“Oh no, no! Lord, no, I never thought of such a thing! I’m sure she’s an excellent young woman. But this I will say, Louisa: I don’t blame Richard if he don’t want her!” said George defiantly. “Myself, I’d as soon marry a statue!”
“I must say,” conceded Louisa, “she is a trifle cold, perhaps. But it is a very delicate position for her, you’ll allow. It has been understood since both were children that she and Richard would make a match of it, and she knows that as well as we do. And here is Richard, behaving in the most odious way! I am out of all patience with him!”
George rather liked his brother-in-law, but he knew that it would be foolhardy to defend him, so he held his peace. Lady Wyndham took up the tale of woe. “Heaven forbid that I should force my only son to a disagreeable marriage, but I live in hourly dread of his bringing home some dreadful, low-born creature on his arm, and expecting me to welcome her!”
A vision of his brother-in-law crossed George’s mind’s eye. He said doubtfully: “Really, you know, I don’t think he’ll do that, ma’am.”
“George is quite right,” announced Louisa. “I should think the better of Richard if he did. It quite shocks me to see him so impervious to every feminine charm! It is a great piece of nonsense for him to dislike the opposite sex, but one thing is certain: dislike females he may, but he owes a duty to the name, and marry he must! I am sure I have been at pains to introduce him to every eligible young woman in town, for I am by no means set on his marrying Melissa Brandon. Well! He would not look twice at any of them, so if that is the mind he is in, Melissa will suit him very well.”
“Richard thinks they all want him for his money,” ventured George.
“I dare say they may. What has that to say to anything, pray? I imagine you do not mean to tell me that Richard is romantic!”
No, George was forced to admit that Richard was not romantic.
“If I live to see him suitably married, I can die content!” said Lady Wyndham, who had every expectation of living for another thirty years. “His present course fills my poor mother’s heart with foreboding!”
Loyalty forced George to expostulate. “No, really, ma’am! Really, I say! There’s no harm in Richard, not the least in the world, ’pon my honour!”
“He puts me out of all patience!” said Louisa. “I love him dearly, but I despise him with all my heart! Yes, I do, and I do not care who hears me say so! He cares for nothing but the set of his cravat, the polish on his boots, and the blending of his snuff!”
“His horses!” begged George unhappily. “Oh, his horses! Very well! Let us admit him to be a famous whip! He beat Sir John Lade in their race to Brighton! A fine achievement indeed!”
“Very handy with his fives!” gasped George, sinking but game.
“You may admire a man for frequenting Jackson’s Saloon, and Cribb’s Parlour! I do not!”
“No, my love,” George said. “No, indeed, my love!”
“And I make no doubt you see nothing reprehensible in his addiction to the gaming-table! But I had it on the most excellent authority that he dropped three thousand pounds at one sitting at Almack’s!”
Lady Wyndham moaned, and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, do not say so!”
“Yes, but he’s so devilish wealthy it can’t signify!” said George.
“Marriage,” said Louisa, “will put a stop to such fripperies.”
The depressing picture this dictum conjured up reduced George to silence. Lady Wyndham said, in a voice dark with mystery: “Only a mother could appreciate my anxieties. He is at a dangerous age, and I live from day to day in dread of what he may do!”
George opened his mouth, encountered a look from his wife, shut it again, and tugged unhappily at his cravat.
The door opened; a Corinthian stood upon the threshold, cynically observing his relatives. “A thousand apologies,” said the Corinthian, bored but polite. “Your very obedient servant, ma’am. Louisa, yours! My poor George! Ah—was I expecting you?”
“Apparently not!” retorted Louisa, bristling.
“No, you weren’t. I mean, they took it into their heads—I couldn’t stop them!” said George heroically.
“I thought I was not,” said the Corinthian, closing the door, and advancing into the room. “But my memory, you know, my lamentable memory!”
George, running an experienced eye over his brother-in-law, felt his soul stir. “B’gad, Richard, I like that! That’s a devilish well-cut coat, ’pon my honour, it is! Who made it?”
Sir Richard lifted an arm, and glanced at his cuff. “Weston, George, only Weston.”
“George!” said Louisa awfully.
Sir Richard smiled faintly, and crossed the room to his mother’s side. She held out her hand to him, and he bowed over it with languid grace, just brushing it with his lips. “A thousand apologies, ma’am!” he repeated. “I trust my people have looked after you—er—all of you?” His lazy glance swept the room. “Dear me!” he said. “George, you are near to it: oblige me, my dear fellow, by pulling the bell!”
“We do not need any refreshment, I thank you, Richard,” said Louisa.
The faint, sweet smile silenced her as none of her husband’s expostulations had ever done. “My dear Louisa, you mistake—I assure you, you mistake! George is in the most urgent need of—er—stimulant. Yes, Jeffries, I rang. The Madeira—oh, ah! and some ratafia, Jeffries, if you please!”
“Richard, that’s the best Waterfall I’ve ever seen!” exclaimed George, his admiring gaze fixed on the intricate arrangement of the Corinthian’s cravat.
“You flatter me, George; I fear you flatter me.”
“Pshaw!” snapped Louisa.
“Precisely, my dear Louisa,” agreed Sir Richard amiably.
“Do not try to provoke me, Richard!” said Louisa, on a warning note. “I will allow your appearance to be everything that it should be—admirable, I am sure!”
“One does one’s poor best,” murmured Sir Richard.
Her bosom swelled. “Richard, I could hit you!” she declared.
The smile grew, allowing her a glimpse of excellent white teeth. “I don’t think you could, my dear.”
George so far forgot himself as to laugh. A quelling glance was directed upon him. “George, be quiet!” said Louisa.
“I must say,” conceded Lady Wyndham, whose maternal pride could not be quite overborne, “there is no one, except Mr Brummell, of course, who looks as well as you do, Richard.”
He bowed, but he did not seem to be unduly elated by this encomium. Possibly he took it as his due. He was a very notable Corinthian. From his Wind-swept hair (most difficult of all styles to achieve), to the toes of his gleaming Hessians, he might have posed as an advertisement for the Man of Fashion. His fine shoulders set off a coat of superfine cloth to perfection; his cravat, which had excited George’s admiration, had been arranged by the hands of a master; his waistcoat was chosen with a nice eye; his biscuit-coloured pantaloons showed not one crease; and his Hessians with their jaunty gold tassels, had not only been made for him by Hoby, but were polished, George suspected, with a blacking mixed with champagne. A quizzing-glass on a black ribbon hung round his neck; a fob at his waist; and in one hand he carried a Sevres snuff-box. His air proclaimed his unutterable boredom, but no tailoring, no amount of studied nonchalance, could conceal the muscle in his thighs, or the strength of his shoulders. Above the starched points of his shirt-collar, a weary, handsome face showed its owner’s disillusionment. Heavy lids drooped over grey eyes which were intelligent enough, but only to observe the vanities of the world; the smile which just touched that resolute mouth seemed to mock the follies of Sir Richard’s fellow men.
Jeffries came back into the room with a tray, and set it upon a table. Louisa waved aside the offer of refreshment, but Lady Wyndham accepted it, and George, emboldened, by his mother-in-law’s weakness, took a glass of Madeira.