Althea (7 page)

“It must be the exertion involved in a ball, Miss Ervine.
After dancing energetically for several hours, one’s appetite is naturally
aroused. I hope you are pleased with what I brought. Although Lady Fforyding
keeps an almost awesome table for her suppers, I tried to restrict myself to the
best — or at least the most readily digestible — foods offered.” He smiled
pleasantly.

“I admire your discretion and your choices, Mr. Pendarly. It
would surely be foolish to indulge in lobster patties this late at night. I
quite shudder to consider the consequences.”

“How long will you grace our city with your presence,
ma’am?” The words brought back Calendar’s polite parody of similar questions,
and Althea again had the irritating feeling of stifling her laughter as Mr.
Pendarly continued. “Can we hope to have the luck of your presence for the
entire Season, ma’am? If so, I shall hope to see you often. I collect you are
at your sister’s house?”

“Yes, sir. I cannot say for how long I shall be staying,
however, for that must depend upon the good will of my sister and her husband,
but I hope to make a long visit and then be banished back to my father’s home.”

“If your stay depends upon your credit with Lady and Lord
Bevan, I am sure that we shall have you in London for a long while to come. How
could they tire of so charming a guest?”

“Charm has no bonds for sisters, sir. Have you no sisters or
brothers of your own that you would know the bounds of filial affection?”
Althea, rather overwhelmed by the compliments of Mr. Pendarly, sought to turn
the conversation around to him. He was a pleasant partner, quiet but not sober,
and unlike most of the young men she had met, given to neither overstatement
nor inarticulateness. His admiration for her he displayed quite clearly, and
Althea could not help but be cheered by the attentions of such an Adonis and to
wish to know more about him.

“I have one brother, ma’am, who is my elder and with whom I
confess I have never been on the best of terms.”

“I understand you precisely, for my sister is reckoned to be
the beauty of the family, as she takes after our mother, and when we were
little she was used to positively twit me with the fact that she was fair and
had Mama’s features, while I had not. There was a long time when all I wanted
from life were guinea-gold ringlets and the family nose. I have learned I shall
never have either, and you can see that it has not permanently scarred me.
Surely your brother has ceased to torment you now, since you are both grown.”

“Jeremy seems to think any excuse quite adequate, ma’am. But
why do we discuss my family feuds when there are other topics that must be far
more interesting?” He smiled at her ingratiatingly. “What do you think of our
city, ma’am? It is rare to meet someone who will admit that she is not city
bred — or at least bored to distraction by city sights.”

“In truth, sir, I have seen so little of those city sights
that I cannot, in honesty, venture my opinion. My sister has kept me to the
house almost since the moment of my arrival in town, and despite my pleas has
done little more than to ride me around Hyde Park once and take me to a
subscription library. Now that I am become a social creature, I do not believe
that ever I shall see more than the outsides of people’s doorways!”

“No, that is too bad! If you care to ride, I would give
myself the honor of introducing you to the Park, for it cannot be properly
appreciated from a carriage.”

“Certainly not,” Althea agreed demurely.

“Perhaps I could devise some sightseeing excursion for you,
as well, for you must certainly see the Houses of Parliament and the Tower.”

“Precisely what I have told Maria! I should dearly love to.”

“Suppose we begin tomorrow, then? If I arrive to take you
riding tomorrow morning, will you be able, after tonight’s festivity, to
accompany me? I believe that the best time to see the Park is in the early
morning, before the crowds are come into it. Perhaps after that I could arrange
some party for sightseeing. I have some friends who would be delighted to
accompany us, I’m sure.”

“I look forward to tomorrow. At what o’clock shall I look
for you in Grosvenor Square? I will not balk at a little early rising.” Mr.
Pendarly took her hand for a brief moment.

“Ma’am, I should never think of you as so poor creature as
that.” He released her hand and continued. “At the hour of nine-thirty, if that
suits you? You will bring new life to the jaded sights of Hyde Park.” Althea,
who had thought herself far beyond the age of blushing, discovered, to her
horror, that she was doing just that and was almost relieved to see Maria and
Francis, both looking remarkably grim, heading toward them. Maria seemed out of
patience with even the smallest civility, which demanded that Althea take her
leave of Mr. Pendarly. Once away from him, she turned to her sister and told
her they must leave.

