He stood against one wall of the long saloon, and his eyes rested on the bride with a curious expression in them, hard to read. Mr Drelincourt, observing him from a distance, ranged alongside, and said with a titter: “You are admiring my new cousin, my lord?”
“Profoundly,” said Lethbridge.
“For my part,” shrugged Mr Drelincourt, never one to conceal his feelings, “I find those eyebrows positively grotesque. I do not call her a beauty. Decidedly I do not.”
Lethbridge’s glance flickered to his face; his lips curled imperceptibly. “You ought to be delighted with her, Crosby,” he said.
“Pray allow me to present you to the Paragon!” said Mr Drelincourt crossly.” But I warn you, she stammers hideously.”
“And gambles, and drives gigs up St James’s,” said his lordship. “I never hoped for better.”
Mr Drelincourt looked sharply round at him. “Why—why—”
“What a fool you are, Crosby!” said Lethbridge. “Present me!”
“Really, my lord, really! Pray how am I to take that?”
“I had not the least intention of being enigmatic, believe me,” replied Lethbridge acidly. “Make me known to this excellent bride.”
“You are in a devilish humour, my lord, I protest,” complained Crosby, but he moved towards the group about Horatia. “Cousin, permit me! May I present one who is all eagerness to meet you?”
Horatia had very little desire to meet any crony of Mr Drelincourt’s, whom she cordially despised, and she turned with obvious reluctance. But the man who stood before her was not at all like Crosby’s usual companions. None of the absurdities of the Macaroni marred the elegance of his person. He was dressed with magnificence, and he seemed to be considerably older than Mr Drelincourt.
“Lord Lethbridge, my Lady Rule!” said Crosby. “You perceive him quite agog to meet the lady about whom the whole town is talking, dear cousin.”
Horatia, spreading her skirts in a curtsy, flushed a little, for Mr Drelincourt’s words stung. She arose swimmingly and extended her hand. Lord Lethbridge received it on his wrist and bent with incomparable grace to salute it. A flicker of interest awoke in Horatia’s eyes: his lordship had an air.
“Our poor Crosby has always such a happy turn of phrase,” murmured Lethbridge, and won a glimpse of a dimple. “Ah, precisely! Let me lead you to that couch, madam.”
She took his arm and went with him across the saloon. “C-Crosby detests me,” she confided.
“But of course,” said his lordship.
She frowned, rather puzzled. “That isn’t very c-civil, sir. Why should he?”
His brows rose in momentary surprise; he looked critically at her, and laughed. “Oh—because he has such execrable taste, ma’am!”
It did not seem to Horatia as though this was the reason he really had in mind, and she was about to inquire deeper into the matter when he changed the subject. “I need hardly ask, ma’am, whether you are ennuyée to the point of extinction with such affairs as these?” he said, indicating with a wave of his hand the rest of the company.
“N-no, I am not,” replied Horatia. “I l-like it.”
“Delightful!” smiled his lordship. “You infect even such jaded spirits as mine with enthusiasm.
She looked a little doubtful. What he said was excessively polite, but the tone he used held a tinge of light mockery which baffled while it intrigued her. “J-jaded spirits usually seek the c-card-room, sir,” she remarked.
He was gently fanning her with the cabriolet-fan he had taken from her hand, but he paused, and said with a quizzical look: “Ah—and so sometimes do enthusiastic ones, do they not?”
“S-sometimes,” admitted Horatia. “You have heard all about me.”
By no means, ma’am. But when I learn of a lady who never refuses a wager, why, I desire to know more of her.”
“I am certainly very p-partial to games of chance, sir,” said Horatia wistfully.
“One day you shall play your cards against me,” said Lethbridge, “if you will.”
A voice spoke immediately behind them. “Do not play with Lord Lethbridge, Ma’am, if you are wise!”
Horatia looked over her shoulder, Lady Massey had entered the saloon through a curtained archway, and was standing leaning her hand lightly on the back of the couch.
“Oh?” Horatia said, glancing at Lethbridge with new interest. “Will he fleece me?”
Lady Massey laughed: “Why ma’am, I to tell you that you are talking to the most hardened gamester of our times? Be warned, I implore you!
“Are you?” inquired Horatia, regarding Lethbridge, who had risen at Lady Massey’s approach, and was watching her with and indefinable smile. “Then I should l-like very m-much to play with you, I assure you!”
“You will need iron nerves, ma’am,” Lady Massey said banteringly. “If he were not here I might tell you some shock-ing tales about him.”
At that moment Lord Winwood, who was strolling towards the doorway, caught sight of the group by the couch, and promptly bore down upon his sister. He executed a bow in Lady Massey’s direction, and bestowed a nod on Lethbridge. “You’re very obedient, ma’am. Servant, Lethbridge. I’ve been looking all over for you, Horry. Promised to present a fellow to you.”
Horatia got up “Well b-but—”
The Viscount took her hand to draw it through his arm, and as he did so pinched her fingers significantly. Understanding this brotherly nip to mean that he had something of importance to say to her, Horatia sketched a curtsy to Lady Massey, and prepared to walk away with the Viscount, only pausing to say seriously: “P-perhaps we shall try a throw against each other some day, my lord.”
“Perhaps,” Lethbridge bowed.
The Viscount led her firmly out of earshot. “Good God, Horry, what’s all this?” he demanded, with pious intention but a complete absence of tact. “Keep away from Lethbridge: he’s dangerous. Damme, was there ever such a one for getting the wrong company?”
“I sh-shan’t keep away from him,” declared Horatia. “Lady M-Massey says he is a hardened g-gamester!”
“So he is,” said the ill-advised Viscount. “And you’re no pigeon for his plucking, Horatia, let me tell you.”
Horatia pulled her hand away, her eyes flashing. “And l-let me tell you, P-Pel, that I’m a m-married lady now, and I w-won’t be ordered about by you!”
“Married! Ay, so you are, and you’ve only to let Rule get wind of this and there’ll be the devil to pay. The Massey too! ’Pon my soul, if ever I met another to equal you!”
“W-well, and what have you against Lady M-Massey?” said Horatia.
“What have I—? Oh Lord!” The Viscount tugged ruefully at his solitaire. “I suppose you don’t—no, exactly. Now don’t plague me with a lot of silly questions, there’s a good girl. Come and drink a glass of negus.”
Still standing by the couch, Lord Lethbridge watched the departure of the brother and sister, and turned his head to observe Lady Massey. “Thank you, my dear Caroline,” he said sweetly. “That was vastly kind of you. Did you know it?”
“Do you think me a fool?” she retorted. “When that plum drops into your hand, remember then to thank me.”
“And the egregious Winwood, I fancy,” remarked his lordship, helping himself to a pinch of snuff. “Do you want that plum to fall into my hand, dear lady?”
The look that passed between them was eloquent enough. “We need not fence,” Lady Massey said crisply. “You have your own ends to serve; maybe I can guess what they are. My ends I daresay you know.”
“I am quite sure that I do,” grinned Lethbridge. “Do forgive me, my dear, but though I have a reasonable hope of achieving mine, I’m willing to lay you any odds you don’t achieve yours. Now is not that outspoken? You did say we need not fence, did you not?”
She stiffened. “What am I to understand by that, if you please?”
“Just this,” said Lethbridge, shutting his enamelled snuffbox with a snap. “I don’t need your assistance, my love. I play my cards to suit myself, neither to oblige you nor Crosby.”