As he had meant it to do, the remark took her back to the gallery of the house in Beaufort Square. She remembered the strictures that he had passed on her performance there and smiled up at him with quite unconscious witchery. “It is very much easier with the music to guide one, rather than a stern voice counting the beat,” she told him. “And your magnificence makes it seem perfectly natural to curtsey low.”
Under the tan he coloured slightly at the innocent admiration so frankly expressed. “If we are to speak of magnificence, Miss Fenton, permit me to say that you easily shine down any other lady here tonight. And that is simple fact and not the stilted commonplace that it sounds.” Seeing her blushing vividly and quite at a loss for a suitable reply he continued meditatively, “It is quite an interesting experience. Unusual, too. When one can say those simple words with complete sincerity, one realises what a pity it is that careless usage should have made them commonplace.”
It was fortunate that at this point the minuet ended, allowing Honor to hide her confusion in the deep final curtsey with head bowed. For the compliment implied in the quiet words had cast her into a tangle of mixed emotions that was completely strange to her inexperience. She permitted him to lead her back to Aunt Thomasine’s side, her eyes lowered in a genuine confusion that caused even the quizzes to agree that she was a very pretty-behaved modest young female.
Etiquette demanded that Mr. Jocelyn should now dance with a second lady. Through a screen of downcast lashes Honor saw Mr. Dawson present him to the accomplished creature who had performed the first minuet. She was evidently a lady of some consequence. And this time there was no show of boredom. Though she did not precisely ogle her partner she so exaggerated the movements of the dance in a languishing fashion that it was plain to see that she had set herself out to attract him. Her efforts met with scant success, decided Honor contentedly. Though he played up to her dramatics it was done with the kindly tolerance of one who humours a spoilt child and with a negligent grace that was, in itself, a comprehensive snub. He had met her sort before. Words could not have expressed it more clearly.
She did not watch to see Mr. Jocelyn restore his partner to her friends but engaged her aunt in conversation, paying eloquent if slightly distrait tribute to the elegance of the ballroom. Then the next minuet began and there was no further need for conversational effort since it was customary to watch in silence. She thought how unnerving the silence was, and wondered that she, herself, had not been conscious of it. As the dance ended she heard a deep, already familiar voice from a little behind her. “I came to thank you once more for the pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Fenton and to enquire if you will both accept of my escort to the tea room when we are permitted that indulgence.”
Miss Helmore smiled graciously upon him and assured him that they would be delighted. He then asked Miss Fenton if she would stand up with him for the first contre dance, adding that the minuet which was just about to begin would be the last one for this evening, and subsided into the correct silence as it did so.
By the tea interval she was both warm and thirsty but not in the least tired as she assured the solicitous Aunt Thomasine. That lady, too, was having a most enjoyable evening. She had received so many tributes to her niece’s appearance and modest demeanour that she looked positively smug. It cost Mr. Jocelyn small pains to entertain his party. He was required only to supply them with tea and lend an attentive ear to their freely expressed delight in the animated scene and in the arrangements made for the comfort of the guests. He listened gravely, and if there was a quirk of amusement in the set of his lips it was a kindly amusement. Nor did he attempt to enlighten Honor when she expressed the opinion that she could not imagine a scene of greater elegance or gentility. He ran a contemplative eye over the very mixed company about them and silently hoped that she would not have cause to change her opinion too drastically or too painfully. He had done his share to launch her into the social swim and he sincerely wished her well. He was not quite sure why he had taken so much trouble over the chit. Partly for the memories that he had of the older Honoria, of course, but partly, also, for the gay courage and the humour that he had recognised in the girl at their first encounter. He had enjoyed her refreshing honesty and freedom from artifice. Tonight he had been conscious of a stronger attraction. She was very lovely and her innocent admiration had been surprisingly sweet. But Mr. Jocelyn was no green youngster. While he had his own reasons for keeping a protective eye on Miss Fenton he had not the least intention of entering into any closer association. From now on she would have no lack of beaux. Her looks, her freshness and, thought the cynical Mr. Jocelyn, the token of great wealth that she wore about her throat, would ensure that. His part had been played and the time had come for him to withdraw from the scene. He was surprised to discern in himself a distinct reluctance to do so.
