“I don’t mean anything of the sort. She is shy, but I don’t think her insipid. Indeed, I have sometimes suspected that if she were not for ever being snubbed by her father, and her quite odious sisters, she would show that she has a lively sense of the ridiculous. Let us say, merely, that she has not a romantic disposition! And as I must surely be considered to be beyond the age of romance, I believe that with mutual liking to help us we may be tolerably comfortable together. Her situation now is unhappy, which encourages me to hope that she may look favourably upon my proposal.”

Mrs. Wetherby uttered a scornful exclamation, and even her stolid spouse blinked. That he rated his very obvious attractions low was one of the things one liked in Gary, but this was coming it a trifle too strong. “No doubt of that,” Warren said dryly. “May as well wish you happy at once, Gary—which I’m sure I hope you will be. Not but what—However, it is no business of mine! You know best what will suit you.”

It was not to be expected that Mrs. Wetherby could bring herself to agree with this pronouncement; but she appeared to realize the futility of further argument, and beyond prophesying disaster she said no more until she was alone with her husband. She had then a great deal to say, which he bore with great patience, entering no caveat until she said bitterly: “How any man who had been betrothed to Clarissa Lincombe could offer for Hester Theale is something I shall never understand—nor anyone else, I daresay!”

At this point, Warren’s brow wrinkled, and he said in a dubious tone: “Well, I don’t know.”

“I should think not, indeed! Only consider how lovely Clarissa was, and how gay, and how spirited, and then picture to yourself Lady Hester!”

“Yes, but that ain’t what I meant,” replied Warren. “I’m not saying Clarissa wasn’t a regular out-and-outer, because the lord knows she was, but, if you ask me, she had too much spirit!”

Beatrix stared at him. “I never heard you say so before!”

“Haven’t said it before. Not the sort of thing I should say when Gary was betrothed to her, and no use saying it when the poor girl was dead. But what I thought was that she was devilish headstrong, and would have led Gary a pretty dance.”

Beatrix opened her mouth to refute this heresy, and shut it again.

“The fact is, my dear,” pursued her lord, “you were in such high gig because it was your brother who won her that you could never see a fault in her. Mind, I’m not saying that it wasn’t a triumph, because it was. When I think of all the fellows she had dangling after her—lord, she could have been a duchess if she’d wanted! Yeovil begged her three times to marry him: told me so himself, at her funeral. Come to think of it, it was the only piece of good sense she ever showed, preferring Gary to Yeovil,” he added thoughtfully.

“I know she was often a little wild, but so very sweet, and with such engaging ways! I am persuaded she would have learnt to mind Gary, for she did most sincerely love him!”

“She didn’t love him enough to mind him when he forbade her to drive those grays of his,” said Warren grimly. “Flouted him the instant his back was turned, and broke her neck into the bargain. Well, I was devilish sorry for Gary, but I don’t mind owning to you, Trix, that I thought he was better out of the affair than he knew.”

Upon reflection, Mrs. Wetherby was obliged to acknowledge that there might be a certain amount of justice in this severe stricture. But it in no way reconciled her to her brother’s approaching nuptials to a lady as sober as the dead Clarissa had been volatile.

Seldom had a betrothal met with more general approval than that of Gareth Ludlow to Clarissa Lincombe, even the disappointed mothers of other eligible damsels thinking it a perfect match. If the lady was the most courted in town, the gentleman was Society’s best liked bachelor. Indeed, he had seemed to be the child of good fortune, for he was not only endowed with a handsome competence and an impeccable lineage, but possessed as well as these essentials no common degree of good looks, a graceful, well-built frame, considerable proficiency in the realm of sport, and an open, generous temper which made it impossible for even his closest rivals to grudge him his success in winning Clarissa. Sadly Mrs. Wetherby looked back to that halcyon period, before the fatal carriage accident had laid Clarissa’s charm and beauty in cold earth, and Gareth’s heart with them.

He was thought to have made an excellent recovery from the blow; and everyone was glad that the tragedy had not led him to indulge in any extravagance of grief, such as selling all his splendid horses, or wearing mourning weeds for the rest of his life. If, behind the smile in his eyes, there was a little sadness, he could still laugh; and if he found the world empty, that was a secret he kept always to himself. Even Beatrix, who adored him, had been encouraged to hope that he had ceased to mourn Clarissa; and she had spared no pains to bring to his notice any damsel who seemed likely to captivate him. Not the mildest flirtation had rewarded her efforts, but this had not unduly depressed her. However modest he might be, he could not but know that he was regarded as a matrimonial prize of the first rank; and she knew him too well to suppose that he would raise in any maidenly breast expectations which he had no intention of fulfilling. Until this melancholy day, she had merely thought that she had not hit upon the right female, never that the right female did not exist. Her tears, on hearing his announcement, had sprung less from disappointment than from the sudden realization that more than Clarissa’s loveliness had perished in that fatal accident of seven years ago. He had spoken to her as a man might who had put his youth behind him, with all its hopes and ardours, and was looking towards a placid future, comfortable, perhaps, but unenlivened by any touch of romance. Mrs. Wetherby, perceiving this, and recalling a younger Gareth, who had seen life as a gay adventure, cried herself to sleep.

So, too, when the news of Sir Gareth’s very flattering offer was later made known to her, did the Lady Hester Theale.

