Lady John (11 page)

“I am indeed. May I make you acquainted with my husband’s
sister? Lady Elizabeth Temperer.” Bette and Haikestill shook hands; he
professed himself much gratified at the acquaintance of so pretty a young lady,
even though she
was
an aristocrat. Bette
wisely said nothing to this, but her look at Olivia spoke volumes.

“I confess, my dear Lady John,” Haikestill was continuing, “you
did give me something of a turn, as the saying goes, when you spoke the words ‘my
husband’s sister.’ Had I not understood from the family names that you meant
your
late
husband, I should have thought
you claimed already, before I had had a chance to make myself known to you in
the guise of a suitor.”

Bette looked sidewise at Olivia, inviting her to share the
joke of this quiz of a man who knew no better than to offer heavy gallantries
in the middle of Bond Street. Olivia was not amused.

“I am certain my
mother
would
like to see you, sir,” she urged prettily. “We are staying in Queen Anne’s
Street; I hope you will call upon her there.”

“I shall call upon you with the greatest pleasure,” he
assured her. “And perhaps some evening you and your mother, and perhaps this
charming lady?” —he bowed again to Bette— “will join me for a party at the
theater or the Opera?”

Bette and Olivia answered noncommittally that this plan
sounded pleasant, and with no more than a few lengthy protestations of his
respect and admiration, and a few messages of the same to be conveyed to Mrs.
Martingale, Mr. Haikestill left them to continue their shopping.

Bette could not be contained. “Heavens, Livvy, where did you
find that man-milliner? A suitor from Brussels, I collect?”

Olivia stared repressively at her friend. “Bette, I will
grant you that Mr. Haikestill is not of the first stare—”

“First stare! Livy, he’s not even a rough diamond! He is a
quiz, to say the very least.”

“He is a very kindly man whom Mamma and I met after John
died, and undertook several small commissions for us, quite unasked—”

“I can imagine,” Bette agreed irrepressibly.

“Elizabeth.” Olivia’s voice was very cool. “Mr. Haikestill is
under the mistaken impression that I would consider him as a husband, but I don’t
consider that that gives me the license to make may-sport of him.”

“No, Livvy,” Bette agreed shamefacedly. “But you wouldn’t
think of marrying him, would you?”

“Good God, no! I suppose that he is well-enough-to-do, and a
man of some sense and respectability, except for his peculiar notions about
people with titles—”

“I noticed that. Well, I take leave to tell you, Sister,
that did you marry this Haikestill person you would be bored to death within a
fortnight.”

Feeling that this conversation had gone on too long, Olivia
agreed, and reminded her sister-at-law that they
had
come to shop, turning the subject adroitly from Mr. Haikestill to
bonnets. Specifically the straw-and-apple-blossom confection she had been
admiring. Bette gave it as her opinion that it would be a crime to see it on
anyone but Olivia, and Olivia, feeling wildly profligate, purchased it on the
spot.

o0o

Quincy Haikestill did call in Queen Anne’s Street the next
day, and found Mrs. Martingale there with Lady Susannah Reeve. Olivia had gone
to ride in the Park with Bette and some friends, and Mrs. Martingale, who had
always dealt more easily with Mr. Haikestill than had her daughter, welcomed
the gentleman, offered him tea, and introduced him to Lady Susannah. Together
the three of them lamented the fact that Olivia was not there to see him.

“But if she is taking advantage of the fair weather to
exercise her horse, my dear Mrs. Martingale, I am glad to hear it,” he assured
her. “I should dislike to think that I should be responsible for keeping her
from the fresh air and exercise, as well as the occasional company of those of
youthful spirits, which must go so far to improving her own looks and
sensibilities.”

Lady Susannah, blinked but said nothing; Mrs. Martingale
agreed blankly that a ride was beneficial. Their conversation continued for
some minutes, at the end of which Lady Susannah, prompted by some inner devil,
offered to send Mr. Haikestill a card for the ball on Monday.

“’Tis to be held in honor of my sister Elizabeth and Lady
John,” she explained. Mr. Haikestill was all gratitude for this kindly notice,
while taking care to make it plain, to Mrs. Martingale’s extreme mortification,
that he regarded the invitation as no condescension. “I am a believer in the
equality of Man,” he finished.