Chapter Six
And now, at last, the season promised to fulfil all Honor’s expectations. Suddenly every day was crammed with engagements. Strolling on the Parades or in the pleasure gardens she was no longer a stranger and could scarcely walk a dozen yards without stopping to exchange greetings and gossip with some friend or acquaintance. There were breakfast parties in the Spring gardens to the accompaniment of music from French horns and clarionets and excursions to local beauty spots. And every evening had its own entertainment. Those who were accustomed to the Bath social round might complain that there was a certain sameness about these functions but to Honor everything was new and delightful. There was never a lack of attendant swains to squire her to parties and no girl, however modest, could fail to find satisfaction in the attentions of several of Bath’s most eligible gentlemen. The fact that none of them aroused in her any sentiment stronger than a mild liking might be disappointing to Miss Helmore but caused no distress to her niece. Whatever her elders had planned for her, she had not come to Bath with the intention of seeking a husband.
Miss Helmore sighed and said that it was a pity she was so hard to please. But there were still several weeks to go before the heat of high summer would drive most of the visitors to seek cooler watering places and she did not yet despair of finding a suitable match for the girl. And she, too, was enjoying herself to the top of her bent. Only in one small respect had she cause for complaining. Not the closest questioning of her knowledgeable friends had produced any information about Mr. Jocelyn. And that gentleman himself seemed to have left the city. Perhaps his business had been concluded sooner than he had expected. At any rate they did not meet him at any of the functions they attended. Which was a pity, thought Miss Helmore for she had taken a marked fancy to him and occasionally wondered whether Honor had been
wholly indifferent to a charm of manner that was undeniable or whether the hint of arrogance that was equally characteristic of the gentleman had set up her back. For the girl never mentioned him and returned only an indifferent answer when her aunt wondered aloud what could have become of him.
In the pleasant spring weather the three of them explored the surrounding country, sometimes squeezing into Philip’s rather shabby phaeton, occasionally, for longer excursions, borrowing his good natured Mama’s landaulet. Such an excursion was planned for this afternoon. While she awaited the arrival of her friends, Honor sat down to finish a letter to Mama. It was already close on a week since Mama’s last letter had arrived but there was so little time for correspondence or quiet reading in her busy days. Besides the letter had held no news of any particular import such as would have demanded an immediate reply. Apart from a rambling account of Bessy’s domestic shortcomings and a mild complaint that her old school friend had grown extremely self centred, most of the letter was devoted to an exact account of Percy’s state of health, which was clearly excellent. The only item of personal interest to Honor was a brief mention that Mrs. Fenton had at last received the expected visit from Lord Melborne’s agent. She had fobbed him off with excuses, saying that her daughter had not yet had time to give due consideration to the matter but that, for her part, she did not consider that the sum offered was an adequate recompense for the surrender of a jewel of such unique value. The gentleman had maintained an impassive front, saying only that he would report this view to his lordship. He had then bidden her a cool good day and left, declining all offers of refreshment.
At this point Honor had put the letter aside, shrinking inwardly from the picture of her mother haggling like some female Shylock over the price of the jewels. For Percy’s sake, of course. For her daughters she might toil patiently and skimp herself of small luxuries. For her son she would abandon the tenets of a lifetime if she thought it would advance his interests. Honor sighed sharply, a sigh that was half a sob. How would it feel to come first with someone? To know that one’s joys and sorrows, one’s triumphs and disasters, were of vital import to another human being? Never mind how the prayer book phrased it, she thought rebelliously, that was what marriage was really about. That was the kind of marriage that she wanted. And it was the only kind for which she was prepared to barter her spinster freedom. Mentally she reviewed the several gentlemen who had indicated that, given the faintest hint of encouragement, they would offer her the felicity of entering the married state. Even when she had eliminated the acknowledged fortune hunters there was not one who touched her heart; not one whom she would be willing to serve and tend with the devotion that Mama had lavished upon Papa. Perhaps the prayer book was not so far out after all, when it spoke of cherishing. But the cherishing must be a mutual affair, so that it became a joy rather than a duty.