Chapter 2

The Earl of Brancaster’s family seat was situated not many miles from Chatteris, in the heart of the fens. The mansion was as undistinguished as the surrounding countryside, and, since his lordship’s circumstances, owing to his strong predilection for gaming, were straitened, it bore a good many signs of neglect. In theory, it was presided over by his lordship’s eldest daughter, but as his son and heir, Lord Widmore, found it expedient to reside, with his wife and growing family, under his father’s roof, the Lady Hester’s position was, in fact, little better than that of a cipher. Upon the death of her mama, several years previously, persons who were not particularly acquainted with the Earl had thought that it was fortunate, after all, that she had been left on the shelf. She would be able, said the optimistic, to comfort her stricken parent, and to take her mama’s place as the Mistress of Brancaster Park, and of the house in Green Street. But as the Earl had disliked his wife he was by no means stricken by her death; and as he was looking forward to an untrammelled single existence he regarded his eldest daughter not as a comfort but as an encumbrance. Indeed, he had been heard to say, when in his cups, that he was no better off than before.

His feelings, when, recovering from a momentary stupefaction, he realized that Sir Gareth Ludlow was actually soliciting permission to marry his daughter, almost overcame him. He had given up all hope of seeing her respectably married: that she should achieve a brilliant match had never for an instant occurred to him. An unwelcome suspicion that Sir Gareth must be a trifle bosky crossed his mind, but there was nothing in Sir Gareth’s manner or appearance to lend the slightest colour to it, and he banished it. He said bluntly: “Well, I should be very well pleased to give her to you, but I’d better tell you at the outset that her portion isn’t large. In fact, I shall be devilish hard put to it to raise the wind at all.”

“It is really quite immaterial,” responded Sir Gareth. “If Lady Hester will do me the honour to accept me, I shall of course make whatever settlement upon her that our attorneys think proper.”

Greatly moved by these beautiful words, the Earl gave Sir Gareth’s suit his blessing, invited him to Brancaster Park the following week, and himself cancelled three sporting engagements, leaving London on the very next day to prepare his daughter for the singular stroke of good fortune which was about to befall her.

Lady Hester was surprised by his sudden arrival, for she had supposed him to be on the point of going to Brighton. He belonged to the Prince Regent’s set, and in general was to be found, during the summer months, residing in lodgings on the Steyne, or at the Pavilion itself, where it was his affable practice to share in all his royal friend’s more expensive pastimes, and to play whist, for extremely high stakes, with his royal friend’s brother of York. Such female companionship as he sought in Brighton had never included that of his wife, or of his daughter; so, at the end of the London Season, Lady Hester had removed, with her brother and her sister-in-law, to Cambridgeshire, whence, in due course, she would proceed on a round of yearly and very dull visits to various members of her family.

Her amiable parent, having informed her that it was a father’s concern for her welfare which had brought him, at great inconvenience, to his ancestral home, said, by way of preamble to the disclosure he was about to make, that he hoped she would furbish herself up a trifle, since it would not do for her to receive guests in an old gown, and a Paisley shawl.

“Oh, dear!” said Hester. “Are we to have visitors?” She focused her slightly myopic gaze upon the Earl, and said, with more resignation than anxiety in her voice: “I do hope no one whom I particularly dislike, Papa?”

“Nothing of the sort!” he replied testily. “Upon my soul, Hester, you are enough to try the patience of a saint! Let me tell you, my girl that it is Sir Gareth Ludlow whom we are to entertain here next week, and if you dislike him you must be out of your senses!”

She had been somewhat aimlessly disposing the despised shawl about her shoulders, as though, by rearranging its shabby folds, she could render it less objectionable to her father, but at these words she let her hands fall, and said incredulously: “Sir Gareth Ludlow,sir?”

“Ay, you may well stare!” said the Earl. “I daresay you will stare more when I tell you why he comes!”

“I should think it very likely that I should,” she agreed, in a reflective tone. “For I cannot imagine what should bring him here, or indeed, how he is to be entertained at this season.”

“Never mind that! He is coming, Hester, to make you an offer!”

“Oh, is he?” she said vaguely, adding, after a thoughtful moment: “Does he want me to sell him one of Juno’s pups? I wonder he should not have told me so when we met in town the other day. It is not worth his while to journey all this distance—unless, of course, he desires first to see the pup.”

“For God’s sake, girl—!” exploded the Earl. “What the devil should Ludlow want with one of your wretched dogs?”

“Indeed, it has me quite in a puzzle,” she said, looking at him enquiringly.

“Paperskull!” said his lordship scathingly. “Damme if I know what he wants with you! He’s coming to offer for your hand!”

She sat staring at him, rather pale at first, and then flushing, and turning away her face. “Papa, pray—! If you are funning, it is not a kind jest!”

“Of course I’m not funning!” he answered. “Though it don’t surprise me you should think so. I don’t mind owning to you. Hester, that when he broke it to me that it was my permission to address you that he was after I thought either he was foxed, or I was!”

“Perhaps you were—both of you!” she said, trying for a lighter note.

“No, no! No such thing! But for him to be taking a fancy for you, when I daresay there are a dozen females trying to fix his interest, and everyone of ‘em as well-born as you, besides being younger, and devilish handsome into the bargain—well, I never was nearer to being grassed in all my life!”

“It isn’t true. Sir Gareth never had a fancy for me. Not even when I was young, and, I think, quite pretty,” said Hester, with the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, lord, no! Not then!”said his lordship. “You were well-enough, but you couldn’t have expected him to look at you when the Lincombe chit was alive.”