Friday's Child (17 page)

Hero, although she was naturally interested in the first balloon she had ever seen, did not spend an afternoon of unmixed enjoyment. For this the behaviour of Miss Milborne was to blame. Nothing could have been more affectionate than Miss Milborne’s manner towards her hostess, and nothing more wayward than her behaviour towards her maddened lover. Hero was unable to acquit her of coquetry, and was indeed quite shocked to see how she would blow first hot and then cold upon the unfortunate Lord Wrotham. Whether she regretted having given him as much encouragement as lay in a rose dropped from her corsage, or whether she resented the introduction into the party of so unprepossessing a gentleman as Mr Gumley, no one could tell, but although she relented towards him from time to time, even allowing her hand to rest in his for a moment longer than was necessary when he handed her down from the barouche, she was for the most part a little pettish in her manner, and made it plain that he could do nothing to please her. Hero, who had a warm affection for George, could not refrain once from looking at her in a very speaking way, but the Beauty seemed not to notice the reproach in her old friend’s eyes. She launched into a sprightly description of a masquerade she had attended a week earlier, and although Hero might be extremely young and unversed in the ways of spoiled beauties, she could not but recognize that Miss Milborne’s reason for introducing this topic lay in the circumstance of her having been gallanted to this party by his Grace of Severn.

It was no wonder, Hero thought, that George should look worn and stormy at the end of the expedition. She was impelled to clasp his hand between both of hers when he left her at her door, and to say shyly: “Don’t mind her, dear George! I dare say she may have had the headache.”

He flushed, muttered something inarticulate, and strode off down the street. Hero was left to reflect that perhaps her adored Sherry was not so much to be pitied as she had supposed.

Chapter 9

During the course of the next few weeks, a number of persons left cards in Half Moon Street, the ubiquitous Mr Stoke having obtained the Viscount’s leave to insert into the society column of the
Morning Post
a notice informing the Polite World that Lord and Lady Sheringham were residing at this address. The more elderly of the callers came because they felt it to be their duty to pay their respects to Sherry’s wife. It was hardly to be expected that matrons with hopeful young families ranging from University to nursery ages would concern themselves much over a bride of seventeen; and as there was no matron of consequence whose business it was to launch Hero into the most correct society, it was natural that such friendships as she made were with ladies of a younger and, for the most part, dashing set.

One of her earliest visitors was Mrs Hoby, a smart, lively young woman who announced herself to be a distant cousin of Hero’s, and almost overwhelmed her with protestations and attentions. She was the wife of an Irishman who, being heir to a respectable property, was at present living precariously on eight hundred a year and the expectancy. She confessed that she had not known of Hero’s existence until the announcement of her marriage had appeared in the press, but upon discovering that she had a cousin who was actually the daughter of dear Cousin Geoffrey she had lost no time in coming to visit her. One swift glance having informed her that her new-found relative was extremely young and inexperienced, she engaged herself to take her under her wing. That the protection of a flighty young woman, living upon the fringes of society, could not add to her consequence Hero was not in a position to know, and she had no hesitation in accepting an invitation to make one of an evening party at the Pantheon, once Mrs Hoby had laughed indulgently at the notion that she could not go without Sherry to escort her.

“Oh, my dear Lady Sheringham, I assure you it is quite the established mode! I do not scruple to tell you—for I perceive how strange you are to this frippery life we all lead in London!—that to be seen for ever with one’s husband in one’s train will not do at all! No, positively, it would be to conduct yourself like a dowd, and
that
I can see at a glance you are far from being!”

Since Sherry had told her very much the same thing, Hero was perfectly ready to accept this dictum, and to consider herself uncommonly fortunate when she learned that Sherry was willing to go with her to Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

“I fancy I had best take you there myself,” Sherry said, with the air of one having a nice regard to his obligations. “Mind you, it ain’t in my line, but the patronesses are so deuced starchy I dare say it will be more comfortable for you if I go with you, at any rate the first time. Ten to one you won’t care for it: devilish slow, I warn you!”

He raised no objection to her new friendship; he had not heard of Mrs Hoby before, but if she was one of Hero’s cousins he had no doubt of her being an acceptable acquaintance; in fact, he was glad to find that she was beginning to make friends of her own, since his own engagements prevented him from being with her as much as he had feared she might expect. These engagements seemed to take his lordship rather frequently to certain discreet establishments in Pall Mall and Pickering Place, generally in the company of Sir Montagu Revesby, whose chosen mission in life appeared to some older heads to be to introduce young men of fortune to such gaming-houses as could be expected to relieve them of their wealth in the least possible space of time. His address, his decided air of fashion, had gained him the entré into all but the most exclusive circles; and there was little doubt that he exercised a considerable degree of charm over his young friends. Monty, with his worldly wisdom, his caressing manner towards his favourites, was, they said, a regular top-sawyer, a nonpareil, a knowing ’un. The older generation of dandies who sat in Olympian aloofness in the Bow window at White’s, refusing to acknowledge salutations from the street, might lift supercilious eyebrows at Sir Montagu, but their indolent disapproval was not likely to weigh with youthful bloods bent on kicking up what larks they could, and already beginning to think men like Worcester, and Alvany, and ‘King’ Allen old stagers. The ladies, too, were not impervious to Sir Montagu’s charm, and there were few who were not secretly a little flattered if he appeared to pay them distinguishing attentions.