She shrugged impatiently. What was the use of indulging in mawkish sentiment, just because Mama made it all too plain that she would sacrifice everything, even her daughters, to serve the present object of her idolatry? If she made haste there was time to finish her letter before Penelope and Philip called for her.
Philip had formed an easy going friendship with the steward of Lord Melborne’s Swynden estate which lay some twelve miles from Bath. Their acquaintance had begun somewhat inauspiciously when Philip had been seized by one of his lordship’s keepers and haled before the steward on a charge of poaching, though this was a story that naturally he had not confided to his sister or her friend. John Arthurson had listened with mild amusement to Philip’s indignant refutals of the charge against him. It was, to say the least of it, unlikely that such a lad would have allowed himself to be caught, even if for some wager, or just for sheer deviltry he had indulged himself in a little law breaking. In fact there was no evidence of anything more serious than trespass against him. Far more likely that he had, as he claimed, been watching the she-otter catching fish for her cubs. A few innocently casual questions on the habits of otters confirmed him in this view. Before he well knew what he was at, the pair of them, culprit and judge, were deeply involved in comparing views on the proper maintenance of the balance of nature and how far such predators as the otter were necessary to the whole scheme of things. The interview closed with John explaining half apologetically to his prisoner that the keeper must be forgiven for taking a jaundiced view of life. Since the old Marquess had died and the new one succeeded, no one had taken any interest in the proper preservation of game on the Swynden estate. To be sure the new Marquess had been a military man, often abroad, and Swynden was only a small part of his vast inheritance, even if it had been the seat of his earliest ancestors. He could not be blamed for not paying a great deal of personal attention to such an insignificant holding. But it was disheartening for the estate servants. Philip would understand how an excess of zeal had ended in his own apprehension as a poacher. Philip did. It was not long before he was persona grata on Swynden land. His ex-enemy, the keeper delighted in noting unusual sights and happenings to confound him. He came and went at will.
This particular visit was of a slightly different nature. Philip himself had no interest in Swynden Hall. Antiquities held no attraction for him. But Penelope was of a romantic turn of mind. The long and legendary past of the place appealed to her imagination and, supported by Honor, who nourished a more personal interest, she had teased and pestered her brother until he had most unwillingly sought permission for her to see the state apartments and the picture gallery. He had been sadly out of temper over the whole expedition, which he roundly described as presumptuous, until his keeper ally had sent him news of a surprising visitor to the park that set him all agog to be off. Indeed he could barely restrain his eagerness to be done with the necessary courtesies of introducing the girls to Mrs. Brownlow, Lord Melborne’s housekeeper, so anxious was he to behold with his own eyes the golden oriole and its nest that Robertson had reported to him. He might be gone a couple of hours, he t
The girls were quite amenable to this suggestion but Mrs. Brownlow was much shocked by such cavalier behaviour and informed the young gentleman in a very stately way that when the young ladies were weary of sightseeing they might rest and refresh themselves in her own parlour. They would have had quite enough of walking. Philip assented equably and departed at unflattering speed, leaving Mrs. Brownlow to do the honours, a task which was much to her liking.
They soon understood what she had meant by saying that they would have had enough of walking, for the Hall was a vast rambling edifice with a maze of passages, galleries and stairways that utterly bewildered the visitors. Parts of it were very ancient and they dutifully admired the cavernous hearths and the stout walls that had stood firm for more than four hundred years, though Honor secretly preferred the modern wing which had been added in Queen Anne’s day. She exclaimed in amazement over the wonderful order in which the place was kept, for nothing was shrouded under covers and panelling and furniture gleamed with polishing. Mrs. Brownlow bridled proudly at the compliment but admitted that the girls were singularly fortunate in coming at a time when the place was being prepared for a visit from its noble owner. “For in the usual way I would have had those brocades under holland covers, miss, as you say, and all the china and the nicknacks put away in cabinets. It’s a day’s work just to dust them,” she explained, drawing their attention to a collection of ivory figurines which had been the late Marquess’s especial delight.