“My lord, may I say that you like to be thought a frippery fellow?” asked Mr Gisborne with severity tempered by respect.
“By all means, Arnold. You may say just what you like,” replied his lordship amiably.
But in spite of this permission Mr Gisborne did not say anything more. It would have been a waste of time. My lord could give one a set-down, though always with that faint look of amusement in his bored grey eyes, and always in the pleasantest manner. Mr Gisborne contented himself with dreaming of his own future, and in the meantime managed his patron’s affairs with conscientious thoroughness. The Earl’s mode of life he could not approve, for he was the son of a Dean, and strictly reared. My lord’s preoccupation with such wanton pieces of pretty femininity as LaFanciola, of the Opera House, or a certain Lady Massey filled him with a disapproval that made him at first scornful, and later, when he had been my lord’s secretary for a twelve-month, regretful.
He had not imagined, upon his first setting eyes on the Earl, that he could learn to like, or even to tolerate, this lazy, faintly mocking exquisite, but he had not, after all, experienced the least difficulty in doing both. At the end of a month he had discovered that just as his lordship’s laced and scented coats concealed an extremely powerful frame, so his weary eyelids drooped over eyes that could become as keen as the brain behind. Yielding to my lord’s charm, he accepted his vagaries if not with approval at least with tolerance.
The Earl’s intention to enter the married state took him by surprise. He had no notion of such a scheme until a morning two days after his lordship had visited Lady Winwood in South Street. Then, as he sat at his desk in the library, Rule strolled in after a late breakfast, and perceiving the pen in his hand, complained: “You are always so damnably busy, Arnold. Do I give you so much work?”
Mr Gisborne got up from his seat at the desk. “No, sir, not enough.”
“You are insatiable, my dear boy.” He observed some papers in Mr Gisborne’s grasp, and sighed. “What is it now?” he asked with resignation.
“I thought, sir, you might wish to see these accounts from Meering,” suggested Mr Gisborne.
“Not in the least,” replied his lordship, leaning his big shoulders against the mantelpiece.
“Very well, sir.” Mr Gisborne laid the papers down, and said tentatively: “You won’t have forgotten that there is a Debate in the House today which you will like to take part in?”
His Lordship’s attention had wandered; he was scrutinizing his own top-boot (for he was dressed for riding) through a long-handled quizzing-glass, but he said in a mildly surprised voice: “Which I shall what, Arnold?”
“I made sure you would attend it, my lord,” said Mr Gisborne defensively.
“I am afraid you were in your cups, my dear fellow. Now tell me do my eyes deceive me, or is there a suggestion—the merest hint—of a—really, I fear I must call it a bagginess—about the ankle?”...
Mr Gisborne glanced perfunctorily down at his lordship’s shining boot.”I don’t observe it, sir.”
“Come, come, Arnold!” the Earl said gently. “Give me your attention. I beg of you!”
Mr Gisborne met the quizzical gleam in my lord’s eyes, and grinned in spite of himself. “Sir, I believe you should go. It is of some moment. In the Lower House—”
“I felt uneasy at the time,” mused the Earl, still contemplating his legs. “I shall have to change my bootmaker again.” He let his glass fall on the end of its long riband, and turned to arrange his cravat in the mirror. “Ah! Remind me, Arnold, that I am to wait on Lady Winwood at three. It is really quite important.”
Mr Gisborne stared.”Yes, sir?
“Yes, quite important. I think the new habit, the coat dos de puce—or is that a thought sombre for the errand? I believe the blue velvet will be more fitting. And the perruque a bourse? You prefer the Catogan wig, perhaps, but you are wrong, my dear boy, I am convinced you are wrong. The arrangement of curls in the front gives an impression of heaviness. I feel sure you would not wish me to be heavy.” He gave one of the lace ruffles that fell over his hand a flick. “Oh, I have not told you, have I? You must know that I am contemplating matrimony, Arnold.”
Mr Gisborne’s astonishment was plain to be seen. “You, sir?” he said, quite dumbfounded.
“But why not?” inquired his lordship. “Do you object?”
“Object, sir! I? I am only surprised.”
“My sister,” explained his lordship, “considers that it is time I took a wife.”
Mr Gisborne had a great respect for the Earl’s sister, but he had yet to learn that her advice carried any weight with his lordship. “Indeed, sir,” he said, and added diffidently: “It is Miss Winwood?”
“Miss Winwood,” agreed the Earl. “You perceive how important it is that I should not forget to present myself in South Street at—did I say three o’clock?”
“I will put you in mind of it, sir,” said Mr Gisborne dryly.
The door opened to admit a footman in blue livery. “My lord, a lady has called,” he said hesitatingly.
Mr Gisborne turned to stare, for whatever Rule’s amusements abroad might be, his inamoratas did not wait upon him in Grosvenor Square.
The Earl raised his brows. “I am afraid—I am very much afraid—that you are—shall we say—a little stupid, my friend,” he said. “But perhaps you have already denied me?”
The lackey looked flustered, and answered: “The lady bade me tell your lordship that Miss Winwood begs the favour of a word with you.
There was a moment’s silence. Mr Gisborne had with difficulty checked the exclamation that rose to his lips, and now affected to arrange the papers on his desk.
The Earl’s eyes, which had narrowed suddenly, to his servant’s discomfiture, were once more bland and expressionless. “I see,” he remarked. “Where is Miss Winwood?”
“In the smaller saloon, my lord.”
“Very well,” said his lordship. “You need not wait.”
The lackey bowed, and went out. My lord’s gaze rested thoughtfully on Mr Gisborne’s profile. “Arnold,” he said softly. Mr Gisborne looked up. “Are you very discreet, Arnold?” said his lordship.
Mr Gisborne met his look full. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
“I am sure you are,” said his lordship. “Perhaps even—a little deaf?”
Mr Gisborne’s lips twitched. “Upon occasion, amazingly deaf, sir.”
“I need not have asked,” said the Earl. “You are a prince of secretaries, my dear fellow.”
“As to that, sir, you are very obliging. But certainly you need not have asked.”
“My maladroitness,” murmured his lordship, and went out.
He crossed the wide marble paved hall, observing as he passed a young woman, obviously an abigail, seated on the edge of a straight chair, and clutching her reticule in a frightened manner. Miss Winwood, then, had not come quite unattended.
One of the lackeys sprang to throw open the massive mahogany door that led into the small saloon, and my lord went in.
A lady, not so tall as he had expected to see, was standing with her back to the door, apparently inspecting an oil painting that hung on the far wall. She turned quickly as he came in, and showed him a face that certainly did not belong to Miss Winwood. He checked for a moment, looking down at her in some surprise.
The face under the simple straw hat also showed surprise. “Are you L-Lord Rule?” demanded the lady.
He was amused. “I have always believed so,” he replied.
“Why, I th-thought you were quite old!” she informed him ingenuously.
“That,” said his lordship with perfect gravity, “was unkind in you. Did you come to see me in order to—er—satisfy yourself as to my appearance?”
She blushed fierily. “P-please forgive m-me!” she begged, stammering dreadfully. “It w-was very r-rude of m-me, only you s-see I was surprised just for the m-moment.”