Frederica (52 page)

“Do you mean that you suspect Endymion obtained a. licence by telling lies about Charis’s age?” demanded Eliza. “I don’t believe it! Why, that’s a serious offence!”

“No, that is not what I suspect,” he responded. “Endymion may be a cloth-head, but he is not a scoundrel, my dear Eliza! He would neither marry Charis by special licence, nor across the anvil, without her guardian’s consent.”

“Well, if you are not her guardian, who is?” He did not reply. He was watching Frederica, a look of amusement in his face as he saw her stiffen. “Harry!” she uttered. “
Harry
!”
“Well?”

She got up quickly, the incredulity in her eyes turning to wrath. “How
could
he? Oh, how
could
he? Helping Charis to a
disastrous
marriage—helping her to deceive me—knowing what my feelings were—! And she! No wonder she sat crying all through breakfast! With this on her conscience!”

“Did she?” said his lordship, interested. “She certainly wept all over this letter. What an inexhaustible flow! Do you suppose she was still weeping when she joined Endymion at the altar?”

“I neither know nor care!” snapped Frederica, who had begun to pace about the room, as though her rage had to find a physical outlet.

“No, nor anyone else!” agreed Eliza. “Really, Ver-

non, how can you be so flippant? This is not a farce!”

“It bears a strong resemblance to one!” he retorted.

“Would you think so if it concerned one of
your
sisters?” asked Frederica fiercely.

“My dear, I should be sure of it! Louisa, for instance? No, I think I prefer Augusta in the role.”

She gave a gasp, and choked on an irrepressible gurgle of laughter.

“That’s better!” he said encouragingly. “Shall we now consider the matter without quite so much heat?”

She did not answer; but after a moment or two she went back to the sofa, and sat down again. “If what you think is true, there is nothing to be done, is there? If I had had time to have read that letter more closely—to have considered it—I should have known it was useless to suppose that you could prevent a marriage which must already have taken place.” She smiled rather wanly. “In fact, I sent for you to no purpose at all! I beg your pardon, cousin!”

“Oh, not to no purpose at all!” he said. “It is certainly quite out of my power to prevent the marriage, but I trust I can prevent
you,
Frederica, from making a mull of it! What we must do, you and I, is to make all tidy. I’m well aware of your sentiments: you wished Charis to contract what the world calls an eligible alliance, and you believed that you could bring this about.”

“And why shouldn’t she have done so?” intervened Eliza. “Charis is a most beautiful girl, with charming manners, and great sweetness of disposition. If her understanding is not extraordinary, pray, how many gentlemen care for clever women?”

“There was only one reason why she shouldn’t have done so,” he replied. “She lacked the ambition to contract such an alliance, or even to sport a figure in society.” He smiled at Frederica, a little mockingly. “You never would believe that, would you? Yours was the ambition—oh, not for yourself! I don’t think you have ever wasted a thought on yourself!—and it was you who delighted in the admiration she won.
She
didn’t, you know. She told me once that she preferred the country to London, because in London
people stared so
!
She prefers country parties to London ones, because she thinks it more comfortable to dance with her friends than with strangers. This, from a girl who had nearly every prize in the Marriage Mart dangling after her! I’ve never concealed from you that I think her a lovely and excessively boring wet-goose, but I’ll say this for her: she hasn’t an ounce of conceit!”

“I didn’t wish her to contract a
brilliant
marriage—only one which—But there’s nothing now to be gained by repeating what I’ve told you before!”

“I haven’t forgotten. You wanted her to be
comfortable.
But her notion of comfort isn’t yours, Frederica. She’s a persuadable girl, and I daresay she might have obliged you by marrying young Navenby, if she had not met and fallen in love with Endymion.”

“And she would have been happy!”

“Very likely. Unfortunately, she
had
met Endymion, and it appears that from that moment her mind was made up.”

“Fiddle! If you knew how many times she has fallen out of love as quickly as she fell into it—!”

