An Infamous Army (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 4)

Lucy coloured, but replied quietly: ‘Oh no! I knew him before, in England.’

‘Yes, so you told me. I was surprised: I don’t think you ever mentioned the circumstance to me?’

There was a little hesitation, a faltering for words. ‘I daresay I might not. The occasion did not arise, our acquaintance was not of such a nature—’

‘My dear, why should you? I implied no blame! But I was sorry to see him single you out with such particularity. I could see you were a little discomposed, and did not wonder at it. His manners are a great deal too familiar.’

Miss Devenish opened and shut her fan once or twice, and replied: ‘I was discomposed, I own. The surprise of seeing him here—and his singling me out, as you describe, put me out of countenance.’

‘The attentions of men of his type are apt to be very disagreeable,’ said Judith. ‘Happily, the violent fancies they take do not last long. I believe Lord George to be a shocking flirt. You, however, have too much common sense to take him seriously.’

‘Oh yes! That is, I know what people say of him. Forgive me, but there are circumstances which make it painful for me to discuss—but it is not in my power to explain.’

‘Why, Lucy, what is this?’ Judith exclaimed. ‘I had not thought your acquaintance to be more than a chance meeting at a ball!’

‘It was a little more than that. I became acquainted with him when I was staying in Brighton with my cousins last year. There was a degree of intimacy which—which I could not avoid.’

Her voice failed. Judith suspected that the attentions of a dashing young officer had not been wholly unwelcome. She had no doubt that Lord George had speedily overstepped the bounds of propriety, and understood, with ready sympathy, Lucy’s feelings upon being confronted with him again. She said kindly: ‘I perfectly understand, and beg you won’t think yourself bound to confide in me. There is not the least necessity!’

She was obliged to turn away directly after, to shake hands with a departing guest. Lucy rejoined her aunt, who was making signs to her that it was time to go, and no further talk was held on the subject. Lord George, who was engaged with a dazzling brunette, did not observe her departure. Judith, who knew that at least two other ladies had been the objects of his gallantry that evening, was encouraged to hope that his persecution of Lucy had been nothing more than a piece of Alastair devilry, designed merely to make the poor child uncomfortable.

He soon came up to take his leave. He was escorting his sister, whose head just topped his broad shoulder. In spite of the difference in colouring there was a remarkable likeness between them. Spiritually, too, they seemed to be akin; they delighted in the same mischief, used the same careless, engaging manners, shocked the world like children anxious to attract attention to themselves. Judith, confronting them, admitted their charm, and looked indulgently on such a handsome couple.

‘I have spent a capital evening, Lady Worth,’ said George. ‘When you give your next party I hope you may send me a card. I shall certainly come.’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I am glad you took your courage in your hands and came tonight. It would have been a sad thing not to have seen your sister after riding all that way for the purpose.’

‘Did he tell you he had come expressly to see me?’ said Barbara. ‘George, what a liar you are! Depend upon it, Lady Worth, he had quite another quarry in mind. Shall I see you at the Review tomorrow?’

‘At Nivelles? Oh no! It is too far—and only a review of Belgian troops. I shall wait to see our own troops reviewed, I believe.’

‘Then we shall not meet. But you will be at the Duke’s party, I daresay, on Friday. ‘Oh, where is Charles? He must procure an invitation for George!’

She drew her hand from her brother’s arm as she spoke, and darted off to find the Colonel. She soon came back with him; he promised that a card should be sent to George, and accompanied them both to the door of the carriage. George shook hands at parting, and said warmly: ‘You’re a good fellow: I wish you happy—though I don’t above half like to find Bab engaged to a damned staff officer, I can tell you!’

‘We all have our crosses!’ retorted the Colonel. ‘Mine is to be saddled with a Hyde Park soldier for a brother-in-law.’

‘Oh, the devil! You know, you’re so puffed up, you Peninsular men, that there’s no bearing with you! Goodnight: I shall see you on Friday, I suppose?’

He got into the carriage beside his sister and settled himself in one corner. ‘Well, that makes the tenth since Childe died,’ he remarked.

‘No! I was only once engaged before!’

‘Twice.’

‘Oh, you are thinking of Ralph Dashwood! That was never announced, and can’t signify. I am serious now.’

He gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Until the next man drifts by! Has he any money?’

‘I suppose him to have a younger son’s portion. He is not rich.’

‘Well, what the devil made you choose him?’ demanded George. ‘I see no sense in it!’

‘I don’t care for money,’ she replied pettishly.

‘More fool you, then. I never knew you when you weren’t dipped. Besides, this fellow Audley: I like him, he’s a good man—but he ain’t your sort, Bab.’

‘True, but I loved him from the first. I don’t know how it came about. Isn’t it odd that one should keep one’s heart intact so many years, only to have it crack for a man no more handsome or wealthy than a hundred others? I can find no reason for it, unless it be the trick his eyes have of smiling while his mouth is grave—and that’s nonsensical.’