The Determined Bachelor (4 page)

“Why,” continued Sir Basil innocently, “it is well known that where there is an uneven number, there is always the danger that one will be left out of their games.”

“Very right, very right,” interposed Lord Hargate. “I have often observed little Alex in tears, for being neglected by his brother and sister. Poor little man! And his nurse will never humour him, but makes him go and play in the school room all by himself.”

“Nonsense,” responded his lady with some feeling. “I have never observed anything like! And I am sure I know a great deal more about my own children than you can, my dear. Nurse is very good to all of them, and, in my opinion, spoils Alex far more than she ought. Why, they are altogether much too spoilt. I cannot conceive of having another child, even if I could.”

“Oh, to be sure, my love,” interposed her husband hurriedly, “no one is saying that you should. Louisa,” he added
to his brother with a little cough, “has a most delicate constitution. She nearly died when little Alex was born.”

Lady Hargate was very fond of a sympathetic ear. She had tortured her husband for some time with tales of her misery during the bearing of her children and now turned to her brother-in-law with a pathetic look.

“It is very true, Basil. I nearly died. Lord, what a heavy burden we women are forced to bear! It is beyond everything.”

Sir Basil was not anxious to see this line of conversation progress. Such talk offended his sensibilities and defied everything he had ever been taught to believe about the gentile courage of motherhood.

“And yet you must love to see the dear little things playing,” he said. “You must often long for another.”

“Long for another!”

“I mean,” he added hurriedly, “if another would appear, as it were by magic! I am sure you are a wonderful mother, Louisa. Anyone can see that in your nature shines that gentleness of spirit, that constancy of good humour, which is the very essence of motherhood. How they must dote upon you!”

Lady Hargate was torn. How could she deny these compliments and yet speak the truth? For the truth was that she abhorred children in general, and though she could not help but love her own, she dearly wished sometimes that they had never been born. In principle, they were delightful, but in the actual and persistent reality, they left much to be desired. They were boisterous and noisy, and never seemed to possess the charm she would have liked to see in them. It seemed to her that whenever they appeared they disappointed her by some rudeness or other, and yet she had not the heart to scold them. Lord Hargate, whose office it should have been to censor their behaviour, would not dream of it. He let the little scoundrels do exactly as they pleased, until sometimes she was sure their noisy playing and endless tears would kill her. And yet she fancied herself as a loving and graceful mother, and was convinced that if only the baby would give up howling and the elder children were quieter, she should find them delightful.

“Dear little things,” she murmured, imagining them for the moment clean and pretty and tucked into their beds. “Yes, yes, how they do dote upon me! Do they not, my love? Why, I have the greatest desire to see them this very moment! Do
you, my dear, please pull the bell, and I shall send for Nurse.”

Lord Hargate obeyed, and Sir Basil expressed his delight at the idea of seeing his young nephews and niece after so many years. Indeed, there had only been two when he had left for France, and he was very eager to acquaint himself with the youngest member of the family.

In due course the nurse appeared and, looking a little surprised, went off to fetch her charges. His lordship, meanwhile, could not resist the temptation to boast about them and to demand that his brother look out for the strong resemblance which existed between himself and the two boys.

“Why, it is nothing of the kind, my dear,” responded his wife, smiling at Sir Basil. “You must tell me yourself, my dear brother, if you do not think little Harry is the very image of me! And as to Alex, he is too young yet to be absolutely sure, but I think he has got my eyes and nose, and certainly his figure is nothing like his father's!”

Sir Basil smiled indulgently, and in a moment heard a great clamoring in the hallway. The door was thrust open and into the room rushed a boy and a girl of about six and nine. Behind them, in the doorway, stood the nurse holding the hand of a toddling infant.

“Come to me, my precious darlings!” cried Lady Hargate, and the children rushed into her lap. The eldest child, who wore a dirty pinafore, instantly screamed.

“Harry is pulling my ear!” cried she.

“No such thing,” responded the culprit, with a pout.

“Yes he did, Mama! Oh, you wicked boy! I shall pull yours, I shall!”

And with these words, she pushed him out of her mother's lap and commenced chasing him about the room. The little boy, screaming with delighted terror, dashed behind a chair, upsetting an incidental table.

“Naughty, naughty children!” cried their mama. “Nurse, cannot you make them stop? Oh, they have mussed my gown most dreadfully.”

The nurse, who was a large, phlegmatic-looking individual, only shrugged and called out half-heartedly for them to stop their nonsense. Neither mother nor nurse were attended to, however, and Lord Hargate seemed delighted by the display. The screaming continued for some little while longer, and then the baby, who had been hiding his face in the nurse's skirts, began to sob.

“See what you have done now, Clarissa!” cried her mother, but making no move either to comfort the youngest child or to put a cease to his sister's antics. These were only brought to a halt when she accidentally fell across her uncle's legs, and, sitting up rubbing her knee, stared back at his astonished gaze.

“Enough of your playing, my little darlings,” said her father. “See, here is your uncle, who has come all the way from France to visit us!”

This news inspired a giggle and another stare. Sir Basil, attempting to hide his dismay, said, “I do not believe you remember me, Clarissa, for you were only four or five when I went abroad.”

The child stared unblinking back at him and said nothing. Suddenly a strange gurgle erupted from behind the Baronet's chair, and he looked down to see the boy grinning up at him.

“And you must be Harry,” continued the Baronet, still playing the part of the doting uncle. “Does not your sister speak?”

The children evidently found this question vastly amusing, for they both erupted into laughter and fled from the room.

“What very merry children they are,” remarked Sir Basil after a moment, when he had recovered from his shock.

“Ah, yes! As merry as possible!” agreed Lord Hargate heartily.

