The Determined Bachelor (23 page)

Lady Cardovan recovered almost instantly from shock, rose from the sofa she had been sharing with Bentham and a celebrated essayist, and moved toward them. There were expressions, as may be imagined, on either side of welcome and nervous pleasure. The Princess had come on purpose to see Sir Basil and the lady of the house, while Lady Hargate had engineered her own family's visit in order to further what she optimistically termed the “courtship” between the Ambassador and her sister. They discovered simultaneously, and at one glance, that Sir Basil was not present, and the fallen faces of Miss Newsome and Lady Hargate were sufficient to make their hostess suppress a smile.

The Princess Lieven, however, was only half as disappointed as they, for while she had
hoped
to find the Baronet, she could perfectly well content herself with Lady Cardovan. The Ambassador's absence, moreover, only served to add fuel to her fire, for did it now show that he was consciously avoiding such public meetings with his inamorata? The Princess was, besides, far more socially versatile than the other two ladies: She was on amiable terms with half the figures in the room, though she would not, of her own accord, have sought most of them out. Pressing her cheek against that of Lady Cardovan and murmuring some meaningless phrases about having wished for “eons” to see what all the fuss was about, she moved deftly in the direction of the incandescent Byron, who was listening to a criticism of
Childe Harolde
by Shelley and the young Disraeli.

The Hargates, however, and Miss Newsome were left at a loss. The Countess cursed herself inwardly for having failed to foresee this eventuality, and uttered with wide eyes her astonishment at not finding her brother-in-law in the company.

“Sensible fellow,” muttered Lord Hargate, directing his attention toward a footman who was carrying around a tray of champagne goblets.

“I thought you said Sir Basil always came when he was in London,” murmured Miss Newsome crossly to her sister.

“Hush, my dear. Well! What a charming assemblage, Lady Diana! I had no idea you drew such a crowd upon these evenings. I do not believe I have met a single one of them. Who is that gentleman over there?”

Lady Cardovan glanced in the direction intended and replied that “the gentleman” was Charles Newcastle, the famed cartoonist.

“Dear me! The one who does those shocking caricatures of His Highness? Well! I never supposed he was so well-looking!” Lady Hargate paused for a moment, glancing around the crowd, which had now resumed its various conversations.

“I always believed you had a great many politicians and people of that sort,” continued she, as if she were referring to some sort of curious animal. “And writers—novelists and things.”

“Well, there is Sir Walter Scott,” offered Lady Cardovan softly, seeing that gentleman approaching them. “I wish we had persuaded Miss Austen to join us before she died.”

“Speaking of Austen, my dear Diana,” said the great man,
coming up beside her and glancing curiously at the other two, “I have just read the most extraordinary book. I could swear it was an early manuscript of hers. A most extraordinary novel, to be sure. I should like you to take a look at it. My publisher gave it to me the other day to look at. Said it was the young woman's first work, but I cannot believe it. It resembles so much in tone and animation the early novels of our Jane. I told him so at once, and wondered if it could not have been a younger sister, at the least. But he said, ‘no, of course it couldn't be, he should know it anywhere.' Besides, the lady's credentials were all intact, though of course she would not publish it under her own name. The usual ‘By a Lady' sort of thing. Absurd notion! Why should not women write under their proper names? It makes a mockery of the rest of us!”

Lady Cardovan glanced apologetically at the sisters, who had begun looking about them impatiently. “I should love to read it, Sir.”

Pshaw! I can see you are only offering me a placebo. I shall interrogate you about it next we meet.”

Lady Cardovan smiled at the little man, so great in his achievements, so short and squat in his physique, and with the face, as one wit had put it, of a plum pudding.

“I shall read it at once. As soon as I can acquire it. What is it called?”

“
A Country Parson.”
Sir Walter coughed. “And I have brought you my own copy. But mind you, give it back. I warrant it shall stand amongst the finest of contemporary satires. Shan't take you long to read—not a lengthy piece of work. And fraught with humour. You'll enjoy it, my dear Diana, see if you do not. I mean to give it to the Prince. You know how he adored Miss Austen's books.”

And the little man waddled off, leaving behind him a slim volume, and an astonished expression upon Miss Newsome's face.

“Was that Sir Walter Scott?” exclaimed she.

Lady Cardovan nodded.

“Why! He is so small and fat!”

“His mind, however, is very large,” responded her hostess with a little smile, “and has no excess flesh.”

Miss Newsome did not comprehend the jest, but she understood very well the tone. With a sniff, she excused herself and went to find the tea tray. Lady Hargate stayed behind a moment,
endeavouring to make conversation. She had long held Lady Cardovan in awe, though thinking her rather queer.

“I was so positive that Basil would be here! I am sure my sister is heart-broken over missing him. They had the most delightful conversation the other evening.”

“Did they?” Lady Cardovan smiled politely. She had heard a rather different report from the Baronet.

“Oh, Lord, yes! You would have thought they had been lovers forever! Basil is so quaint, you know—pretends to despise us all. But really, it is high time he married. In point of fact,” now the Countess lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone, overjoyed to be in possession of knowledge superior to Lady Cardovan's, “in point of fact, he has confided to me that he came home on purpose to find a wife!” Lady Hargate watched this news be digested with delight. Evidently Lady Cardovan, with all her airs, did not know
some
things!

“Did he indeed?”

“I should not repeat it, of course. It was told me in the strictest confidence. But then, you are so intimate a friend of his—quite one of the family, by now! Do you not think it delightful?”

“Perfectly delightful,” echoed Lady Cardovan, wondering if she could believe her ears. “Has he settled yet upon the object of his affections?”

Lady Hargate simpered. “Perhaps ‘settled' is too strong a Word. And yet I might just venture to hint that I have my suspicions. Would not Henrietta make a delightful ambassadress?”

