False Colours

Mr Fancot, whose courage had been strengthened by the excellent food and drink offered him, replied coolly: ‘Oh, yes! If not in actual words, by inference! Can you deny it?’

She exclaimed instead: ‘What an odd, unexpected creature you are, my lord! Can you deny that you looked forward to this party with the gravest misgivings? You told me that the very thought of running the gauntlet of my family put you into a quake!’

‘That was because I had been misled,’ said Kit brazenly.

She looked at him, amused, yet with a puzzled crease between her brows. ‘But you weren’t in a quake – even before you decided that you had been misled. I own, I thought Grandmama would have put you out of countenance, but she didn’t.’

‘To be honest with you, she did, but I thought it would be fatal to betray my embarrassment.’

‘Yes, very true: she despises the people she can bully. You gave her a homestall, and she may very likely have taken a fancy to you.’

‘Can she bully you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, no! That is, I shouldn’t let her do so, but the occasion hasn’t arisen: she is always very kind to me.’ She fell silent for a few moments; and when she spoke again it was in a more formal tone, and as though she were carefully picking her words. ‘Lord Denville, when you did me the honour of asking me to marry you, we discussed the matter – we began to discuss the matter quite frankly. But we were interrupted, as I expect you will recall, and there has been no opportunity since that day to resume our discussion.’ She raised her eyes to his face. ‘I should like to be able to do so before coming to an irrevocable decision.’

He had been regarding her over the rim of his wineglass, but he set the glass down at this, saying involuntarily: ‘I thought you had come to a decision! How is this?’

She answered apologetically: ‘I’m afraid I gave you reason to think so. And indeed, at that moment, I believed I had done so. I can’t explain it to you tonight. I had hoped to have seen you again before this party, but you had gone into the country, and Albinia – Lady Stavely – sent out the invitations without telling me.’

He cast a swift glance towards his hostess, to assure himself that her attention was still being claimed by her brother-in-law, before asking bluntly: ‘Do you wish to cry off, Miss Stavely?’

She considered the question, frowning. ‘You will think me a perfect wet-goose, Denville, but the truth is that I don’t know! If Albinia had not come into the room when she did –’

‘Unfortunate!’ he agreed.

‘Yes, and so stupid, if she but knew it, poor thing! To be sure, there was some awkwardness attached to our discussion, but we were on the way to an understanding – or, so I believed. I have felt ever since that a great deal was left unsaid. You too, I daresay. When Albinia came in you had just said there was one stipulation you must make – but you weren’t granted the opportunity to tell me what that may be.’

‘Good God, did I really say anything so uncivil?’ he asked, startled.

‘No, no, you were not uncivil! Remember that I begged you to be plain with me – not to stand on points!’

‘I seem to have taken the fullest advantage of that request, if I did indeed talk about stipulations!’

‘I thought that was the word you used, but I might be mistaken, perhaps. Yet –’

‘I fancy you must have been, for I haven’t the smallest recollection of it.’

‘But you can’t have forgotten that you said something of that nature!’ she objected, considerably surprised.

He laughed. ‘But I have forgotten, which proves that it can’t have been a matter of much consequence. If only we had not suffered that untimely interruption – !’

‘Exactly so! You must feel as I do that it left us uncomfortably situated. Would it be possible for you to visit me tomorrow, a little after eleven o’clock? We may be secure against another such interruption, for Albinia means to go shopping with her mother directly after breakfast, and my grandmother never leaves her room until noon.’ She thought he hesitated, and added, colouring slightly: ‘I ought not to suggest it, perhaps, but my situation is a trifle difficult. Surely it can’t be thought improper in me – at my age, and in such circumstances – to receive you alone?’

‘Improper! Of course not!’ he said immediately. ‘I shall present myself at – a quarter past eleven? Unless I find a carriage waiting at the door to take up Lady Stavely, when I shall conceal myself behind a lamp-post until I see her drive away.’

‘Thus investing a morning-call with the trappings of an intrigue!’ she said, laughing.

Her attention was then claimed by the cousin who sat on her other hand; and in a very few moments Kit was once more engaged by his hostess.

When the ladies withdrew, and the cloth was removed from the table, Lord Stavely came to sit beside Kit, unconsciously rescuing him from Mr Lucton, who had formed the same intention. Conversation became general; and as Lucton was too shy to raise his voice amongst so many seniors, and Mr Charles Stavely, in his late forties, had only a casual acquaintance with young Lord Denville, no pitfalls awaited Kit. He would have been happy to have remained in the dining-room for the next hour, but Lord Stavely was under orders not to allow the gentlemen to linger over their wine, and he very soon declared it to be time to join the ladies.

In the drawing-room, the supposed Lord Denville had inevitably been the subject of animated discussion. Opinions were varied, one party, led by Lady Stavely, extolling his air and address; another warning Cressy that she would be very unwise to marry a man so notoriously volatile; and a third, headed by Lady Ebchester, stating that it was a very good match, and that Cressy, at the age of twenty, and with a dowry of only £25,000, would be a fool to draw back from it.

This b

rought Lady Ebchester under the Dowager’s fire. Sitting forward in her chair, and leaning on her ebony cane, the old lady looked like the popular conception of a witch. She fixed her daughter with a gleaming eye, and snapped: ‘Besides what I may leave her!’

Lady Ebchester was rather taken aback by this, but she said: ‘Oh, well, Mama, that is a matter for you, of course, but you will hardly leave any great sum to Cressy when you have sons who have nearer claims on you. Not to speak of your daughters – though, for my part, I expect nothing, and nor, I daresay, does Eliza. As for Caroline, however, and poor Clara –’