The Determined Bachelor (33 page)

“Oh, I shan't retire just yet, my love. But in a few years' time, when, perhaps—” with a twinkle in his eye—“our little household may be further increased, I believe I shall have had enough of this vagabond's life. We are still young, and have some years left to wander about, but I should like to see my children grow up on native soil.”

“Well,” declared Her Ladyship briskly, “it is early days yet to be talking of such things. Really, Basil! Poor Anne is not yet a married woman, and already you are talking of your dotage and a whole houseful of children! Do you at least wait a fortnight, until you are man and wife!”

“Indeed,” breathed Sir Basil fervently, “I wish that fortnight would hurry up and pass!”

Lady Cardovan looked fondly at the couple upon the sofa, who seemed already to be so much in harmony with each other that they might have been married already for several years. She inquired if there had been any news of Miss Newsome since their engagement had been announced.

“I believe she has taken herself off to Scotland for a little medicinal hunting,” replied Sir Basil. “I have no doubt but that she will recover soon enough with the aid of a little riding to hounds, and some other of the horsey delights to be found in that part of the world. My sister-in-law, alas, will not speak to me, however.”

“I am sure an invitation to Paris would have an instant effect.”

“Good God, Diana! Don't mention such a thing, I beg of you! We should never be rid of her! Anyhow, I shall not allow my wife to show her any hospitality, after the treatment Anne received at
her
hands.”

“Oh, I am sure that now she is to be Lady Ives, your sister-in-law will be friendly enough,” returned Lady Diana. “But I suppose you shall have a constant stream of visitors to the Embassy in any case. Your whole family, I suppose, will be there, will they not, Anne?”

“Oh, no! Papa has strictly forbidden them to come! He says we are to have a full year of peaceful married bliss before the barrage begins.”

“Sensible fellow!” breathed Sir Basil.

“But,” continued Anne, “we are expecting
two
visitors at least, and
they
are to stay as long as they please.”

“Ah! And who are they?”

“Why, yourself, of course, and my brother Ben.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Lady Cardovan, “I should not think of intruding upon you.”

“Nonsense! You are quite one of our little family—indeed, had it not been for you, there should
be
no marriage—and Ben is my coauthor. He is to come after a month or two to help me get a start upon my next book.”

“And what is that to be, my dear?” inquired Her Ladyship with great interest.

Anne smiled a little slyly at her betrothed, and put on a mysterious look. “Why, it is a bit of a secret at present, but you shall both know presently.”

Chapter XXV

As commander-in-chief of the staff at Number 23 Grosvenor Square, Rutgers considered it his duty to apprise the newest members of that staff of the goings-on amongst the occupants of the neighbouring houses. It was not, in fact, the least enjoyable of his many duties, nor did he count it as the least important. A good footman, like a good major domo, must know when to bite his tongue, when to stare impassively ahead despite the wildest sort of high-jinks, and (not least) when to pass along any little bits of gossip acquired during the course of his duties, that his elders and betters might interpret their true import. It was, therefore, his habit, at the time of any new arrival into the household, to follow the first regulation tour of house and grounds with a brief monologue upon the neighbours.

Some years after the events which have just been recorded, the old retainer (who by now had served half a dozen Russian ambassadors, and was more master of the house than any of them) was stationed before his favourite window—that giving out from the pantry upon the whole of Grosvenor Square—delivering his customary lecture to a young footman. The fellow (for he was, as yet, too recent a member of the staff to have earned a name) was much impressed by the butler's voice and manner, and stood quietly by, a modest half-step behind the elderly Rutgers, eagerly taking in every bit of slander and ogling each house in turn as it fell beneath the old man's scrutiny.

“Ah, lad,” sighed Rutgers, having successfully laid to rest half the reputations of the
ton
, “it is not what it once was.
The Square was a grand place in its heyday! But it has seen more common goings and comings than Haymarket by now. A dozen years ago, my boy—the Princess Lieven lived here then, you know—Grosvenor Square was the finest address in all of London. Still is, by most counts, I'll warrant. But for those of us who
know
, lad, for those of us who know. . . .”

The butler's voice trailed off, as in a paroxysm of despair at the very thought. The footman gave a sharp intake of breath, and tried to summon up in his slender imagination some picture of what it might have been like in those glorious times. Since he was already so much agog at the splendour of the houses in that part of town and the great beauty of the streets, which now shone brilliantly beneath an early summer sun, he did not have much success. Nothing, he supposed could be much more awe-inspiring than this little square, with its rows of vast mansions and noble old trees, its continual swarm of elegant carriages, and the stream of fashionable ladies and gentlemen who continually alighted from them before some one or other of the doors.

“The Princess used to give balls regular, then, lad—half a dozen a week at the very least. Breakfasts, dinners, houtdoors fêtes—you never saw die like of it! 'Twas a very different place in
those
days, you can imagine! Hah, well. Now, then . . .” Rutger's eyes surveyed, rather critically, the houses in the Square, in search of someone whose history he had forgotten to reveal. Almost instantly, his eyes brightened. “
Now
then,” he repeated, in a brisk voice, “there is
one
house that has fared better than some others. I am speaking of that large stone edifice catty-corner across the way, lad. Hargate House.”

