The Earl closed the door. “You play fair, Horry, at all events,” he remarked.
“Of c-course,” said Horatia, seating herself on the arm of a chair and once more tossing her ill-used hat aside. “I did not m-mean to be disobliging, but when you talk me over with your sister it makes me f-furious.”
“Are you not rather leaping to conclusions?” suggested Rule.
“Well, anyway, she said she had been t-telling you that you ought to beat me,” said Horatia, kicking her heel against the chair-leg.
“She is full of good advice,” agreed his lordship. “But I haven’t beaten you yet, Horry, in spite of it.”
Slightly mollified, the bride remarked: “No, b-but I think when she says things about m-me you might defend m-me, sir.”
“You see, Horry,” said his lordship with a certain deliberation, “you make that rather difficult.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Horatia flushed to the roots of her hair, and said, stammering painfully: “I’m s-sorry. I d-don’t m-mean to behave outrageously. W-what have I done n-now?”
“Oh, nothing really very desperate, my dear,” Rule said non-committally. “But do you think you could refrain from introducing a wild animal into Polite Circles?”
A giggle, hastily choked, escaped her. “I was afraid you’d hear about that,” she confessed. “B-but it was quite an accident, I assure you, and—and very diverting.”
“I haven’t the least doubt of that,” Rule replied.
“Well, it truly was, M-Marcus. It jumped on to Crosby’s shoulder and p-pulled his wig off. But nobody m-minded at all, except Crosby. I’m afraid it isn’t a very well-trained monkey.”
“I’m afraid it can’t be,” said Rule. “Some such suspicion did cross my mind when I found it had—er—visited the breakfast-table before me the other morning.”
“Oh dear!” Horatia said contritely. “I am very sorry. Only Sophia Colehampton has one, and it goes everywhere with her, so I thought I would have one too. However, I d-don’t really like it m-much, so I think I won’t keep it. Is that all?”
He smiled. “Alas, Horry, it is only the beginning. I think—yes, really I think you must explain some of these.” He drew the sheaf of bills out of his pocket and gave them to her.
On top lay a sheet of paper covered with Mr Gisborne’s neat figures. Horatia gazed in dismay at the alarming total. “Are they—all mine?” she faltered.
“All yours,” said his lordship calmly.
Horatia swallowed. “I d-didn’t mean to spend as m-much as that. Indeed I c-can’t imagine how it can have come about.”
The Earl took the bills from her, and began to turn them over. “No,” he agreed, “I have often thought it very odd how bills mount up. And one must dress, after all.”
“Yes,” nodded Horatia, more hopefully. “You do understand that, d-don’t you, Marcus?”
“Perfectly. But—forgive my curiosity, Horry—do you invariably pay a hundred and twenty guineas for a pair of shoes?”
“What?” shrieked Horatia. The Earl showed her the bill.
She stared at it with dawning consternation. “Oh!” she said. “I—I remember now. You s-see, Marcus, they—they have heels studded with emeralds.”
“Then the matter becomes comprehensible,” said his lordship.
“Yes. I wore them at the Subscription-ball at Almack’s. They are called venez-y-voir, you know.”
“That would account, no doubt,” remarked Rule, “for the presence of the three young gentlemen whom I found—er—assisting at your toilet that evening.”
“B-but there is nothing in that, Rule!” objected Horatia, lifting her downcast head. “It is quite the thing for gentlemen to be admitted as soon as the under-dress is on. I know it is, b-because Lady Stokes d-does it. They advise one how to p-place one’s p-patches, and where to bestow one’s flowers, and what p-perfume to use.”
If the Earl of Rule found anything amusing in being instructed by his bride in the art of dalliance the only sign he gave of it was the very faintest quiver of the lips. “Ah!” he said. “And yet—” he looked down at her, half-smiling—“And yet I believe I might advise you in these matters to even better purpose.”
“B-but you’re my husband,” Horatia pointed out.
He turned back to the bills. “That is undoubtedly a handicap,” he admitted.
Horatia appeared to consider the subject closed. She peered over his arm. “Have you f-found anything else dreadful?” she inquired.
“My dear, are we not agreed that one must dress? I don’t question your expenditure—though I confess I succumbed to curiosity over the shoes. What—shall we say—puzzles me a trifle—”
“I know,” she interrupted, sedulously regarding her feet. “You w-want to know w-why I haven’t paid them myself.”
“My inquisitive disposition,” murmured his lordship.
“I c-couldn’t,” said Horatia gruffly. “That’s w-why!”
“A very adequate reason,” said that placid voice. “But I thought I had made provision. My lamentable memory must be at fault again.”
Horatia set her teeth. “I m-may deserve it, sir, but p-please don’t be odious. You know you m-made provision.”
He laid the bills down. “Pharaoh, Horry?”
“Oh n-no, not all of it!” she said eagerly, glad to be able to produce an extenuating circumstance. “B-Basset!”
“I see.”
The note of amusement had left his voice; she ventured to raise her eyes, and saw something very like a frown on his face. “Are you d-dreadfully angry?” she blurted out.
The frown cleared. “Anger is too fatiguing an emotion, my dear. I was wondering how best to cure you.”
“C-cure me? You can’t. It’s in the b-blood,” said Horatia frankly. “And even Mama don’t disapprove of gaming. I didn’t understand it quite p-perfectly at first, and I d-daresay that is why I lost.”
“Quite possibly,” assented Rule. “Madam Wife, I am constrained to tell you—in my character of indignant husband—that I cannot countenance excessive gaming.”
“Don’t, oh don’t” implored Horatia, “m-make me promise to p-play only whisk and silver pharaoh! I c-couldn’t keep it! I will be m-more careful, and I’m sorry about those shocking bills!—Oh gracious, only look at the time! I must go, I p-positively must go!”
“Don’t distress yourself, Horry,” recommended the Earl. “To be the last arrival is always effective.” But he spoke to space. Horatia had gone.
His wife’s gyrations, however much perturbation they might occasion Lady Louisa, were watched by others with very different feelings. Mr Crosby Drelincourt, whose world had assumed a uniformly dun hue from the moment of his cousin’s betrothal, began to observe a ray of light breaking through the gloom, and Lady Massey, taking note of the young Countess’s every exploit and extravagance, patiently bided her time. Rule’s visits to Hertford Street had become more infrequent, but she was far too clever to reproach him, and took care to be her most charming self whenever she saw him. She was already acquainted with Horatia—a circumstance she owed to the kind offices of Mr Drelincourt, who made it his business to present her to the Countess at a ball—but beyond exchanging curtsies and polite greetings with Horatia whenever they chanced to meet she had not sought to increase the friendship. Rule had a way of seeing more than he appeared to, and it was unlikely that he would permit an intimacy between his wife and his mistress to grow up without interference.
It seemed to be Mr Drelincourt’s self-appointed duty to make presentations to his new cousin. He even presented Robert Lethbridge to her, at a drum at Richmond. His lordship had been out of town when the Earl and Countess of Rule returned from their honeymoon and by the time he first clapped eyes on the bride she had already—as young Mr Dashwood so brilliantly phrased it—Taken the Town by Storm.
Lord Lethbridge saw her first at the drum, dressed in satin soupir etouffe, with a coiffure en diademe. A patch called the Gallant was set in the middle of her cheek, and she fluttered ribbons a l’attention. She certainly took the eye, which may have been the reason for Lord Lethbridge’s absorption.