“Indeed, Mr. Haikestill, so am I,” purred Lady Susannah. “Where
the man is equal of course.”

Mr. Haikestill, finding this comment a little too elusive,
humphed his gratitude again, and shortly afterward took his leave, to the
relief of both ladies.

“But how shall I tell Livvy that Mr. Haikestill will be at
your mamma’s ball?” Mrs. Martingale fretted.

“Don’t,” Lady Susannah advised simply. “It will make things
more interesting.”

Whatever Mrs. Martingale’s intentions, Olivia and Bette
returned to the house in Queen Anne’s Street in varying states of temper, and
it seemed politic to repress mention of Mr. Haikestill. It seemed that, on the
Promenade in the Park, they had encountered Lord Menwin.

“He was perfectly civil to Bette, and to Mr. Guiles and Lord
Stoke,” Olivia recounted with deadly calm. “I suspect he thought he was civil
to me, too: all he did was to stare in the air six inches above my head, wish
me a good afternoon, and turn away.”

Bette, more puzzled than angry,
added that he had addressed her as “puss,” and teased her about the ball on
Monday. “And he greeted Robert Guiles and Stoke with every kindness, and even
laughed at a joke that Stoke made—not a very good one, either. It was only with
Livvy—he looked as though someone had locked away his friendliness.”

“I hate him,” Olivia murmured. Mrs. Martingale regarded her
child with pity; Lady Susannah with curiosity. “Bette did not see, but he rode
off to join that woman again.”

“Woman?”

“A tall, handsome fair-haired woman. I have seen him before
with her.” As if she felt that she was displaying too much interest in a man
she professed to hate, Olivia specified: “At Almacks. He cut me there, too.”

“Nothing for it but to ignore the matter, Livvy.” Lady
Susannah took Olivia’s arm, Lady Bette took the other, and with Mrs. Martingale
anxiously behind them, the four women retired to the sitting room to take tea
and talk of anything but Menwin or Mr. Haikestill.

o0o

Somehow Mrs. Martingale never did manage to introduce the
subject of Haikestill to her daughter, and Mr. Haikestill, with some uncanny
perception, did not call again in Queen Anne’s Street before Monday. Taken up
with a rout-party, a breakfast, a musical evening, and a dinner at the Cowpers’,
Olivia had very little time to fret herself over Menwin, Haikestill, or much
beside the fit of her gown and the styling of her hair. For the Duchess’s ball
she and Bette had agreed to wear white, so that neither one should outshine the
other. Accordingly on Monday evening Olivia dressed in a white satin slip, over
which was an overdress of lavender-colored lace, the
corsage
tightly fitted and ornamented in the
French fashion with a row of black lace on below. Her long and scandalously
expensive kid gloves rose almost to the short, gathered sleeves, which were
ornamented with more of the lace. The Duchess had provided Olivia with a set of
emeralds from the Tylmath jewels, and while she balked at the full parure,
which included a cestus, ring, three bracelets, and a very large broach, she
did wear two of the bracelets, the necklace, and earrings.

Mrs. Martingale was moved nearly to tears by her child’s
beauty.

“What is there to weep over, Mamma? Haven’t you worked for
this? Aside from which, you look very elegant too.”

Mrs. Martingale looked down at her gown with pardonable
pride. “I always did look well in blue,” she admitted. “I only hope that your
brother-at-law will be so busy doing the pretty elsewhere that he will ignore me
entirely.”

Olivia privately doubted that Tylmath could be counted upon
to do any such thing, but she was wise enough to keep from saying so, and they
left for Portman Square with every anticipation of a remarkable evening.

It was remarkable. Although both Bette and Olivia had been
abroad in company, and to Almacks, this was
their
ball,
and the Polite World seemed as much gratified by the event as the two ladies
themselves. They had to spend more than an hour at receiving, shaking hands,
bowing and smiling at the literally hundreds of guests who decided to honor the
Tylmath House crush with their presence. Lord Christopher Temperer, reluctantly
pressed into evening dress for the occasion, did what he termed “reconnaissance,”
and would report from time to time what was being said among the crowd.

“Mrs. Drummond-Burrell thinks you are both prettily behaved
girls, even if our Livvy does have lamentably red hair. But she very kindly
pointed out to the gentleman she was discussing you with that that was in no
way your fault, Livvy,” he murmured to her at one time.

