An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

‘If it comes to that, Bab’s own reputation is not above reproach!’

Another gurgle of laughter came from the opposite corner of the carriage. The Marquis said severely: ‘It’s all very well to laugh. No doubt it amuses you to make your name a byword. For my part, I have had enough of your scandals.’

‘Oh, pray spare us a homily!’ said his wife, yawning again.

‘Don’t be anxious, Vidal! They’re laying odds against Lavisse’s staying the course for more than a month.’

The carriage passed over an uneven stretch of pavé. Unpleasantly jolted, the Marquis said angrily: ‘Upon my word! Do you like to have your name bandied about? Your affairs made the subject of bets?’

‘I don’t care,’ replied Barbara indifferently. ‘No, I think I like it.’

‘You’re shameless! Who told you this?’

‘Harry.’

‘I might have known it! Pretty news to recount to his sister!’

‘Oh lord, why shouldn’t he?’ said Lady Vidal. ‘You’ll be a bigger fool than I take you for, Bab, if you let Lavisse slip through your fingers.’

‘I don’t let them slip,’ retorted Barbara. ‘I drop them. I daresay I shall drop him too.’

‘Be careful he doesn’t drop you!’ said her ladyship.

The carriage had drawn up before one of the large houses in the Rue Ducale, facing the Park. As the footman opened the door, Barbara murmured: ‘Oh no, do you think he will? That would be interesting.’

Her sister-in-law forbore to answer this, but, alighting from the carriage, passed into the house. Barbara followed her, but paused only to say goodnight before picking up her candle and going upstairs to her bedroom.

She had not, however, seen the last of Lady Vidal, who came tapping on her door half an hour later, and entered with the air of one who proposed to remain some while. Barbara was seated before the mirror, her flaming head rising out of the foam of sea-green gauze which constituted her dressing-gown. ‘Oh, what the deuce, Gussie?’ she said.

‘Send your girl away: I want to talk to you,’ commanded Augusta, settling herself in the most comfortable chair in the room.

Barbara gave an impatient sigh, but obeyed. As the door closed behind the maid, she said: ‘Well, what is it? Are you going to urge me to marry Etienne? I wish you may not put yourself to so much trouble.’

‘You might do worse,’ said Augusta.

‘To be sure I might. We are agreed, then.’

‘You known, you should be thinking seriously of marriage. You’re twenty-five, my dear.’

‘Ah, marriage is a bore!’

‘If you mean husbands are bores, I’m sure I heartily agree with you,’ responded Augusta. ‘They have to be endured for the sake of the blessings attached to them. Single, one has neither standing nor consequence.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Gussie: the best is to be a widow—a dashing widow!’

‘So you may think while you still possess pretensions to beauty. No longer, I assure you. As for “dashing,” that brings me to another thing I had to say. I believe I’m no prude, but those gilded toenails of yours are the outside of enough, Bab.’

Barbara lifted a fold of the gauze to observe her bare feet. ‘Pretty, aren’t they?’

‘Vidal informs me he has seen none but French women (and those of a certain class) with painted nails.’

‘Oh, famous!’

Barbara seemed to be so genuinely delighted by this piece of news that Lady Vidal thought it wiser to leave the subject. ‘That’s as may be. What is more important is what you mean to do with your future. If you take my advice, you’ll marry Lavisse.’

‘No, he would be the devil of a husband.’

‘And you the devil of a wife, my dear.’