“Well, it was a pity,” said Mrs Stinchcombe, “but I don’t think any harm will come of it. From what I can see, he will find it a hard matter to get up a flirtation with her! Young Elmore is playing watch-dog, and is sticking to her as close as a courtplaster!”
Miss Wychwood soon found that this was true: Ninian was obviously standing guard over Lucilla, which would have been amusing had his hostess been in the mood to be amused. Whether he was protecting her from Kilbride, or from Harry Beckenham, each of whom was making her the object of his gallantry, was a moot point: Miss Wychwood could only be thankful that his jealously possessive instinct had prompted him to behave very much like a dog guarding a bone; and to derive a certain amount of satisfaction from the realization that Lucilla was showing no preference for either of these dashing blades, but was merely enjoying, quite innocently, the novel experience of being a Success.
A cold supper had been laid out in the dining-room. It was informal, but most of the very young gentlemen present had engaged the very young ladies of their choices to go down to it under their escorts, and just as Miss Wychwood, an accomplished hostess, had matched the dowagers with appropriate partners, she found herself being confronted by Lord Beckenham, begging for the honour of leading her down to supper. She felt that nothing more was wanting to set the seal on the most unenjoyable evening of any she had ever spent but there seemed to be no way of escaping this added scourge, and she was about to smile politely, and to lay her hand on his arm, when Mr Carleton, standing, unperceived, immediately behind her, said: “Too late, Beckenham! Miss Wychwood is promised to me! Are you ready to go now, ma’am?”
She found herself in a quandary. If she repudiated this engagement a quarrel between the two men would be the inevitable outcome: Beckenham’s face had already assumed an alarmingly purple hue. Anything, she decided, would be preferable to a brawl in her house! She forced a smile to her lips, and said, mendaciously, but placably: “I’m afraid I did promise to let Mr Carleton take me down to supper, Beckenham! Will you oblige me very much by taking Maria down in my stead?”
Mr Carleton, having drawn her hand within his arm, and led her inexorably out of the room, said reproachfully, as they began to go downstairs: “You know, that was quite unworthy of you, my child! To have fobbed your most distinguished suitor off on to your cousin will very likely have made him your enemy for life!”
“I know, but what else could I do, when she was the only lady left in the room, and you had claimed—falsely, as you well know!—that I had promised to go down with you? Heaven knows there is no one I wouldn’t liefer be with!” she said bitterly.
“Come, come, that’s trying it on much too rare and thick!” he told her. “You can’t gammon me into believing that you would prefer Beckenham’s company to mine!”
“Well, I would!” she asserted. “For I know very well you only wish to be with me so that you may pinch at me for having invited Denis Kilbride to my party, and I won’t endure it, and so I warn you! What right have you, pray, to dictate to me on whom I invite or do not invite to my parties?”
“Lay all those bristles!” he recommended. “You are not going to come to cuffs with me, my girl, so don’t be so ready to show hackle for no reason at all! I may deplore your taste in admirers, but I don’t presume to meddle in what is no concern of mine. And when I pinch at you, it won’t be in public, I promise you!”
Slightly mollified, she said, in a more moderate tone: “Well, I will own, sir, that it was no wish of mine to include Kilbride amongst my guests. Indeed, I said all I could, within the bounds of civility, to make him think he would find the party a dead bore. And when that didn’t answer I invited Harry Beckenham, and his friend, and Major Beverley, and—oh, several others as well!”
“In the belief that they might cut Kilbride out, or the hope that I might not notice him amongst so many dashers?”
This hit the nail on the head with sufficient accuracy to surprise a laugh out of her. She said: “Oh, how detestable you are! And the worst of it is that you make me detestable too, which is quite unpardonable!”
“I don’t do any such thing,” he replied, a queer twisted smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I could—even if I wished to.”
They had reached the foot of the stairs by this time, and were about to enter the dining-room, so that she was not obliged to answer, which was just as well, since she could think of nothing to say. She could not even decide whether he had paid her a compliment, or whether she had misunderstood him, for although the words he had spoken were certainly complimentary the tone in which he had uttered them was coldly dispassionate. He left her side as soon as they entered the dining-room, but returned in a very few minutes with various patties for her, and a glass of champagne. She was already the centre of a group, and he did not linger, but was next to be seen exchanging a few words with Lucilla, who was eating ices under the aegis of Harry Beckenham. She greeted him with acclaim, and a demand to know whether he had ever been to a more delightful party. He looked rather amused, but assured her that he hadn’t. Harry said: “‘Evening, sir! I’ve been telling your niece that Miss Wychwood is famous for the first-rate refreshments she gives her guests, but all she will eat is ices! Shall I bring you another, Miss Carleton?”
“Yes, please!” she responded promptly. “And may I have some more lemonade? Oh, sir, should I like champagne? Mr. Beckenham says I shouldn’t.”
“No,” said Mr Carleton. He held out his own glass to her. “Try it for yourself!” he bade her.
She took the glass, and sipped cautiously. The expression of distaste on her face was almost ludicrous. She gave the glass back to her uncle, saying: “Ugh! Nasty! How can people drink anything so horrid? I quite thought Mr Beckenham was hoaxing me when he said I shouldn’t like it, for he, and you, and even Miss Wychwood seem to like it very well.”
“Now you know that he wasn’t hoaxing you.” He looked her over critically, and surprised her by saying: “Remind me, when I return to London, to hand over to you your mother’s turquoise set. Most of her jewels are not suitable for girls of your age, but I imagine the turquoises must be unexceptionable. As I recall, there is also a pearl brooch, and a matching ring. I’ll send them to you.”
The unexpectedness of this took her breath away. She could only regain enough of it to thank him, but this she did so fervently that he laughed, flicked her cheek with one finger, and said: “Ridiculous brat! There’s no need to thank me: your mother’s jewels are yours: I merely hold them in trust for you until you come of age—or until I judge you to be old enough to wear them.”
Mr Beckenham having come back by this time, Mr Carleton left Lucilla to his care, and returned to Miss Wychwood. She had been observing what had passed between him and his niece, and moved forward to meet him, saying in a conscience-stricken voice: “I have been shockingly remiss! I ought to have told Lucilla not to drink champagne!”
“You ought indeed,” he said.
“Well, if you know that, I am astonished that you should have given your glass to her!” she said, with some asperity.
“Did you like your first sip of champagne?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Exactly so! Young Beckenham had told her she wouldn’t like it, so I proved his point for him.”
“I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, “that that was probably more to the purpose than to have forbidden her to drink it.”
“Certainly more to the purpose!”
She flashed a mischievous smile at him, and murmured: “I feel it won’t be long before you become an excellent guardian!”
“God forbid!”
At this moment, Denis Kilbride, disengaging himself from a group of matrons, bore down upon his hostess and said in deeply wounded accents, belied by the laughter in his eyes: “Now, how could you have misled me so about your party, most cruel fair one? Is it possible you can have been trying to keep me away from it! I cannot believe it!”