For he was by no means one of those who dangled at the ladies’ apron strings. Always civil, there was a light, faintly amused note in his soft voice, even when he was paying a handsome compliment, and this could not but be provocative to the fair sex, not one of whom could as yet plume herself on having added him to her list of conquests. He had certainly shown himself to be an admirer of the famous Miss Milborne’s beauty, but Miss Milborne was not quite sure that his manner towards her was entirely free from mockery. This circumstance naturally aroused the interest of one who was accustomed to receive whole-hearted homage, and whenever he presented himself before her, or appeared in a house where she was a fellow-guest, she found herself to be a great deal more conscious of his presence than she liked.

His charm failed to captivate one lady at least. Hero could not like him. She knew it to be her duty to find Sherry’s friends all that was amiable, and she made every effort to overcome her repugnance. But it was too often Revesby, as on that first evening in Half Moon Street, who took Sherry from her side. Ferdy’s strictures, too, lingered in her memory, and were reinforced by a tactful hint from her kind patroness, Lady Sefton, that it would be well to wean Sherry from the company of his
âme damnée
. She did not think that she could bring herself to explain to Lady Sefton that she and Sherry had agreed not to interfere in each other’s lives, for some instinct warned her that her ladyship would not approve of this tolerance. Sir Montagu came once or twice to dine in Half Moon Street, and she was a kind and considerate hostess, concealing the scarcely recognized jealousy that rose in her heart when she saw the influence this assured, smiling man exercised over the volatile Viscount. But if Sir Montagu made one of the convivial little card-parties held in Sherry’s library, Hero withdrew after dinner, in a very correct way, and did not reappear. It was only when the guests were Mr Ringwood, Ferdy and his brother Marmaduke, and Lord Wrotham, that conventionality went by the board and the hostess, as at Melton, curled herself up in a large chair and interestedly watched the play.

She herself was beginning to go to quite a number of card parties. From a sedate pool of quadrille or one of commerce, it was no great step to the headier excitements of loo, faro, and whist. Mrs Hoby was very fond of gaming, and Hero was perfectly ready to spend an evening in her smart little house off Park Lane, putting into rather inexpert practice all she had learned from Sherry. She lost more than she won, but the allowance which Sherry, under Mr Stoke’s advice, made her seemed so handsome that there could be little point in considering a few losses at cards.

Mr Ringwood had been as good as his word in teaching her how to drive her phaeton, and as she discovered an aptitude in herself for handling the ribbons it was not long before she was to be seen driving in dashing style through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of the promenade. This was quite unexceptionable, and was applauded by the Viscount, since it brought his Hero to the notice of the Polite World, and made her appear to advantage. She sometimes took Isabella up with her, but the Beauty was a trifle nervous of being perched up behind a very high-stepping horse, and had no great confidence in her friend’s mastery over this animal. She perceived that the new Viscountess was bent on making a stir in the world, and could not help envying her her position, and her freedom from the shackles that hampered a single lady. Sometimes she felt just a little jealous of Hero’s undoubted popularity with Sherry’s friends, but she was generally able to comfort herself with the reflection that they treated her with a camaraderie which seemed to preclude the sort of devotion she herself inspired in male breasts. His Grace of Severn, who was slightly pompous, gave it as his opinion that Hero was inclined to be fast, and never accorded her more than a common bow in passing, a circumstance which Miss Milborne tried hard not to be glad of.

The visit to Almack’s was, as far as Hero was concerned, one of unmixed contentment. She thought that everyone was very kind, scarcely noticed the cold propriety of Miss Drummond Burrell’s manners, or the critical stare of Princess Esterhazy. She could not but be happy with her hand in Sherry’s arm, and if he found an evening spent where dancing and not cards was the order of the day somewhat flat, he was so well-pleased with the reception accorded his bride that he even forbore to comment unfavourably to her on the nature of the refreshments. He magnanimously stayed throughout the proceedings, bore his part in several of the dances, presented Hero to all the most influential persons present, and generally behaved in an exemplary fashion. On their way home, however, he said that he would take her to something a little more amusing than one of these assemblies, and see how she liked it. She did not think that she could like anything as well, but she was ready to go anywhere with him, and set forth three or four days later to a masquerade at Covent Garden with every expectation of enjoyment.

And indeed it was, as he had promised, a most entertaining evening, though of a very different character from the sedate assembly at Almack’s. They went masked, and found a vast rout of people of all sorts and conditions in the Opera House, making a good deal of noise, and apparently enjoying themselves hugely. Sherry had taken one of the lower boxes for the evening, and after he had danced once or twice with his wife, he led her to the box to partake of a varied supper there, washed down with iced champagne punch. While they sat over this, the Viscount, rather forgetful of his company, quizzed any woman who took his wandering fancy, levelled his eyeglass at any well-turned ankle, and laughed with his wife over several of the couples within their range of vision. Hero had no objection to any of this, even pointing out good ankles or particularly neat figures to Sherry, speculating on the identity of various persons, and interestedly learning from her incorrigible husband the signs by which she would in future be able to recognize what he gracefully termed ‘a bit of muslin’.

One of these bits of muslin, who had been watching their box for some time, presently took occasion to stroll past it, with such a provocative glance over her shoulder, such an alluring swing of her hips that no gentleman of the Viscount’s mettle could withstand the challenge. “I fancy I know that little love-bird!” he exclaimed. “I must discover if she is not Flyaway Nancy, for I’ll lay you a monkey she is, the saucy little piece!”