Here was a hint too clear to be missed. Lady Cardovan followed her companion's gaze, which had shifted to that part of the drawing room where the tea tray was set up. The fortunate Miss Newsome, apparently unaware of her imminent happiness, was sulking in a corner by herself, ignoring the attempts of the young Mr. Disraeli to draw her into conversation. Lady Cardovan studied her for a moment, and then turned back with a brilliant smile to her companion.

“Quite a charming young ambassadress,” affirmed she.

“Lord! I can scarcely wait! It shall be so diverting! To have two brothers married to two sisters! And, of course, we shall all go to visit in Paris regularly. Henrietta and I have already settled upon
that
.”

“How amusing it shall be!”

“Oh certainly! As amusing as anything upon earth! Dear
me, and I had just begun to fret from boredom. Really, there is nothing to equal this Town for dullness! Ah, well, all that shall be over soon!”

“Indeed it shall. Soon you shall be crossing the Channel as often as you are used to traversing Bond Street. And when shall we expect the happy occasion to take place?”

Now Lady Hargate was something at a loss. She had a moment of panic, thinking that perhaps she had let the cat out of the bag too soon. But as easily as Lady Hargate could find a reason to bemoan her unhappy lot, so could she find an excuse for her conduct.

“Of course it is not absolutely settled,” said she primly. “But you shall be the first to hear, I am sure!”

“Thank you very much.” The irony of her hostess's smile must have escaped Lady Hargate, for she only laughed and exclaimed, “Think nothing of it! I know Basil regards you as quite a sister—an elder sister, of course.”

Lady Cardovan smiled again.

“Well—may I be the first to wish you joy? A secret joy for the moment, of course.”

“Hah, hah! To be sure! A secret joy!”

If Lady Cardovan had been taken aback by this interview, she was soon to be astounded even more. Not long after Lady Hargate had gone off to spend the remainder of her visit whispering in a corner with her sister and scowling at Lord Hargate's attempts to drink the entire contents of their hostess's wine cellar, the Princess Lieven approached.

“
Ma chère Diana,”
exclaimed she, upon finding the Countess alone at last. “I never was more diverted in all my life!
Ces gens sont si amusants!
It is really the most delightful gathering I have attended in an age! But,
chérie
, why are you looking so amused?”

Lady Cardovan smiled up at the small, dark Princess from her place on a sofa.

“Oh—I have just heard the most amusing thing,” said she.

“
Vraiment
?” The Princess ensconsed herself cozily on the sofa beside her hostess. “Then recount it to me, please! There is nothing I so love as an amusing story!”

“I am afraid I cannot, Livvy. It was told me in the strictest confidence.”

Princess Lieven looked crestfallen, and then petulant.

“Really, you English are so secretive! I never could comprehend it!”

“I should love to tell you, Livvy—for I believe you should think it as amusing as I do. Well, then—what do you think? I have just been informed that Basil means to marry Miss Newsome!”

“Miss Newsome!” The Princess looked horrified, “The ugly Miss Newsome? But,
chérie
, how can this be? I do not believe it! I won't believe it!” And then, with a sly glance, she murmured, “
Ma pauvre chérie
!”

“It is the most comical thing I have heard in an age,” continued Lady Cardovan, unaware of her companion's pitying glance. “Imagine Basil marrying anyone, let alone Henrietta Newsome!”

“It must be a shock,” murmured the Princess softly.

“A shock! Why, it is absurd. Come, Livvy—don't tell me you believe it!”

The Princess nodded slowly. “With difficulty, but yes—one never knows about these determined bachelors. Anastasy was the same. Imagine, he was almost forty when I married him! They go along, hating every female they meet, and then one day—poof!—they are smitten with love!”

“But Miss
Newsome
? My dear Livvy—I have known Basil for a great while. I cannot fathom his marrying anyone who prefers horses to conversation!”

“Yes, yes—it is the attraction of opposites. Anastasy and I have hardly anything in common. He loves to play his little political games, and
I
love to dance! And yet—we are so much in love.”

Lady Cardovan strongly doubted that. At the moment, it was common knowledge that the Princess was “dancing” with the Duke of Clarence. Still, she was a charming woman, and witty to boot. Lady Diana dearly loved to hear her speak, with that small, low, chirping accent that was more like a bird than a woman.

“Do you really think so?”

“
Ah! Mais oui!
” The Princess raised her tiny hands, sparkling with jewels. “
Absolument!
Why, the other night, they could hardly take their eyes away from each other.”

Lady Cardovan could scarcely believe her ears. “The other night?”

“At Lady Hargate's,” explained the Princess. “They seemed to like each other very well. To be frank, I could not believe
it myself—she is so like a horse, you know—so
beeg!
But, one never can tell about what gentlemen like!”

“How odd! Basil himself told me all about it! But he certainly has not hinted anything of the kind!”

“But of course, my dear Diana,” murmured the Princess softly, touching her hand, “he would not. He is far too much the
gentilhomme
. And after all—but! May I be perfectly frank?”

Lady Cardovan nodded, more bewildered every moment. Not the least cause of that bewilderment was to hear Livvy wishing to be “frank”—a quality she had in very short quantity, for all her other charms.

“You must understand, my poor Diana, that, whatever he feels for you, he must think of the child as well now. Such a delightful little girl! And really, she must have a mother. Even if not her
real
mother—” with a significant smile—“still, a mother. I believe Basil understands his duty perfectly. And you, my dear lady, must endeavour to understand as well as you can. However difficult it may be for you.”

The Princess paused, gazing sympathetically at her friend. Lady Cardovan did not meet her glance, but stared at her own hands with an ironic smile, saying nothing.