Cotillion

Meanwhile, that noted Corinthian, Mr Jack Westruther, was rapidly passing from a state of amused tolerance to one of slightly puzzled exasperation. That Kitty should cajole Mr Standen into a counterfeit betrothal with the object of arousing jealousy in the breast of the man she really loved was something Mr Westruther could understand, and even appreciate. That she should decline his invitations for no better alternative than a few hours spent in Dolphinton’s company was something he was very far from appreciating. She could not, he was persuaded, hope to awaken one spark of jealousy in him by such absurd tactics. He did not think so poorly of her as to suppose that she might seriously be encouraging his lordship’s advances, for he held Dolphinton in utter contempt; but a chance meeting with his cousin Biddenden, in Boodle’s Club, certainly sowed a seed of doubt in his mind.

‘So Kitty Charing has a fancy to become a Countess!’ said Biddenden, with a short laugh. ‘Well! I am not at all astonished! I’m sure I hope you are satisfied, Jack! A rare bungle you have made of it, you and Hugh between you!’

‘Don’t you mean a Viscountess, George?’ suggested Mr Westruther amiably.

‘No, I don’t. She’ll be Countess of Dolphinton before the year’s out, mark me! Much good may it do her!’

‘Would you care to hazard a bet on the chance?’

‘You’d lose!’ said his lordship brutally. ‘You thought the girl was head over ears in love with you, didn’t you? Well, I thought it too, and nicely bubbled we have been! It’s my belief she’s a deep ’un, and had her eye on Dolphinton from the outset.’

‘I do hope, my dear George, that you mean to explain to me why, if this is so, she did not take him when she had the chance offered to her? I seem to be remarkably dull-witted today, for the reason is hid from me,’ said Mr Westruther, with unabated amiability.

‘You’d know fast enough had you been at Arnside,’ replied Biddenden. ‘The girl was in such a pet she was ready to throw a fortune to the wind, and took Freddy merely to spite the rest of us.’

‘No: only to spite me!’ said Mr Westruther, laughing.

‘Much you know! If Dolphinton had gone about the business like a man of s

ense, instead of as good as telling her he hoped she’d refuse his offer, she’d have accepted him! Good God, Jack, you never heard anything to equal it! The fellow’s as mad as Bedlam, and ought to be shut up!’

‘Undoubtedly. May I know whence you culled this farradiddle? If you came to town only two days ago you have certainly been busy!’

‘Oh, I had it from my Aunt Augusta!’ Biddenden replied. ‘She is in high croak, I can tell you! And well she may be! When I think of Dolphinton’s inheriting Uncle Matthew’s fortune—Upon my soul, Jack, I had a great deal rather it was you!’

‘Handsome of you!’ said Mr Westruther, grinning at him.

‘Ay, well, it won’t be you!’ said Biddenden crossly. ‘You can lay your life to that! Kitty has shown her hand plainly enough. Either she meant to have Dolphinton all along, and took Freddy merely because she could scarcely accept such an offer as that idiot made her—with Hugh and me standing by, too!—or she fancied a Viscount to be as good as an Earl, until she came to town, and learned her mistake!’

‘What a foolish fellow you are, George!’ said Mr Westruther gently. ‘Whatever else Kitty may have learnt in town, she has not learnt to think that beggarly Earldom superior to the title Freddy will inherit.’

‘Very true! An Irish title, too! I would not give a groat for it myself. But an Earl is always an Earl, you know, and ten to one my aunt has stuffed the girl’s head full of nonsense about the great position she would occupy if she were to marry that dolt.’ He pursed up his mouth, and sat twirling his quizzing-glass on the end of its riband. ‘I fancy Kitty is not the innocent we took her for,’ he said, after a pause. ‘It occurs to me that she may very likely have come to the realization that marriage with Dolphinton would carry with it certain compensations. A complaisant husband, my dear Jack, is not altogether to be despised!’

Mr Westruther got up out of his chair. ‘No? but you are, George! Believe me, you are!’

Lord Biddenden flushed, and half started to his feet. Mr Westruther, observing him with a good deal of mockery in his eyes, said: ‘I shouldn’t, George: really, I shouldn’t! Your credit would never survive a vulgar brawl in Boodle’s; and although I daresay you would like to plant me a facer you must know very well that it is quite beyond your power to do it.’

‘Upon my word!’ Biddenden said explosively. ‘You’re very squeamish all at once! A new come-out for you to be taking exception to a complaisant husband!’

‘You mistake, George: no man sets a greater value on these gentry than I. My contempt is roused by the blubber-headedness that leads you into such gross error. Kitty had never such an idea in her mind. What a clodpole you are, dear coz! You have rusticated for too long—indeed, you have!’

He left Biddenden fuming and speechless; but although he was smiling, the seed of doubt had been sown. The suggestion that Kitty wished for a complaisant husband he was able to dismiss with as much contempt as he had shown George; a suspicion that she might succumb to the lure of a high title lingered uncomfortably. He met her at Almack’s Assembly Rooms on the following evening, claimed her hand for the boulanger, and chose to sit out the dance with her. The involuntary giggle which escaped her when he complimented her on her new conquest informed him that his suspicion had been unworthy. He said curiously: ‘I wish you will tell me, my pretty one, what is this deep game you are playing?’

She turned her wide, disconcerting gaze upon him enquiringly.

‘Well?’ he said, holding the gaze, a challenge and a laugh in his eyes. ‘Such an eligible suitor as you have acquired, my dear! They tell me you are for ever in his company. I wonder that Freddy will permit it!’