“I’ll take your word for it. But I would point out to you, my child, that with I don’t know how many sprigs of fashion with far more address than Endymion paying court to her, she did
not
fall out of love with Endymion. So perhaps this marriage won’t prove to be as disastrous as you imagine. The manner of it is—to put it mildly!—regrettable, and that is all that now concerns us. It must be wrapped up in clean linen.”

“If it can be,” said Eliza doubtfully.

“It can’t. Only consider the circumstances!” said Frederica. “There has been no advertizement of an engagement; no guests were invited to the wedding; and it has taken place two days before we leave London! How could such a scandal be scotched?”

Alverstoke flicked open his snuff-box, and inhaled a delicate pinch. “Difficult, I admit, but not impossible. I don’t immediately perceive how to get over the omission of the engagement-notice—unless we sacrifice Lucretia? What do you say, Eliza?
I
am perfectly willing to do it, if you think it would answer.”

Frederica could not help smiling. “You are quite odious,” she informed him. “Besides,
how
?”

“Oh, by making
her
the bar to the marriage! She became so alarmingly ill at the very mention of it—she would, too!—that it was thought the effect of seeing the announcement in print might carry her oft.”

“Whereas the news that Endymion was secretly married would have restored her to health!” said Eliza sarcastically.

“What a good thing it is that you came with me!” remarked his lordship affably. “You have your uses! Try if you can discover why the engagement was kept secret: I can tell you why only the immediate relations were present at the wedding.” He flicked a few grains of snuff from his sleeve. “Owing to a bereavement in the bride’s family, the ceremony was private. We’ll put that in the notice.”

Lady Elizabeth said reluctantly: “Yes, that could be done. But why wasn’t Lucretia present?”

“She was.”

“You will never induce her to say so!”

A derisive smile curled his lips. “Would you care to bet against the chance?”

“No!” said Frederica forcefully. “You mean you would try to—to
bribe
her, and I won’t have it! Besides, it wouldn’t answer: you know it wouldn’t! You must forget I was so stupid as to have applied to you: I can’t think what made me do so, for it is no concern of yours, and I had no business to embroil you in it!” She put up her chin. “I must make the best of it myself, for I know it was my fault. If only she doesn’t regret it—and people don’t—don’t refuse to receive her—” She faltered, and stopped, dashing a hand across her eyes.

The door opened. In a voice of deep disapproval, Buddle said: “Mr Trevor, ma’am!”

XXVIII

Frederica said instinctively: “No, no! I’m not receiving visitors!”

But Mr Trevor was already over the threshold. He bowed slightly to Lady Elizabeth, and then, as Buddle withdrew, advanced towards Frederica, saying, with his pleasant smile: “You mustn’t blame your butler, ma’am. He told me that you were not at home, but I overbore him.”

The Marquis raised his quizzing-glass, the better to survey him. “It seems strangely unlike you, Charles. No doubt you had your reasons.”

“Yes, sir, I had,” responded Trevor, unabashed. He looked closely at Frederica, as he shook her hand. “I came—in case you should have found that letter, which I think you have—to tell you that you need not regard it: all’s well, I promise you!”

She was so much astonished that she could only stare at him. He pressed her hand reassuringly before he released it, repeating: “I promise you!”

She found her voice. “Not married?
Not,
Mr Trevor?”

“No, no! It—er—came to nothing!”

“Oh, thank God!” she cried. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Mrs Dauntry at present, but I trust she will be able to return her tomorrow. I thought, since she had a valise, that it would be best for her not to come home tonight. On account of the servants, you know.”

“
With Mrs Dauntry
?”
she said, quite bemused. “But how—why—?”

“Charles, how the devil do you come to be mixed up in the affair?” demanded Alverstoke.

“Well, it’s rather a long story, sir!”

“Are you going to tell me that you knew of this deplorable scheme?”

“Good God, no, sir! I came into it by accident.
Surely
you don’t imagine—”

“No, of course he doesn’t!” interrupted Eliza. “Sit down, and tell us all about it before I expire with curiosity! Oh, I beg your pardon, Frederica!”