“I hate to drag you away from the ball when you are so
enjoying yourself, Ally,” (the merest emphasis upon the
you
) “but I have
one of my dreadful headaches and I must get home. Perhaps it is better that you
not tax your strength all in one night, dearest,” she said guiltily. “You will
be fagged out indeed for tomorrow, and I should hate to have you wear yourself
thin at the beginning of your Season.”

Althea agreed meekly, and Francis went off to procure their
wraps while they waited in the hall. Maria quizzed Althea halfheartedly about
her conquests, but when Francis reappeared, became silent altogether. Their
quarrel, Althea guessed, must have been quite fierce to have brought on this
reaction. Whatever it was, the silence, which lasted all the way back to
Grosvenor Square, was so chilling that Althea could have sworn she could feel
it through her shawl.

Once within doors Maria announced her intention of going
directly to bed with a glass of hartshorn and water, and straightway marched up
the stairs. Althea and Francis were left staring helplessly after her. When
Maria had disappeared on the landing, Francis smiled weakly and told Althea he
was off to a club, bidding her a good night’s rest. Althea nodded absently and
controlled the desire to ask what the matter was between them, since she could
think of no way to do so but in the most officious manner. She sighed and
retired to her room.

It was not in Althea’s nature to remain glum, and after the
success she had enjoyed that night, even a more depressive nature would have
found it hard to refrain from smiling. It was only by main force, when finally
in her bed, that she stopped herself from repeating bits of conversation in her
head like a child of seventeen. If she was to be ready for Mr. Pendarly’s call
at nine-thirty, she would have to calm her overwrought mind and rest. This
sensible but entirely impractical reasoning did not help her to sleep, however,
and long into the night she stared, unseeing but quite happy, at the ceiling of
her room.

o0o

Mr. Edward Pendarly, making his way home from the
Fforydings’ house, was embroiled in a piece of reasoning that he could not
settle to his satisfaction no matter how he concluded it. He had gone to the
party that night to fill an otherwise empty evening, and had found himself, as
he melodramatically thought of it, smitten by Miss Ervine’s beauty, wit, and
all the various parts that could recommend a lady to a gentleman. In itself
such an infatuation would not have been harmful, but Mr. Pendarly was,
regrettably, very much engaged, and no matter how he reasoned, he could not
imagine explaining to his fiancée, or worse, to her mother, why he had suddenly
begun to find such amusement in
ton
parties while his betrothed was in
the sickroom. Still less could he presently imagine telling Miss Ervine of his
encumbrance — not if it would mean, as it certainly would, that the lady would
banish him from the ranks of her serious admirers. For if Edward Pendarly was
anything at any time it was serious. There lay the possibility, then, of
prevarication, or at least omission. Which meant the danger of discovery and
the subsequent wrath of Miss Ervine, Miss Laverham, and the Dragon, Mrs.
Laverham. There was no question but that he must eventually be married to Miss
Laverham: a man with debts such as his and a family full of expensive relations
could not afford the luxury of wooing where he wished, and having found a
financial prize like Georgiana Laverham, he could not afford to lose her.
Without really resolving what his course of action would be, Mr. Pendarly
decided that perhaps the morning ride would show Miss Ervine to be less
attractive than he had thought. He slept very poorly that night.

o0o

Lord Bevan, having said good night to his sister-in-law,
left his house with no certain idea as to where to go. A turn in the night air
cleared his brain somewhat, but also afforded some time for quiet reflection,
most of which contributed to an already strong feeling that he should not
return to his house just yet. In order to avoid doing so, Lord Bevan hailed a
chair and gave the direction of Watier’s. It was to be hoped that there would
be some good play there, and the night was still relatively young. It was a
damned shame that Maria had had to spoil Althea’s first
ton
party with
her willfulness, but Maria was not likely to consider anyone else’s welfare
above her own. The evening had started out so well, too, which only made
Maria’s behavior the worse. And his own, he admitted, had not been of the best.

