the sight of it, on the scribbled list which included the names of the Ladies Jevington and Buxted, made Charles Trevor feel a trifle giddy. He knew better than to question it, however, Mrs Parracombe being one of those who were invited to provide leaven to what his lordship caustically described as “all this dough”. Further leaven was to be supplied by Lord and Lady Jersey, and by his lordship’s lifelong friend, Mr Darcy Moreton. Mr Trevor, recovering from his astonishment at the names that met his eyes, conned them again, and detected a fault. “The numbers are uneven, sir,” he pointed out. “There are ten ladies, and only nine gentlemen, including yourself.”
“And ten gentlemen including yourself!” said his lordship. “I’ve no doubt you’d prefer to be excused, and I don’t blame you, but if you think I am going to preside over this atrocious party without support you have a very odd notion of my character!”
Charles laughed, but he coloured as well, and said, with a little stammer: “I–I shall be very happy! Thank you, sir! Am I — do you wish me to attend the ball too?”
“Most certainly I do! Bend your mind while I’m away to the task of arranging the table: that should keep you as fully occupied as even you could wish!”
“I must own,” agreed Charles, glancing down the list, “that it won’t be easy to achieve an entirely successful arrangement. I mean — ”
“I know exactly what you mean, my dear boy, and have long since arrived at the conclusion that it’s impossible. Do your best! Place my sister Jevington opposite to me: it will infuriate Lady Buxted, but that can’t be helped. It would be most improper to set her above Lady Jevington — and I do feel we should consider the proprieties, don’t you?”
Mr Trevor, with the name of Mrs Parracombe in mind, replied woodenly: “Yes, sir.”
The Marquis, mockery in his eyes, said approvingly: “Exactly, Charles! Having placed the matter in your competent hands, I may now leave for Cheveley with a quiet mind. No, perhaps I had better write to beg Lady Jevington to act as hostess at the dinner-party: that may mitigate her annoyance when she discovers that Lady Buxted and Mrs Dauntry are to share the honours of receiving the ball-guests. How very exhausting all these arrangements are! If anyone should come to enquire after me while I’m at Cheveley, tell him that I’ve gone into the country on a repairing lease. And for the rest — do as seems best to you! All I ask is that you should curb your zeal for economy, and refrain from transforming the ballroom into a tent.”
“With yards of pink silk! I should rather think not, sir! If you don’t dislike it, I should like to deck the room with flowers.”
“By all means!” said his lordship cordially. “I perceive — not that I ever doubted it! — that you will leave me nothing to do, which, as you well know, is always my goal.”
Owing to Mr Trevor’s energy, his pronounced talent for organization, and the tact that won for him the willing co-operation of such jealous persons as his lordship’s butler and steward, this hopeful prophesy was fulfilled. The Marquis had only one fault to find with his arrangements. When Mr Trevor laid before him a careful plan of the dinner-table, he transposed two names, as a result of which Mr Trevor found himself placed beside the younger Miss Merriville. This was an agreeable alteration, but he thought it his duty to suggest that it was just conceivable that Mr Endymion Dauntry might not wish to sit beside his cousin Jane.
“Very likely not — in fact, almost certainly not,” said the Marquis. “What gave you the notion that Endymion’s wishes interest me?”
That was the sort of remark, reflected Mr Trevor, which made his lordship so incalculable. He could repel and attract at one and the same time. Nothing could be more alienating than the cold indifference he showed towards the members of his family; nothing more endearing than the consideration he gave to the probable wishes of his secretary. He could, with a shocking want of delicacy, include amongst his guests a lady who would certainly set his sisters in a bustle of virtuous indignation; but when he commanded his secretary’s attendance, as though it were a part of his duties, Mr Trevor knew very well that all that was expected of him was that he should enjoy himself, and act, in the manner of an aide-de-camp, as a secondary host. He had never doubted that he would enjoy the ball, for this was a treat which seldom came in his way; and, thanks to the Marquis’s intervention, he was now able to look forward to the dinner with pleasurable anticipation.
The first guests to arrive were the Jevingtons, bringing the eligible Mr Redmure in their train. Lady Jevington made her appearance regally attired, wearing a magnificent and very ugly diamond tiara, and in a mood of overpowering graciousness. This found instant expression when Alverstoke said: “I fancy I need not introduce Charles to you, Augusta?” She replied at once, holding out her hand to Mr Trevor, and bestowing upon him a smile of rare condescension: “Indeed, no! Well, Charles, how do you do? And how is your worthy father? And your dear mama? Such an age since I have seen them! you must tell me all about them!”
He was spared this necessity by the arrival, first of the Buxted party, and next, following hard upon their heels, of Mrs Dauntry and Chloë, Mrs Dauntry looking remarkably handsome in one of the clinging gowns which she habitually wore, and which so well became her slender figure. This one, which Lady Buxted mentally priced at fifty guineas, and Lady Jevington at rather more, was of lilac spider-gauze over an under-dress of rose satin. She too wore a diamond tiara, by no means so imposing as the heirloom which crowned Lady Jevington, but far more delicately made. Over it she had cast one of her lace veils; lilac kid gloves (French, and not a penny less than five guineas, thought Lady Buxted indignantly) covered her arms; she carried a painted fan in one hand; and a frivolous little reticule hung from her wrist. The other hand she extended to Alverstoke, murmuring: “Dear Vernon!” As he gratified her, and infuriated his sisters, by raising it to his lips, she turned her huge sunken eyes towards those fulminating ladies, and acknowledged them by a faint, sweet smile which held affection but not so much as a hint that she regarded either as her hostess.