She sipped her lemonade. ‘Freddy knows all the games I play,’ she replied tranquilly.

‘Does he? Poor Freddy! He has my most profound sympathy.’ He took her fan from her, and spread it open. ‘Very pretty. Did he give it to you? I did not!’

‘Oh, no! The one you gave me would not do with this dress. Though it is very pretty too, and I frequently carry it,’ said Kitty, in a kind voice.

‘I am honoured,’ he bowed, giving it back to her. He spoke smoothly, but there was a spark of anger in his eye. The little girl who adored him was learning too many town-tricks, and needed a lesson. If she imagined that he could be brought to heel by such tactics as these, it would be well for her to discover her mistake. For a cynical moment, he found himself thinking that it would really have been better for him to have swallowed his annoyance at Mr Penicuik’s arbitrary conduct; to have gone to Arnside; and to have become formally betrothed to the heiress. He knew well that Mr Penicuik, concerned first and last with his own comfort, would not have pressed for a speedy marriage, but would have been glad to have kept Kitty with him, safely engaged, but free to wait upon him while he had need of her services. Mr Westruther, who never tried to deceive himself, was forced to acknowledge that Kitty’s riposte had taken him by surprise. He had been amused at first; but the more sophisticated she became the less was he pleased. Nor was her visit to London well-timed. Mr Westruther, pursuing another quarry, found her presence at first tiresome; and, when she became acquainted with the lovely Miss Broughty, disastrous. He had done what he could to bring that friendship to an end; but although he had been easily able to inspire Meg to protest against it, he could not feel that Kitty was very likely to pay much heed to her featherbrained hostess. It was plain that such a friendship must lead to undesirable complications. Olivia seemed not to have admitted Kitty into her confidence; she would certainly do so if the acquaintance were allowed to ripen; and although Mr Westruther had conferred no right on Kitty to censure his morals or his conduct, and was by no means averse from allowing her to see that she was not the only woman in his life, this was not the moment he would have chosen for such a disclosure as Olivia might make. When he had found Olivia in Berkeley Square, he had been conscious of a feeling of unaccustomed annoyance. He was a man of even temper, regarding his world with an amused and a cynical eye, able nearly always to shrug away irritations with a laugh; but the discovery that Kitty had made a friend of the pretty creature on whom he was prepared to bestow everything but his name aroused real anger in his breast. He thought savagely that it was just like her; and remembered with unaffectionate clarity the many occasions when she had seemed to him to be an extremely tiresome little girl. He could almost have believed that she had done it to vex him. But that would have involved Freddy in the affair, who must have told her the truth; and although, in momentary exasperation, he had accused Freddy of this treachery, he knew that he had done his amiable cousin an injustice. He might mock at Freddy, but he was carelessly fond of him, and he knew him to be wholly incapable of making so unhandsome a gesture. The acquaintanceship had indeed sprung from a chance meeting; and for one of its unfortunate repercussions he had no one but himself to blame. It had been he who had introduced her fascinating French cousin to Kitty. Nothing, he ruefully acknowledged, could have been more natural than Kitty’s subsequent presentation of the Chevalier to her new friend.

Calling in Hans Crescent with every intention of taking Olivia out in his curricle to Richmond, he had found the Chevalier very much at home in the drawing-room, captivating Mrs Broughty as much as her daughter. This circumstance was easily explained: everything about the Chevalier bespoke the man of birth and fortune. If his handsome face, and sweetness of manner, attracted Olivia, it was his air of affluence which made him acceptable to Mrs Broughty. No one could have accused him of boasting of his aristocratic connections, but in his conversation he betrayed an intimate knowledge of the French world of fashion; while a passing, careless reference to his uncle, the Marquis, and another to a château in Auvergne, had the effect of impressing Mrs Broughty strongly in his favour. A young Frenchman, visiting England for his pleasure, and related to the lady who was betrothed to Lord Legerwood’s eldest son, bore all the outward appearance of a desirable parti; and if he was not perhaps as wealthy as Sir Henry Gosford he was no doubt quite wealthy enough to come to agreeable terms with Olivia’s Mama.

But Mr Westruther, ushered into the drawing-room, and dominating the company with his height, and his air of easy assurance, received a sufficiently warm welcome from Mrs Broughty. She stood a little in awe of him; she was flattered by his attentions to her daughter, for although she might be in some doubt of the Chevalier’s position she had no doubt at all of Mr Westruther’s. He was an acknowledged leader of fashion; he belonged to that select world which haughtily refused to admit her into its ranks; and he was so much petted and courted that to have won his favour was a triumph for any lady. She was uncertain of only two circumstances: the size of his fortune, and the precise nature of his intentions. Mr Westruther, well-aware of this, made no effort to enlighten her on either point, the first of which, he guessed, was the one of paramount importance. Mr Westruther had his own notion of the circumstances under which the enterprising lady had induced the late Oliver Broughty to marry her; and he did not suppose that she would scruple to sell any of her daughters into elegant prostitution, provided that the price offered were high enough. Probably she would prefer to marry Olivia to the aged Sir Henry Gosford; but if Olivia were to prove intractable it was not likely that her Mama would repulse other, less respectable, offers. Not that Mr Westruther had the smallest intention of negotiating any kind of bargain with a woman whom he comprehensively despised. He found Olivia enchanting, but he wanted no unwilling mistress. He was not the only man casting out lures to the lovely creature, but until he found the Chevalier ensconced in the drawing-room in Hans Crescent he knew himself to be without serious rival.