Vincent raised his brows. “Richmond?”
“Ay, Richmond. It’s gone off now, but he was devilish set on joining, six months ago. Fell into flat despair when I told him I wouldn’t have it. Well, as I say, the notion seems to have gone off, and I don’t want him to start moping and pining again. He’s a good boy, but he’s got an odd kick in his gallop, you know. For two pins he’d hang on this fellow’s lips—make a hero of him, I daresay! Well, he won’t do that while you’re here.”
“Won’t he?” said Vincent. “Er—what do I do if I find him talking to our unwanted cousin? Take him by the ear, and haul him off?”
A sardonic smile curled his lordship’s mouth. “You won’t have to. Think I don’t know what he makes ofyou? Whistle him to heel, and you’ll have him following like a tantony-pig!”
The prospect of having an eager stripling following him like a tantony-pig was not one which Vincent could bring himself to contemplate with enthusiasm, but he said nothing, reflecting that it would probably be unnecessary to do more than keep Richmond in a string. There would be no difficulty about that, for it was true enough that the boy liked and admired him. He would almost certainly take his ton from his Corinthian cousin, for to win his approval, to emulate his sporting prowess, had always been the top of his desire.
As though he had read Vincent’s mind, Darracott said: “He won’t sit in your pocket. Won’t tease you either. But while you’re here, and he thinks there’s a chance you may take him off to see a mill, or some cocking, or teach him how to handle the reins in form, he’ll pay precious little heed to anyone else.”
Vincent nodded. “Very well, sir: I’ll engage to charm him away from this—What is the fellow’s name?”
Darracott’s face twitched; he replied shortly: “Same as his father’s. Signs himself Hugo. Don’t know why, and don’t like it.”
“Oh, you’ve had letters from him, have you, sir?”
“I haven’t. He wrote to Lissett—a damnable scrawl!”
A smile flickered in Vincent’s eyes for an instant, but he swiftly lowered his lids. My lord’s own handwriting would have led no one to suppose that he was a man of birth, far less of education;, but it would plainly be unwise even to hint as much. Instead, Vincent asked: “Did he—er—put forward his claims, as my father appears to believe?”
“No, I’ll grant him that: he didn’t. Never gave a sign of life till I told Lissett to write to him. Seems not to have known he was the heir, unless he was shamming it. Very likely! He wrote that he was sorry to hear of Granville’s death. Gammon!”
“Oh, mere civility!”
“Ay! So I might have thought if he hadn’t added that he didn’t see what was to be done about the business, but would as lief not step into his uncle’s shoes! Dry-boots!”
“Oh, that is pitching it very much too rum!” agreed Vincent “Demonstrably an underbred person: we can do nothing for him!”
“You may not; I shall! I don’t deny I thought myself done-up at the start, but I’ve never been outjockeyed yet, and I fancy I’ve hit on a way to button it up tolerably well. The fellow shall marry Anthea.”
Vincent had been idly twirling his quizzing-glass on the end of its riband, but he was so much startled by this announcement that he let it drop, and gave an audible gasp. “Marry Anthea?”
“Yes, lobcock!” said his lordship testily. “Why not?”
Vincent drew a breath. “I can think of a score of reasons why not, but it seems that I must indeed be a lobcock, since I can’t think of one why he should! How very humiliating! I’ve always believed myself to be a man of reasonable intelligence.”
“You’re as muttonheaded as the rest of ’em! It’s the best way out of a curst hobble. He ain’t likely to form a more eligible connection—”
Up went Vincent’s brows again. “A Darracott of Darracott?” he said.
“A half-bred Darracott!” my lord said savagely. “Ten to one he’d choose a commoner like himself, if I gave him his head! Well, I won’t do it! No, and I won’t have him making a figure of himself in what passes in these days for the ton! I’ll have him legshackled assoon as I can, and depend on Anthea for the rest! She’ll do the trick: she doesn’t want for sense, and she doesn’t want for spirit either. She’s a girl of rank and character, and he may think himself lucky if she takes him.”
“Certainly he may! And what may she think herself, sir?”
“She may think the same. She’s not a pea-goose, like her mother! She had her chance, and a pretty penny that cost me! Either she frittered it away, or she didn’t take: I don’t know. I do know that Oversley offered for her, and she wouldn’t have him. If she don’t want to end up an ape-leader she’ll take her cousin, and make the best of him.”
“Which,” Vincent told Anthea on the following day, “leads me to hope, for your sake, my poor girl, that this intrusive relation of ours is married already.”
“Yes, but what an uproar there would be! Has Grandpapa informed everyone of this splendid match he has made for me? It is too abominable! However, I imagine you can none of you suppose me to be so meek and dutiful as to acquiesce in such a scheme!”
“If I thought that, my love, I should feel constrained to marry you myself.”
“Is that a declaration?” she demanded.
“Certainly not! I don’t think it.”
“I wish it had been!” she said longingly. “How unhandsome of you! When you know how few pleasures come in my way, you might have granted me the indulgence of refusing you!”
He laughed, but said, a certain gleam in his eyes: “I wonder if you would?”
She met his look without a trace of embarrassment, a good deal of amusement in her face. “Dear Vincent, with enthusiasm! You must never marry. Don’t, I do earnestly beg of you, allow yourself to be taken in by any lure thrown out to you! You cannot hope to find a lady who will like you better than you like yourself.”
He was nettled, but made a quick recover. “Not like, sweetest cousin: appreciate!”
She only smiled; and, as a few drops of rain had begun to fall, turned towards the house. As they entered it, they were met by Matthew, who was looking peevish. He exclaimed: “It’s to be hoped this fellow don’t dawdle on the road! Your grandfather may say he doesn’t want to clap eyes on him, but here he is, fretting and fuming already! and it’s barely past noon! I don’t expect him to show a minute before three o’clock!”
By three o’clock, however, there was still no sign of Major Darracott, and my lord was fast working himself into a passion. He strode into one of the saloons, with his watch in his hand, and demanded explosively what the devil could be keeping the fellow. Since no one knew, no one answered, whereupon he asked if they were a set of dumb mutes.
“Mute, but not of malice,” murmured Vincent. “Claud, where is your cousin?”
“Which cousin?” enquired Claud.
This instantly brought him under fire. He was apostrophized as an impudent young idiot, and warned not to try his grandfather’s patience too far. He looked very much startled, and protested earnestly that nothing was more remote from his intention. “Not such an idiot as that, sir!” he said, with a placating but nervous smile.
My lord, regarding him with loathing, said awfully: “It’s my belief you’re queer in your attic!” His gaze swept to Lady Aurelia, tatting, by the window, and he added with relish; “He must take after your family, my dear. We Darracotts never bred a mooncalf yet!”
“Very likely,” responded Lady Aurelia.