Lady Hargate looked ready to burst into tears. “Nurse, cried she, “why cannot you make them stop? They are beyond everything! Why, they would not even speak to Sir Basil. And here is Alex, crying. Whatever am I to do?”

Lord Hargate heaved himself out of his chair and approached the smallest child, whose face was still hidden in the nurse's skirts. The little boy looked up in dismay and commenced sobbing more loudly than ever.

“Lord, I cannot bear another moment!” cried Lady Hargate. “Do take them away, Nurse, or I shall have another attack of nerves!”

The nurse shrugged and, picking up the child, went out. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Lady Hargate turned to Sir Basil with a peevish look.

“Only see what I am forced to endure! If you knew what a hardship it is to be a mother, I am sure you would take pity upon me.”

“Nonsense, my dear!” came Lord Hargate's jovial retort. “You know you quite dote upon them. They are very young,
and soon shall be as sober as you please. In the meantime, I am very glad of their laughter and games. Well, Basil, what d'you think? Are they not a handsome lot? I do not wonder you desire some of your own!”

But Sir Basil, feeling rather ill and suddenly more tired than he had ever remembered feeling, was rising from his chair.

“Yes, yes—well, all in due time, Hargate.”

“But, where are you going?” demanded his hostess. “Are not you dining with us? My dear, what can you be thinking of? Did not you invite Basil to dine?”

Lord Hargate looked somewhat abashed, but his brother cut off his apology with, “No, no, I could not think of imposing myself upon you. I shall dine at White's and put up at my club. Please do not bother to get up, I shall see myself to the door.”

But Lady Hargate, if she found it impossible to be firm with her children, was quite capable of imposing her will upon a desirable guest. She could not let her brother-in-law slip away just when she was beginning to feel cheerful. Why, they had not yet even discussed his matrimonial plans, nor had she had time to interrogate him about the French Court. With an expression which threatened every moment the dryness of her eyes, she implored Sir Basil to stay. She would not think of letting him slip away; she would not hear of his dining at White's when he could dine at home with them. The idea was too awful to think about. He
must
honour them with his company.

With so many pleas for his company, and very little to offer as an excuse, Sir Basil could hardly do otherwise than remain. He would dine with them, then, and stay the night. But on the morrow he would move to his old quarters in St. James's Street. Even the most pleading look from his sister-in-law could not persuade him otherwise. In truth, had he not been so tired, he would have gone away directly, for he could not wait to be alone again, or in the quiet, more dignified company of bachelors.

Chapter III

Of all the people in London, there was one in particular whom Sir Basil Ives was eager to visit. Lady Diana Cardovan had been his dearest friend and best advisor for many years. She was a woman nearly as beautiful as she was brilliant, a famous wit, and a beloved hostess. Her great house on the outskirts of London was a favourite meeting place for politicians and the
ton
, and she had been on intimate terms with the most eminent figures of the day since she had been a very young woman. Now she was in the fullness of maturity, and yet she possessed the figure of a girl of twenty. Her complexion was so pure and fine that she might almost have been made of milk and honey rather than flesh and blood. Certainly it did not bear any trace of the suffering she had known.

Lady Cardovan had been married at sixteen to a stupid, brutal man. How the match had come to be made at all was the subject of much speculation amongst her friends, for she was the granddaughter of a prime minister, the daughter of a duke, and Cardovan, save for his title, possessed none of the preeminence of mind or imagination which so marked her own family. What was certain was that he had treated her in the most vicious and insufferable manner, and after five years of insolence and torture, had taken a mistress. Now he resided in another part of the city with his common-law wife and their five children. He was a husband in name only, and yet Lady Diana, who might have taken any lover she chose, would not. Her virtue almost more than her other not inconsiderable charms had won Sir Basil's heart. He admired her as he had never admired any female, and very few men.
When he had been a young diplomat, just beginning to make his mark in the world, she had taken him up, and from the role of patroness, had grown into a close friend. Had she been fifteen years younger, Sir Basil might almost have been tempted to many her. As it was, their association was the dearest thing on earth to him. He relied upon her wisdom nearly above his own. As the elder, Lady Cardovan claimed the right to teaze her friend, and Sir Basil received her jibes with a good humour which might have amazed his subordinates at the Embassy in Paris. For his own part, he had sometimes been able to perform those little services for her which only a man can do. Their friendship was based upon mutual esteem, and sealed by mutual assistance—it seemed to the baronet that he could not have looked for more from any relationship between a man and a woman.

It was to Lynch House, therefore, that Sir Basil Ives went as soon as he had paid his respects at Carlton House on the day following his arrival in London. Aside from the sheer joy of seeing her again, he had today a more particular reason for his visit. He wished to solicit her opinion upon his current dilemma, which had only been made more perplexing by the night passed at Hargate House.

He found Lady Cardovan at home, for it was her custom to work on her histories in the morning, a pastime which had commenced as a diversion and grown into a serious and, luckily (for her finances were not so well-ordered as they appeared from a glance about the house and grounds), a remunerative profession. Sir Basil sent up his card, and in a matter of a few minutes the two were ensconsed upon the sofa as if they had been separated for several days instead of several years. Theirs was one of those rare friendships which may be broken off for any length of time and taken up again without a break, or any feeling of distance upon either side.

“Oh la!” cried Lady Diana, putting back her head and laughing at one of Sir Basil's tales of British diplomacy in the Tuileries. “It sounds a very rag-headed assemblage! And do they indeed make you stand for six hours before you are awarded your honours, and then force you to eat in the second dining room, as Lady Hardwicke would have us believe? A very ill-mannered lot, they sound, these Bourbons!”