Later: “Devonshire is pretending to talk to Lord Sefton, but
he keeps glancing over at you; I cannot tell which of you he is infatuated
with, but I shall try to let you know as soon as possible.”

“You are enjoying this,” the Duchess taxed her son during a
moment when the press of newly arrived guests had abated, and the ladies had a
moment to breathe.

“Of course; how often am I permitted a chance to gossip in
this fashion?” Kit rejoined, and slipped back into the crowd to pluck more gems
of
on dit
for his sister and Olivia.

At last the Duchess told the girls that the music should be
started up. It had been arranged that Tylmath was to open the ball with Olivia,
and Lord Reeve with Bette. That dance swiftly over, Olivia and Bette were
released to find at least a dozen partners waiting to secure dances; by the
time the second dance was begun both of them had full dance cards, and the
evening, as Bette whispered merrily to Olivia, was secured.

Lord Menwin did not attend the party.

Aware as she was that something about the ball had been
fretting her, it took Olivia until the supper dance, when she was whirling in
the arms of the Duke of Devonshire, to realize that that was what had been
troubling her. Inwardly cursing her own stupid fascination with a man who
plainly disliked her, Olivia smiled brilliantly at Devonshire, laughed at some
light remark he had made, and wondered why Menwin had not come.

A little later, sitting down to supper with Devonshire,
Bette, Lord Stoke, Lord Christopher, and girl with a bubbling giggle,
introduced to them as Miss Thorpe, Olivia was informed surreptitiously by Kit
that Menwin had spoken to him on the subject.

“Said he thought it for the best, and begged that I
apologize to you and Bette and Mamma,” he murmured, eyeing a lobster pasty with
suspicion.

If Lady John had private doubts as to whether Menwin had
included her in the apology she did not mention them, and at that moment
Devonshire complained grievously that it was unfair of Lord Kit to flirt with
his
supper partner.

“No such thing, Hart,” Kit replied casually. “Just warning
my sister Olivia against your notorious charm.”

Devonshire decried the libel, and as he and Kit began to
outline a fantasy duel they would certainly have over the issue, Olivia told
herself to forget Menwin. Kit was in the midst of a dramatic and maudlin death
speech which he promised to deliver upon the occasion of his murder by
Devonshire, much to the amusement of those at the table, when Olivia’s attention
was claimed by a familiar voice.

“My dear Lady John!”

Stifling a feeling of annoyance, Olivia turned to greet
Quincy Haikestill, got up in evening dress which did nothing to enhance his
spare figure.

“Mr. Haikestill, how do you do?” she managed, with considerably
more charity than she felt.

“I shall be the happiest man on earth if you will vouchsafe
me the honor of one dance,” he assured her.

Something in his manner spoke of complete self-confidence. It
irked Olivia; only consciousness of the people around her made her bite back a
comment about persons who accosted other persons as they sat at table. She
smiled and told him instead that all her dances had been claimed for the
evening.

“Ah, I was afraid I might lose my chance with you by
arriving late,” Haikestill complained. “But what was I to do? I had business
which kept me away until some time after the dancing was begun.”

He looked genuinely unhappy. Olivia felt some pity for the
man; she had done nothing to encourage more than friendship in him, but she did
not dislike him on principle; only when he began to speak of himself as her
inevitable suitor did she become uncomfortable. However, Devonshire was showing
signs of feeling an equal pity, and Olivia feared he might offer Haikestill one
of his dances. Fearing with some reason that should he gain this point now Mr.
Haikestill would see it as a positive encouragement, Olivia pointed out firmly
that she could hardly be discourteous to those gentlemen who had secured her
dances earlier.

“Might I take you in to breakfast, then?”

With relief Olivia assured him that this office, too, was
bespoke. “But there are many very agreeable ladies here this evening, Mr.
Haikestill. I suggest that you look about you and select among them. And I
assure you I am most gratified by your wish to distinguish an old friend,” she
emphasized the last word delicately.

Seeing that his case was hopeless, Haikestill abandoned
Olivia and her party with a few ponderous compliments. Her companions were
disposed to tease her about the peculiar manners, as well as the particularity
of Mr. Haikestill, but she briskly declared herself uninterested in the subject
and, turning to Lord Christopher, begged him to return to that stirring oration
which had had them
so
enthralled a few
minutes before.