By the time Lord Bevan reached Watier’s he was in a state
half of indignation, half of self-abnegation, a combination that had often
proven fatal to his gaming sense.

On entering the club, he at once encountered several friends
engaged in a hot discussion of the favorite in a private race to be run later
in the week. Lord Bevan was welcomed enthusiastically and invited to take a
chance on the race, which he gladly did, to the tune of five hundred guineas,
placed on Ever Faithful. He knew nothing about either the horse or its rider
but only liked the name, but this extravagance set the tone for the evening’s
gaming. By betting blindly where he liked, he managed to lose seven hundred at
the dicing tables and a round two thousand at faro. When, some few hours later,
he quit the faro room and sought
rouge et noir
, Lord Alvanley, who had
been watching with a certain amusement young Bevan’s attempts to throw himself
to the wind, intervened, suggesting that Francis had done more than enough to
impoverish his future heirs for one night. Francis, whose drinking had more
than kept pace with his gaming, did not take kindly to the suggestion, but said
that he must be the judge of his own business. Alvanley sighed and nodded at
the young fool, strolling back himself to the faro room. Francis’s taste for
rouge
et noir
, however, had deserted him, and he turned back to the hazard rooms
with a look in his eye that boded ill for no one but himself.

At one table, Sir Tracy Calendar, having won a substantial
pile of money from Lord Sefton, was now engaged in conversation with him and
Lord Petersham. As Francis Bevan entered the room, Lord Petersham had just
finished one of his distracting daydreams about tea admixtures, to the great
amusement of his friends, and it was this momentary lapse in the conversation that
permitted Calendar to notice Bevan’s arrival. He also noticed the man’s
unsteady gait and flushed face.

Sir Tracy excused himself and approached Bevan. Francis, who
expected to be reprimanded again as he had been by Alvanley, stiffened and
glared at Calendar, who mildly asked if Lord Bevan was interested in a game of
hazard. All Francis’s stiffness relaxed so suddenly it was comical; he had
expected a set-down and had received, instead, an invitation to play with a
notable gamester! The wine and this particular new bit of consequence puffed
Francis’s confidence greatly, and he accepted with alacrity. Had he been more
sober or less headstrong, he might have demurred, for he was too well
acquainted with Calendar’s reputation and with his own ill-fortune to chance
such a meeting ordinarily. Tonight he was to be as unheeding as anyone — as
Maria, in fact.

Tracy, for some vaguely philanthropic reason, found himself
playing hazard with a slightly inebriated and moody Francis Bevan. From the
moment he had seen Bevan’s eyes across the room, Tracy had been sure that the
man was set on some sort of ruin and was seized with an untraceable insight
that told him it might be better for the young man to lose to someone less
punctual in matters of play and pay — to himself, that is — than to one of the
professional gamesters present, who would doubtless bleed the young lord for
all he was worth.

He was amused and pleased by the stoic way Lord Bevan
insisted on taking his losses. For all he could do was lose, writing vouchers
finally for large sums. Although Tracy thought it might be a good idea, he
could not ask that no more wine be served without, he thought wryly, Bevan’s
calling him out. So on they continued, with the pile of vouchers growing as the
night progressed, and Sir Tracy wondering what sort of despair Bevan must be
feeling at his night’s work.

Francis’s elation at the very fact of Calendar’s invitation
very quickly subsided, leaving only a stubborn intent to continue playing.
Francis was not a gambler by nature so much as by habit; as he was so
shockingly bad at it, he was often scolded for his social gaming by his agent
and his wife. Tonight, however, he was possessed by a need to gamble, not so
much for the intoxication with chance as for the reckless feeling of abandonment
it afforded him. It was very late when Calendar, pleading fatigue, suggested
they end the game and gave Francis the total of his vouchers. Francis did not
reply to the staggering figure but only turned pale. After a moment or two he
said that he would send a draft on his bank the next day, to which Calendar
replied that there was no hurry — thirty days was more than sufficient time —
as it was only the beginning of the new quarter, he did not doubt but that Lord
Bevan would be prompt.