He followed her to the settee, and at a sign from her seated himself beside her. “It is Worth?” he asked directly.
“Oh, yes, it is, as usual, my noble guardian,” she replied, with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Mrs. Scattergood informed me that he was with you. What has he been doing or must I not ask?”
“I brought it upon myself,” said Judith, incurably honest. “But he behaves in such a way—oh, cousin, if my father had but known! We are in Lord Worth’s hands. Nothing could be worse! I thought at first that he was amusing himself at my expense. Now I am afraid—I suspect him of a set purpose, and though it cannot succeed it can make this year uncomfortable for me.”
“A set purpose,” he repeated. “I may guess it, I suppose.”
“I think so. It was you who put me a little on my guard.”
He nodded; he was slightly frowning. “You are very wealthy,” he said. “And he is expensive. I do not know what his fortune is; I imagined it had been considerable, but he is a gamester, and a friend of the Regent. He is in the front of fashion; his clothes are made by the first tailors; his stables are second to none; he belongs to I dare not say how many clubs—White’s, Watier’s, the Alfred (or, as I have heard it called, the Half-Read), the Je ne sais quoi, the Jockey Club, the Four Horse, the Bensington—perhaps more.”
“In a word, cousin, he is a dandy,” Judith said.
“More than that. He is of the Bow-window set, I grant, but not of the Unique Four. That is composed, as you know, of only your complete Dandies—Brummell, Alvanley, Mildmay, and Pierrepoint. Worth has other interests, even more expensive.”
“So has Lord Alvanley,” she interposed.
“Very true. Lord Alvanley hunts, for instance, but he does not, I believe, aspire to be first in so many fields as Worth. You may hardly go to a race-meeting but you are sure to find Worth has a horse running, while his curricle-races, the teams he drives, are notorious.”
“It is the only thing I know of to his advantage,” Judith said. “I will admit him to be an excellent whip. But for the rest I find him a mere fop, a creature of affectations, tricked out in modish clothes, thinking snuff to be of more moment than events of real importance. He is proud, he can be insolent. There is a reserve, a lack of openness—I must not say any more: I shall put myself in a rage, and that will not do.”
He smiled. “You’ve no love for the dandies, Judith?”
“Oh, as to that—Mr. Brummell is of all people the most charming companion. Lord Alvanley too must always please. But in general, no, I do not like them. I like a man to be a man, and not a mask of fashion.”
He agreed to it, but said seriously: “I collect there is more than you have said. These faults, though you may despise them, are not enough to anger you as I think you were angered this evening, cousin.”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes smouldering again at the recollection of her interview with the Earl. Mr. Taverner laid his hand over hers, and clasped it. “Do not tell me unless you choose,” he said gently, “but believe that I only wish to serve you, to be, if I may be no more, merely your friend.”
“You are all consideration,” she said. “All kindness.” She smiled, but with a quivering lip. “Indeed, I count you very much my friend. There is no one I can open my mind to, saving Perry, and he is young, taken up with his new acquaintances, and amusements. Mrs. Scattergood is very amiable, but she is related to Worth—a circumstance I cannot forget. I have been thinking how very much alone I am. There is only Perry—but I am falling into a mood of pitying myself, which is nonsensical. While I have Perry I cannot want for protection.” She gave her head a little shake. “You see how stupid Lord Worth makes me! We cannot meet but I find myself picking a quarrel with him, and then I become as odious as he is himself. To-night in particular—he informs me, if you please, that he shall not consent to my marriage with anyone but himself while he is my guardian! It has put me in such a rage that I declare I could almost elope to Gretna Green just to spite him.”
He started. “My dear cousin!”
“Oh, I shall not, of course! Do not look so shocked!”
“Not that—certainly not that, but—I have no right to ask you—you have met someone? There is some man with whom you could contemplate—?”
“No one, upon my honour!” she said, laughing. Her eyes met his for an instant, and then fell. She coloured, became aware of her hand under his and gently drew it away. “Where can Mrs. Scattergood be gone to, I wonder?”
He rose. “I must go. It is growing late.” He paused, looking earnestly down at her. “You have Peregrine to turn to, I know. Let me say just this, that you have also a cousin who would do all in his power to serve you.”
“Thank you,” she said, almost inaudibly. She got up. “It—it is late. It was good of you to call, to bring me the book.”
He took her hand, held out to him in farewell, and kissed it. “Dear Judith!” he said.
Mrs. Scattergood, coming back into the room at that moment, looked very sharply at him, and made not the smallest attempt to persuade him into staying any longer. He took his leave of both ladies, and bowed himself out.
“You are getting to be excessively intimate with that young gentleman, my love,” observed Mrs. Scattergood.
“He is my cousin, ma’am,” replied Judith tranquilly.
“H’m, yes! I daresay he might be. I have very little notion of cousins, I can tell you. Not that I have anything against Mr. Taverner, my dear. He seems an agreeable creature. But that is how it is always! The less eligible a man is the more delightful he is bound to be! You may depend upon it.”
Judith began to put away her embroidery. “My dear ma’am, what can that signify? There is no thought of marriage between us.”
“No Bath-miss airs with me, child, I implore you!” said Mrs. Scattergood, throwing up her hands. “That is very pretty talking, to be sure, but you have something more of quickness than most girls, and you know very well, my love, that there is always a thought of marriage between a single female and a personable gentleman, if not in his mind, quite certainly in hers. Now this cousin may do very well for a young lady of no particular consequence, but you are an heiress and should be looking a great deal higher for a husband. I don’t say you must not show him the observance that is due to a relative, but you know, my dear, you do not owe him any extraordinary civility, and to let him kiss your hand and be calling you dear Judith, is the outside of enough!”
Judith turned. “Let me understand you, ma’am. How much higher must I look for a husband?”
“Oh, my dear, when a female is as wealthy as you, as high as you choose! I did think of Clarence, but there’s that horrid Marriage Act to be got over, and I daresay the Regent would never give his consent.”
“There is Mrs. Jordan to be got over too,” said Judith dryly.
“Nonsense, my love, I have it for a fact he has quite broken with her. I daresay she will keep all the children of the connection—I believe there are ten, but I might be mistaken.”
“You informed me yourself, ma’am, that the Duke was a devoted father,” said Judith.
Mrs. Scattergood sighed. “Well, and have I not said that I believe he won’t do? Though I must say, my dear, if you had the chance of becoming his wife it would be a very odd thing in you to be objecting to it merely because of a few Fitz-Clarences. But I have been thinking of it, and I am persuaded it won’t answer. We must look elsewhere.”
“Where shall we look, ma’am?” inquired Judith, with a hint of steel in her voice. “A mere commoner is too low for me, and a Royal Duke too high. I understand his Grace of Devonshire is unmarried. Shall I set my cap at him, ma’am, or should I look about me for a husband amongst—for instance—the Earls?”