Venetia Page 32

  ‘Well, tell me all about yourself!’ invited Lady Steeple, picking up her hand mirror, and earnestly studying her profile. ‘You are excessively like me, but your nose is not as straight as mine, and I fancy your face is not quite a perfect oval. And I do think, dearest, that you are a fraction too tall. Still, you have turned out remarkably well! Conway is very handsome too, but so stiff and stupid that it put me in mind of his father, and I couldn’t but take him in dislike. What a mull he made of it in Paris! Should you have liked it if I had upset the Widow’s scheme? I daresay I might have, for she is such a respectable creature that it is an object with her to pretend she doesn’t know I exist! I had that from someone who knew it for a fact! I had a great mind to pay her a visit – to make the acquaintance of my future daughter-in-law, you know! It would have been so diverting! I forget why I didn’t go after all: I expect I was busy, or perhaps the Lamb – oh, no, I remember now! It was so hot in Paris that we removed to the château – my Trianon! The Lamb bought it, and gave it to me for a surprise-present on my birthday: the sweetest place imaginable! Oh, well, if Conway finds himself leg-shackled to an insipid little nigaude he is very well-served! Why aren’t you married, Venetia? How old are you? It is so stupid not to be able to remember dates, but I never can!’

  ‘More than five-and-twenty, ma’am!’ replied Venetia, a rather mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  ‘Five-and-twenty!’ Lady Steeple seemed for a moment to shrink, and did actually put up her hand as though to thrust something ugly away. ‘Five-and-twenty!’ she repeated, glancing instinctively at the mirror with searching, narrowed eyes. What she saw seemed to reassure her, for she said lightly, ‘Oh, impossible! I was the merest child when you were born, of course! But what in the world have you been doing with yourself to be left positively on the shelf?’

  ‘Nothing whatsoever, ma’am,’ said Venetia, smiling at her. ‘You see, until I came to London a month ago, I had never seen a larger town than York, nor been farther from Undershaw than Harrogate!’

  ‘Good God, you can’t be serious?’ cried Lady Steeple, staring at her. ‘I never heard of anything so appalling in my life! Tell me!’

  Venetia did tell her, and although the thought of Sir Francis as a recluse made her break into her delicious laugh she really was horrified by the story, and exclaimed at the end of it: ‘Oh, you poor little thing! Do you hate me for it?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t!’ replied Venetia reassuringly.

  ‘You see, I never wished for children!’ explained her ladyship. ‘They quite ruin one’s figure, and when one is in the straw one looks positively hideous, and they look hideous, too, all red and crumpled, though I must say you and Conway were very pretty babies. But my last – what did Francis insist on naming him? Oh, Aubrey, wasn’t it, after one of his stupid ancestors? Yes, Aubrey! Well, he looked like a sick monkey – horrid! Of course Francis thought it was my duty to nurse him myself, as though I had been a farm-wench! I can’t think how he came by such a vulgar notion, for I do know that old Lady Lanyon always hired a wet-nurse! But it didn’t answer, for it made me perfectly ill to look at such a wizened creature. Besides, he was so fretful that it made me nervous. I never thought he would survive, but he did, didn’t he?’

  Within the shelter of her muff Venetia’s hands clenched till the nails dug into her palms, but she answered coolly: ‘Oh, yes! Perhaps he was fretful because of his hip. He had a diseased joint, you see. It is better now, but he suffered a great deal when he was younger, and he will always limp.’

  ‘Poor boy!’ said her ladyship compassionately. ‘Did he come with you to London?’

  ‘No, he is in Yorkshire. I don’t think he could care for London. In fact, he cares for nothing much but his books. He’s a scholar – a brilliant scholar!’

  ‘Good gracious, what a horrid bore!’ remarked Lady Steeple, with simple sincerity. ‘To think of being shut up with a recluse and a scholar makes me feel quite low! You poor child! Oh, you were the Sleeping Beauty! What a touching thing! But there should have been a Prince Charming to kiss you awake! It is too bad!’

  ‘There was,’ said Venetia. She flushed faintly. ‘Only he has it fixed in his head that he isn’t a Prince, but a usurper, dressed in the Prince’s clothes.’

  Lady Steeple was rather amused. ‘Oh, but that spoils the story!’ she protested. ‘Besides, why should he think himself a usurper? It is not at all likely!’