“Yes, Sir,” murmured the novice, peering in the indicated direction. “A very grand house, Sir. Nearly as grand as
this
one!”

“Well, not quite, lad,” returned the butler with a derogatory little sniff. “It
is
rather larger, but in appointments and luxurious haccommodations, I assure you, it is nothing to touch it. But, however, it is a great deal improved since the days of the Princess. Then, lad, it was the repository of the vulgarest family in London. One could scarcely dignify it by any other name. A very rubbish bin of humanity. The Princess would not speak to 'em.”

The young footman's eyebrows shot up expectantly.

“Why, Sir—who on earth lived there?”

“Lord Hargate, of course,” sniffed the butler. “Lord Hargate and his lady, and their three small brats.”

The footman digested this information. “And who lives there now, Sir?”

“Why, Lord Hargate, of course. Lord and Lady Hargate.”

The young man pondered how this could have changed the tone of the place much, and could not think of anything to say.

“Not the
same
Lord Hargate, of course. Another one,” remarked Rutgers after a moment. “The late Lord Hargate's younger brother. A very different sort of gentleman, however. One could scarce imagine how they belonged to the same family. This one, lad, was once called Sir Basil Ives. You will have heard of him, of course?”

The footman looked blank.

“Sir Basil Ives, later Lord Ives, our Ambassador to France, and, more recently, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Now retired to private life.”

The footman looked illuminated.

“Well, his elder brother, that is to say the one who was Lord Hargate
last
, departed this life a few years ago. Long before his time, of course, but then he was so much given to eating and drinking that one would not have expected him to live half so long as he did. Monstrous fat fellow. Don't
you
go about eating and drinking too much, young man,” warned the butler with a suspicious look. “A young man of your age ought not to drink at all, and scarcely to eat anything. Healthier that way.”

The footman looked a little shocked at this advice, but nodded his head fervently nevertheless.

“Anyhow, as I was saying, the late Lord Hargate died, and now Sir Basil has come into the family title and family mansion at once. It is a great improvement, not only for him—which it no doubt is—but for all of us. Lord, how I used to grow nervous, watching the goings-on in that household!”

The footman looked curious. “Was it so very bad, Sir?”

Rutgers snorted. “Eh? Bad! You never saw such a place! Butler always asleep, coat unpressed, marketing at all hours! And the nurse! You ought to have seen the nurse!”

“But now it is much better? The new Lady Hargate runs things more—er—smoothly?”

Rutgers had drifted into a reverie, and did not hear the question. After a second he let out a chortle, and declared, “What a comical thing it was, to be sure!”

“What, Sir?”

“Very comical,” repeated the butler sternly. “It was very comical. Are you deaf, lad?”

Rutgers regarded the footman severely. “No, Sir. I don't think so, Sir. But what,” inquired he timidly, “if I may be so bold, Sir, was comical?”

“Why, the manner of their marriage, lad! The marriage of Lord and Lady Hargate! The
present
Lord and Lady Hargate. She was his governess, you know.”

The footman puckered up his brow at this idea.

“Why, is she so much older than he, Sir?” inquired he mildly. He had seen the elegant Lady Hargate once or twice, driving about the Square in her fashionable curricle, with her two little sons beside her. She certainly did not look old enough to have been Lord Hargate's governess. If she was, indeed, it would be a minor miracle of nature, for she was certainly very comely, and did not appear to be so very ancient.

“No, no, no!” exclaimed Rutgers impatiently. He eyed the footman with some suspicion. Had he inadvertently employed a dimwit? “She was not
his
governess, lad! She was governess to his—to his—well, adopted daughter. An orphan, actually. She is now Lady Ormsby-Thwaite. But, anyhow—that can be of no concern to you, young man. As it turned out, in any case, she was not a governess at all—not a governess as you would commonly think of one, at any rate—but a young lady of good family, and an authoress besides. You will perhaps have heard of her—Miss Anne Calder, who wrote
The Determined Bachelor
and some other distinguished volumes. A most erudite young woman. Of course, some will say that Sir Basil married beneath him, but I always felt that though she
was
only a clergyman's daughter, she possessed more hactual refinement than many of your so-called haristocrats. But we must not question the ways of the haristocracy, lad,” continued Rutgers with a sudden shift of tone. “It is not our business to judge them, but to serve them. They are our betters, and so, of course, their ways are different from our own.”

Rutgers regarded the footman sternly, having delivered what was, after all, a rather curious finale to his little lecture, which had successfully destroyed half the reputations of that very class.

The footman, shifting nervously from one foot to the
other, and still endeavouring in his mind to untangle the knot of relationships which had just been laid out before him, nodded humbly.

“Yes, Sir. I see what you mean, Sir.”

About the Author

Judith Harkness is the author of five classic Regency Romances:
The Montague Scandal
,
The Admiral's Daughter
,
The Determined Bachelor
,
Contrary Cousins
, and
Lady Charlotte's Ruse
, all originally published by Signet. She is the co-author of a screenplay, EMMA in New York, an updated version of the classic Jane Austen novel set in contemporary Manhattan. As J.H. Richardson, she writes non-fiction on subjects ranging from children with learning and developmental issues to profiles of notable creative artists. She lives in Rhode Island with her husband, Will Taft.