“Never mind begging Frederica’s pardon!” said his lordship. He met his secretary’s stern gaze, and smiled. “You must forgive me, my dear boy. I have reached the stage when nothing has the power to surprise me, you see. What was the accident which brought you into it?”

Relaxing, Mr Trevor seated himself, and, after a moment’s consideration, said: “I had better tell it you from the start, I think. You’ll remember, sir, that you desired me to attend to a matter of business, which took me to the Temple? Well, I did so, this morning. On my way back I suddenly saw Dauntry, in the churchyard of St Clement Danes. It seemed an odd place to find him in, but the thing that most, struck me was that he had a portmanteau with him. Still, it wasn’t any business of mine, and I was just about to go on my way when a hack drove up to the church, and out jumped your brother, Miss Merriville! And the next instant he handed Miss Charis Merriville down, and pulled out a valise from the hack.”

“Was she crying?” enquired his lordship.

“I don’t know; but I could see she was rather agitated, by the way she was clinging to Merriville’s arm.”

“I expect she was crying,” said his lordship, in a satisfied tone.

“Cousin Alverstoke, if you say one more word—! Pray go on, Mr Trevor!”

“Well—I guessed then, of course. I never was in their confidence, but I did know that Dauntry and Miss Merriville were very much attached to each other, and also that you, ma’am, were opposed to the match.”

“I daresay you had that from Chloë,” remarked his lordship blandly.

“A great many people knew it,” said Frederica, pointedly ignoring this interpolation. “So what did you do, sir?”

Charles, a trifle flushed, threw her a grateful look.

“At first, I didn’t do anything,” he confessed. “For one thing, I was pretty well bowled out; and for another, I didn’t know
what
to do! It was very awkward, you know. I hadn’t the least right to interfere, particularly when her brother was with her. By the time I’d made up my mind that I ought to make a push to stop them doing such an imprudent thing, they had been inside the church for several minutes. So I ran across the street, and went in after them. There was no one there, except them, and the curate, and the verger, and the curate had begun the service. Which was a bit of a facer, because I couldn’t walk up to them, and say I wanted to speak to them, or call out: “Wait a minute!” or anything of that nature. Not when the service had begun, and with the verger glaring at me! I’m not in orders myself, but my father is, and my eldest brother, and the idea of making a scene in church fairly made me shudder! So I sat down at the back, trying to think what I should do, and of course I remembered the
just cause or impediment
bit, and waited for it.”

“Charles!” said Eliza, awed. “You didn’t get up and say there
was
an impediment?”

“Yes, I did. Well, I said, ‘Yes, I do!’ I don’t think the curate had ever had such a thing happen to him before, because he was so flabbergasted he just stood there with his mouth open, and by the time he’d collected his wits enough to order us all into the vestry there was such a rumpus that nobody paid any heed to him. What with Dauntry roaring out that I’d no right to meddle, and wanting to know what the devil I meant by it; and Merriville flying into a passion, and saying that there wasn’t any impediment, and that he was Miss Merriville’s lawful guardian; and Miss Merriville in hysterics, it was the most shocking scene. And I’m bound to own that I said a few things myself—quite forgetting where I was! However, we went into the vestry at last, and things quieted down, because Dauntry was in such a stew over Miss Merriville, that he was too busy trying to soothe her to go on abusing me.”

“Did he succeed?” asked Alverstoke.

“No, but Merriville did. He threw a glass of water in her face.”

“Quite right!” nodded Frederica. “Well, I daresay it was,” said Charles dubiously. “The only thing was that, though it did stop the vapours, it made her cry, and that led to a fresh uproar, because Dauntry came to cuffs with Merriville for doing it, and Merriville said he would do what he chose to his own sister, and so
they
fell into a quarrel. Which was quite a good thing, because I was able to draw the curate aside, and—and smooth him down a trifle.”

“Charles,” said Alverstoke, much moved, “I have never done you justice! It must be the diplomatic service for you!”