  ‘No, but you know what that Prince in the fairy tale is like, ma’am! Young, and handsome, and virtuous! And probably a dead bore,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘Well, my usurper is not very young, and not handsome, and certainly not virtuous: quite the reverse, in fact. On the other hand, he is not a bore.’

  ‘You have clearly fallen in love with a rake! But how intriguing! Tell me all about him!’

  ‘I think perhaps you know, him, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, no, do I? Who is he?’

  ‘He is Damerel,’ replied Venetia.

  Lady Steeple jumped. ‘What? Nonsense! Oh, you’re shamming it! You must be!’ She broke off, knitting her brows. ‘I remember now – they have a place there, haven’t they? The Damerels – only they were hardly ever there. So you have met him – and of course he came round you – and you lost your heart to him, devil that he is! Well, my dear, I daresay he has broken a score of hearts besides yours, so dry your tears, and set about breaking a few hearts yourself! It is by far more amusing, I promise you!’

  ‘I shouldn’t think anything could be as amusing as to be married to Damerel,’ said Venetia.

  ‘Married to him! Heavens, don’t be so gooseish! Damerel never wanted to marry anyone in all his scandalous career!’

  ‘Oh, yes, he did, ma’am! He wanted once to marry Lady Sophia Vobster, only most fortunately she fell in love with someone else; and now he wants to marry me.’

  ‘Deluded girl! He’s been hoaxing you!’

  ‘Yes, he tried to hoax me into thinking he had only been trifling with me, and if it hadn’t been for my aunt’s letting the truth slip out he would have succeeded! That – that is why I’ve come to see you, ma’am! You could help me – if you would!’

  ‘I help you?’ Lady Steeple laughed, not this time so musically. ‘Don’t you know better than that? I could more easily ruin you, let me tell you!’

  ‘I know you could,’ said Venetia frankly. ‘I’m very much obliged to you for saying that, because it makes it much less awkward for me to explain it to you. You see, ma’am, Damerel believes that if he proposed marriage to me he would be doing me a great injury, because between them he and my Uncle Hendred have decided that I should otherwise make a brilliant match, while if I married him I should very likely be shunned by the ton, and become a vagabond, like himself. I should like that excessively, so what I must do is to convince him that instead of contracting a brilliant match I am on the verge of utter social ruin. I’ve racked my brains to discover how it can be done, but I couldn’t find any way – at least, none that would answer the purpose! – and I was in such a despair – oh, in such misery! And then, last night, when my aunt told me – she thought I should be aghast, but I was overjoyed, because I saw in a flash that you were the one person who could help me!’

  ‘To social ruin! Well, upon my word!’ cried her ladyship. ‘And all to marry you to Rake Damerel – which I don’t believe! No, I don’t believe it!’

  But when she had heard the story of that autumn idyll she did believe it. She looked oddly at her daughter, and then began to fidget with the pots on the dressing-table, arranging and rearranging them. ‘You and Damerel!’ she said, after a long silence. ‘Do you imagine he would be faithful to you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Venetia. ‘I think he will always love me. You see, we are such dear friends.’

  Lady Steeple’s eyes lifted quickly, staring at Venetia. ‘You’re a strange girl,’ she said abruptly. ‘You don’t know what it
means, though, to be – a social outcast!’

  Venetia smiled. ‘But thanks to you and to Papa, ma’am, that’s what I have been, all my life.’

  ‘I suppose you blame me for that, but how should I have guessed –’

  ‘No, indeed I don’t blame you, but you will allow, ma’am, that you haven’t given me cause to be grateful to you,’ Venetia said bluntly.

  Lady Steeple shrugged, saying with a pettish note in her voice: ‘Well, I never wished for children! I told you so.’

  ‘But I can’t believe that you wished us to be made unhappy.’

  ‘Of course I did not! But as for –’

  ‘I am unhappy,’ Venetia said, her gaze steady on that lovely, petulant countenance. ‘You could do a very little thing for me – such a tiny thing! – and I might be happy again, and grateful to you from the bottom of my heart!’

  ‘It is too bad of you!’ exclaimed Lady Steeple. ‘I might have known you would only try to cut up my peace – throw me into an irritation of nerves – What do you imagine I can do to help you?’

