While the covers were being set upon the table, the Duke called for paper and ink, and dashed off an urgent letter to his agent-in-chief.
“My dear Scriven,” he wrote, “Upon receipt of this, be so good as to despatch Nettlebed to me with such clothing as I may require, and two or three hundred pounds in bills. He may travel in my private chaise, and bring my footman with him. It will be convenient for me to have also my curricle, and the match bays, and these may be brought by easy stages, together with my Purdeys, also at Sale, and the grey mare. I shall send this to you express, and beg you will not delay to follow out its instructions. Yours etc etc Sale.”
He was shaking the sand from his missive when it occurred to him that a little information about himself might be welcome to his well-wishers. He added a postscript: “Pray inform Lord Lionel that I am in excellent health.”
Having, in this masterly fashion, allayed any anxiety or curiosity which his household might cherish, he sealed his letter, directed it, and arranged for its express carriage to London. After that, he joined his young friends at the dinner-table, partook of a neat, plain meal, sped Tom on his way to the theatre, persuaded Belinda to go to bed, and took rueful stock of his appearance.
No amount of wear and tear could disguise the cut and quality of Scott’s olive-green coat, or the excellence of Hoby’s top-boots, but a riding-coat and buckskin breeches, even when in the pink of condition, could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered eligible garments in which to pay an evening visit in Bath. A week earlier, the Duke would have shrunk from the very idea of presenting himself in Laura Place in such a guise, but the experiences through which he had passed had hardened his sensibilities so much that he was able presently to confront old Lady Ampleforth’s porter, who opened her door to him, without a blush. The sound of a violin, and a glimpse of a great many hats and cloaks in the hall conveyed the unwelcome intelligence to him that Lady Ampleforth was entertaining guests. He did not blame the porter for eyeing him askance, but he said in his calm way: “Is Lady Harriet Presteigne at home?”
“Well, sir,” replied the porter doubtfully, “in a manner of speaking she is, but my lady has one of her Musical Parties this evening.”
“Yes, so I hear,” said the Duke, stepping into the hall, and laying down his hat. “I am not dressed for a party, and I shall not disturb her ladyship. Be so good as to convey a message to Lady Harriet for me!”
The porter, having by this time taken in the full enormity of the Duke’s costume, said firmly that he didn’t think he could do that, Lady Harriet being very much occupied.
“Yes, I think you can,” said the Duke tranquilly. “Inform Lady Harriet that the Duke of Sale has arrived in Bath, and wishes to see her—privately!”
The porter was staggered by this speech. He knew, of course, that Lady Harriet was betrothed to the Duke of Sale, but it seemed to him highly improbable that anyone so exalted would visit a lady in a crumpled coat and stained buckskins. He said cunningly: “Yes, your Grace. I will have your Grace’s card carried up to my lady.”
“I haven’t one,” said the Duke.
Upon hearing this brazen utterance, the porter saw his duty clearly marked out for him. He prepared to eject the uninvited guest, saying: “I that case, sir, you’ll pardon me, but I could not take it upon myself to disturb her ladyship!”
Fortunately for the Duke’s dignity, Lady Ampleforth’s butler sailed into the hall at this moment. The Duke said: “Ah, here’s Whimple! I hope you do not mean to disown me, Whimple. I wish to have some private speech with Lady Harriet.”
The butler stared at him for an unrecognizing moment, and then gave an audible gasp. “Your Grace!”
“Thank God!” said the Duke, smiling. “I was afraid you had forgotten me, and meant to tell this stout fellow to hurl me down the steps.”
“No, indeed, your Grace! I—I apprehend your Grace has but just arrived in Bath? Would your Grace wish me to announce you, or, perhaps ....”
“You may see for yourself that I am in no case to present myself to Lady Ampleforth. Lady Harriet, however, will forgive me for coming to her in all my dirt.”
“Surely, your Grace!” beamed Whimple, much touched by this evidence of lover-like impatience. “Perhaps your Grace would condescend to wait in the breakfast-parlour, where no one will disturb you? I will instantly apprise Lady Harriet of your Grace’s arrival!”
The Duke having expressed his willingness to condescend in this manner, he was ushered into a small apartment at the back of the house. While an underling lit the candles, the butler went away to find Lady Harriet. The Duke had not long to wait. In a very few moments Whimple opened the door for Lady Harriet to pass into the room. He sighed sentimentally, for he was a romantic man, and he had never before been employed as Love’s messenger.
It struck the Duke that his betrothed was not in her best looks. She was even a little wan, and she seemed to be suffering from some agitation of spirit. She was tastefully attired in a robe of white crape, profusely trimmed with blond lace, and with her hair in full ringlets, but she would have been the better for a touch of rouge. As the door shutbehind Whimple, she looked almost shrinkingly at the Duke, and uttered in a faint voice: “Gilly! My lord!”
He stepped up to her, taking her hand, and kissing it. It trembled in his, and he was aware of her uneven breathing. Ho wondered why Harriet, who had known him all his life, should be so afraid of him. He retained her hand saying: “Harriet, have I startled you? I am a villain to come to you in such a disreputable state!”
“Oh, no!” she murmured. “No, no!”
“Indeed, I beg your pardon!” he said, smiling at her. “But I am in the deuce of a fix, Harriet, and I have come to you to help me out of it!”
Her pallor seemed to grow more marked. She gently withdrew her hand from his. “Yes, Gilly,” she said. “Of course I will help you out of it.”
“You were always the best of good friends, Harriet!” he said. “But it is quite outrageous! I have no business to ask such a thing of you!”
She lifted her hand as though to silence him, and then let it drop again. Averting her face a little, she managed to say with only the smallest tremor in her voice: “You need not tell me, Gilly. You never desired it I—I knew that at the outset. You wish to declare our—our engagement at an end, don’t you?”
“Wish to declare our engagement at an end?” he repeated, quite thunderstruck. “Good God, no! Why, Harriet, what can you be thinking of?”
She began to twist into a tight rope the ends of the gauze scarf which was draped round her shoulders. “Is it not that, Gilly? Pray do not try to spare my feelings! I knew I was wrong. I should not have—But it is not too late! You see, I know! And indeed I do not blame you!”
“Harriet, I have not the remotest guess at what you are talking about!” the Duke said blankly. “What is it that you know.”
“What can possibly have done to merit this from you?” Surprise gave her courage to look at him. She faltered: “I knew from Gaywood that you had disappeared. Of course I did not credit the wicked slanders which he said were running round town! But—”