‘And what do you make of that?’ said Prudence calmly in her brother’s ear.
Robin shook his head. ‘It’s the most consummate piece of impertinent daring – gad, it beats our masquerade!’
‘But how can he carry it off ? And for how long?’
‘And why?’ Robin demanded. ‘It’s senseless! Why?’
‘Oh, the old love of a fine dramatic gesture. Don’t we know it? It’s to rank with the time he played the French Ambassador in Madrid. And he came off safe from that.’
‘But this – this is England!’ Robin said. ‘Cordieu, will you but look at him now?’
The magnificent gentleman was bowing before Miss Gunning. Well they knew that flourish of a laced handkerchief. Egad, but he had all the airs of a Viscount, or of a Duke for that matter. A large figure came up with him; the new Lord Barham gave Sir Anthony Fanshawe two fingers to clasp. Sir Anthony stayed but to speak a few words, and then walked leisurely away.
Came a gasp from my Lady Lowestoft’s direction. My lady sprang up. ‘Mon cher Robert!’ she cried, and held out her hands. Volubly she explained to Mr Selwyn that this dear gentleman had long been known to her.
‘Thérèse!’ My Lord Barham kissed both her hands. ‘I have the supreme felicity to find you!’
‘Faith, it’s an ecstatic old gentleman!’ The voice came from behind Prudence. Sir Anthony Fanshawe had come round the room to her side.
‘I’m to understand it’s a lost viscount, or some such matter?’ Prudence took snuff with an air of unconcern.
‘Quite so. The last of the Tremaines, it appears. Offspring don’t so far materialise.’
My Lady Lowestoft was bearing down upon them with a hand on Lord Barham’s arm. ‘Mon cher, I must present to you some dear young friends of mine,’ they heard her say. ‘It is a Mr and a Miss Merriot, who are staying with me for a space.’
‘I am enchanted to meet a friend of my Thérèse!’ his lordship declared, and was straightway presented to Miss Merriot.
Robin arose, and spread out his skirts; as he rose from the curtsey he extended a hand right regally, and gazed limpidly into the face of his sire.
My lord bowed deeply over the hand, and, looking up, bestowed a glance of admiration upon Miss Merriot’s fair countenance. ‘But charming!’ he said. ‘Charming, I protest!’
It was Prudence’s turn now, and she made my lord a leg. Deep down in the grey eyes the twinkle lurked. ‘I am honoured, sir,’ she said.
My lord bowed slightly, as became a man of his years and rank, and smiled with delight upon Mr Merriot. Indeed, a most affable old gentleman. He turned to compliment my lady on having two such enchanting friends to stay with her, and promised himself the pleasure of waiting upon her in the morning. With yet another bow to Miss Merriot he walked away with my lady on his arm.
‘I am entirely overpowered,’ complained Sir Anthony, and sat him down beside Robin.
Robin tilted his head speculatively. ‘Something of a foreign air,’ he mused. ‘Do you agree, sir?’
‘Something of an oppressive air I find it,’ answered Sir Anthony, with a chuckle.
‘My lady seems to know him very well,’ remarked Prudence, and went away to glean what information she could.
Accounts varied, but it seemed my lord had quarrelled violently in his youth with his father, and taken himself off to France with a low-bred bride of his own choosing. Since that day he had never been heard of, until suddenly, soon after the death of his elder brother, he descended on the town in a blaze of magnificence. Prudence expressed surprise that he had not shown himself upon the death of his father, but the answer to that was ready. There were rumours that there had been little love lost between the brothers: the remarkable gentleman had chosen to remain in obscurity.
She could obtain no more certain information, and returned with her gleanings to Robin. My Lady Lowestoft was ready to go home; they greeted her proposal with relief, and were borne off under her wing. My Lord Barham, seeing them go, waved his hand, and said: ‘A demain! ’ most gallantly.
Not until they were safe inside the coach did my lady give way to the mirth that was consuming her. But then she lay back against the padded cushions and laughed till the tears ran down her painted cheeks.
Robin regarded her gloomily. ‘Ay, it’s a rare jest, ma’am.’
‘It is – it is altogether magnifique !’ she gasped. ‘It is a coup the most superb! Not even I dreamed of anything so superb!’ She sat up and dabbed at her eyes.’ Voyons, was there ever such a man? I myself am ready to believe him to be Lord Barham. What an air! What effrontery! Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, I have not been in such an agony of laughter since he stole the Margrave’s mistress!’
‘That’s a tale I don’t know,’ said Prudence. ‘I perceive that a hurried flight to France awaits us.’
‘But no, but no! Why, my cabbage? He proves himself the lost vicomte, and who is to know more?’
‘Oh, it’s simple!’ said Robin dryly. ‘But there is always the possibility of the true viscount’s appearance.’