  Sir Lambert, venturing to peep into the room half an hour later, found his daughter-in-law preparing to take her leave, and his wife in an uncertain temper, poised between laughter and vexation. He was not surprised; he had been afraid that she might find this meeting with her lovely daughter a little upsetting. Fortunately he was the bearer of tidings that were bound to raise her spirits.

  ‘Oh, is it you, Lamb?’ she called out. ‘Come in, and tell me how you like my daughter! I daresay you have been flirting with her already, for she is so pretty! Isn’t she? Don’t you think so?’

  He knew that voice, rather higher-pitched than usual, full of brittle gaiety. He said: ‘Yes, that she is! Upon my soul, it’s devilish hard to tell you apart! I fancy you have the advantage, however – ay, you ain’t quite the equal to your mama, my dear – and you won’t mind my saying it, because she has perfect features, you know. Yes, yes, that was what Lawrence said, when he painted her likeness! Perfect features!’

  Lady Steeple was seated at a small writing-table, but she got up, and came with a hasty step to stand beside Venetia, pulling her round to face a long looking-glass. For a minute she stared at the two mirrored faces, and then, to Venetia’s dismay, cast herself upon Sir Lambert’s burly form, crying: ‘She is five-and-twenty, Lamb! five-and-twenty!’

  ‘Now, my pretty! now, now!’ he responded, patting her soothingly. ‘Plenty of time for her to grow to be a beauty like her mama! There, now!’

  She gave a hysterical little laugh, and tore herself away. ‘Oh, you are too absurd! Take her away! I must dress! I abominate morning callers! I look hagged!’

  ‘Well, I can tell you that you don’t,’ said Venetia, tucking a sealed letter into her reticule. ‘I was used to think, you know, when I was a little girl, that you were like a fairy, and so you are. I never was made to feel so clumsy in my life! I wish I knew how to walk as if I were floating!’

  ‘Flattering creature! There, kiss me, and be off to seek your fortune! I wish you may find it! You won’t, of course, but don’t blame me for it!’

  ‘Going to seek her fortune, is she?’ said Sir Lambert. ‘So you have set up a secret between you? But here is your woman, my pretty, on the fret to make you ready to receive I know not how many people sent round from Roberts’s!’

  ‘Oh, my new riding-habit!’ exclaimed Lady Steeple, her face lighting up. ‘Send Louise in to me directly, Lamb! Dear child, I must bid you goodbye – I positively must! No Frenchman can make a riding-habit: Roberts has made mine ever since I came out! That’s why I came with the Lamb! I hate London – and in November, too!’

  Once more Venetia was given a soft, scented cheek to kiss; she said: ‘Goodbye, ma’am – and thank you! You have been very, very kind to me!’

  She curtsied as Lady Steeple made a wry mouth at her, and then Sir Lambert ushered her out of the room, saying as he closed the door: ‘That’s a good gal! I’m glad you said that to her! She feels it, you know – gets into the dumps! Not as young as she was! You didn’t object to my saying you wasn’t her equal?’

  Venetia reassured him; he then said that he would take her downstairs to her maid, and, upon her disclosing that she had come alone, declared his resolve to escort her back to Cavendish Square. She begged him not to put himself out, saying that she was used to walk alone, and meant to do a little shopping in Bond Street, but to no avail.

  ‘No, no, it will not do! I wonder at Maria Hendred, upon my word, I do! A lovely gal walking by herself! Ay, and all the Bond Street beaux ogling you, the rascals! You must give me the pleasure of escorting you, and no need to be in a worry that your mama might not like me to go with you. I promise you she won’t take a pet, for,’ said Sir Lambert simply, ‘I shan’t mention the matter to her.’

  So, as soon as Sir Lambert’s man had eased his master into his overcoat, handed him his hat, his gloves, and his walking-cane, Venetia sallied forth in his company, not ill-pleased to demonstrate to as many of her aunt’s acquaintances as she might be fortunate enough to meet that she stood on the best of terms with her disreputable stepfather. Sir Lambert’s was an impressive figure, and since his corpulence made rapid movement impossible to him their progress was slow. By the time they had turned into Bond Street they were fast friends, and Sir Lambert, besides behaving in a very gallant manner to his fair companion, had regaled her with several anecdotes of his youth, which made her laugh in a way that delighted him very much, and encouraged him to confide several rather warmer anecdotes to her. He accompanied her into a linendraper’s shop, and was of the greatest assistance to her in choosing muslin for a dress; and when they came out would have carried the parcel for her had she not tucked it into her muff, telling him that she had never yet seen a Pink of the Ton carrying anything so dowdy as a parcel tried up with string.

  There were a good many carriages in the road, and quite a number of modish-looking strollers, but it was not until Grosvenor Street was reached that Venetia had the satisfaction of seeing anyone with whom she was acquainted. She then recognised in an astonished countenance a lady whom she had met in Cavendish Square, and bowed slightly. Sir Lambert, always very polite, raised the beaver from his pomaded locks, and bowed too. The Cumberland corset which he wore creaked protestingly, but Venetia was quite amazed to see with what majestic grace so portly a man could perform this courtesy.

  By this time they were abreast of a jeweller’s shop, and Sir Lambert, struck by a happy thought, said: ‘You know, my dear, I think, if you should not dislike it, we will take a look in here. Poor Aurelia is subject to fits of dejection, and there’s no doubt she was a trifle overset. You shall help me to choose some little thing to divert her mind!’

  She was very willing, and considerably entertained to discover that his interpretation of ‘some little thing’ proved to be a diamond pendant. Aurelia, he said, was partial to diamonds. It did not seem to Venetia that he stood in much need of guidance from her in making his choice, but she soon found that he liked to have his taste approved, so she stopped preferring any of the pendants which did not take his fancy, and dutifully admired each one of the three which obviously appealed to him. The choice at last made, he demanded to be shown some brooches, and here Venetia was allowed to have her way. She could not prefer an opulent brooch made up of sapphires and diamonds to a very pretty one of aquamarines. He did his best to persuade her that the aquamarines were mere trumpery, but when she laughed at him, and insisted that they were charming, he said; ‘Well, well, if you think so indeed I will buy it, for you have excellent taste, my dear, and I daresay you know best!’

  They emerged from the shop to find Edward Yardley standing with his hands behind his back, closely studying a tray of rings set out in one of the windows. He turned his head just as Venetia tucked her hand in Sir Lambert’s proffered arm, and ejaculated in a voice loud enough to make a passer-by look over his shoulder
at him: ‘Venetia!’

  ‘Good-morning, Edward!’ she said, with what he felt to be brazen calm. ‘I am very glad to see you, but pray don’t make the whole street a present of my name! Sir, will you allow me to present Mr Yardley to you? He is an old friend of mine, from Yorkshire. Edward, you are not acquainted, I fancy, with my father-in-law – Sir Lambert Steeple!’

  ‘How-de-do?’ said Sir Lambert, giving Edward two fingers. ‘Aha, you wish me at Jericho, don’t you? Well, I don’t blame you, but I don’t give up my prize! No, no, you may glare as much as you choose, but this little hand shall stay where it is!’

  Edward might be said to have been taking full advantage of the permission so genially accorded him. As he spoke Sir Lambert patted the little hand on his arm in a fatherly way, and smiled down into Venetia’s merry eyes in a manner so far removed from fatherly that Edward was quite unable to contain himself, but said with a good deal less than his usual grave deliberation: ‘I am on my way to Cavendish Square, sir, and will escort Miss Lanyon!’

  Sir Lambert was amused. His prominent blue eyes took Edward in from top to toe, missing no detail that marked him as the country squire of comfortable fortune but no touch of town bronze. This, then, was the inevitable prétendant, and, judging by the familiarity with which Venetia addressed him, he enjoyed her favour. Sir Lambert thought she might have done better for herself, but he wasn’t an ill-looking young fellow, and no doubt she knew her own business best. He looked down at her, a roguish gleam in his eye. ‘Shall we let him go along with us, my dear, or shall we give him the go-by? What do you say?’

  This was too much for Edward. His countenance was already unbecomingly flushed, for not only had his wrath been aroused by the sight of Venetia with her hand in Sir Lambert’s arm, but his self-esteem was smarting under that experienced roué’s jovial but faintly contemptuous scrutiny. Sir Lambert might be nearly double Edward’s age, but Edward resented his lazy assurance, and still more did he resent being regarded by Sir Lambert as a jealous stripling. He glared more fiercely than ever, and said with awful civility: ‘Miss Lanyon is obliged to you, sir, but will not put you to the trouble of escorting her farther!’