Читать книгу Regency Romance Classics - Georgette Heyer Collection - Georgette Heyer - Страница 19

Table of Contents

When Philip entered the ballroom of my lady Dering's house, on Wednesday evening, Lady Malmerstoke had already arrived. Cleone was dancing with Sir Deryk; Jennifer was sitting beside her ladyship, looking very shy and very bewildered. As soon as he could do so, Philip made his way to that end of the room.

Lady Malmerstoke welcomed him with a laugh.

"Good even, Philip! Have you brought your papa?"

Philip shook his head.

"He preferred to go to White's with Tom. Jenny, you'll dance with me, will you not? Remember, you promised!"

Jennifer raised her eyes.

"I—I doubt I—cannot. I—I have danced so few times, sir."

"Don't tell me those little feet cannot dance, chérie!"

Jennifer glanced down at them.

"It's monstrous kind of you, Philip—but—but are you sure you want to lead me out?"

Philip offered her his arm.

"I see you are in a very teasing mood, Jenny," he scolded.

Jennifer rose.

"Well, I will—but—oh, I am very nervous! I expect you dance so well."

"I don't think I do, but I am sure you under-rate your dancing. Let us essay each other!"

From across the room Cleone saw them. She promptly looked away, but contrived, nevertheless, to keep an eye on their movements. She saw Philip presently lead Jenny to a chair and sit talking to her. Then he hailed a passing friend and presented him to Jennifer. Cleone watched him walk across the room to a knot of men. He returned to Jennifer with several of them. Unreasoning anger shook Cleone. Why did Philip care what happened to Jennifer? Why was he so assiduous in his attentions? She told herself she was an ill-natured cat, but she was still angry. From Jennifer Philip went to Ann Nutley.

Sir Deryk stopped fanning Cleone.

"There he goes! I declare, Philip Jettan makes love to every pretty woman he meets! Just look at them!"

Cleone was looking. Her little teeth were tightly clenched.

"Mr. Jettan is a flatterer," she said.

"Always so abominably French, too. Mistress Ann seems amused. I believe Jettan is a great favourite with the ladies of Paris."

Suddenly Cleone remembered that duel that Philip had fought "over the fair name of some French maid."

"Yes?" she said carelessly. "Of course, he is very handsome."

"Do you think so? Oh, here he comes! Evidently the lovely Ann does not satisfy him.... Your servant, sir!"

Philip smiled and bowed.

"Mademoiselle, may I have the honour of leading you out?" he asked.

Above all, she must not show Philip that she cared what he did.

"Oh, I have but this instant sat down!" she said. "I protest I am fatigued and very hot!"

"I know of a cool withdrawing-room," said Brenderby at once. "Let me take you to it, fairest!"

"It's very kind, Sir Deryk, but I do not think I will go. If I might have a glass of ratafia?" she added plaintively, looking at Philip.

For once he was backward in responding. Sir Deryk bowed.

"At once, dear lady! I go to procure it!"

"Oh, thank you, sir!" This was not what Cleone wanted at all. "Well, Mr. Jettan, you have not yet fled to Paris?"

Philip sat down beside her.

"No, mademoiselle, not yet. To-night will decide whether I go or stay." His voice was rather stern.

"Indeed? How vastly exciting!"

"Is it not! I am going to ask you a plain question, Cleone. Will you marry me?"

Cleone gasped in amazement. Unreasoning fury shook her. That Philip should dare to come to her straight from the smiles of Ann Nutley! She glanced at him. He was quite solemn. Could it be that he mocked her? She forced herself to speak lightly.

"I can hardly suppose that you are serious, sir!"

"I am in earnest, Cleone, never more so. We have played at cross-purposes long enough."

His voice sent a thrill through her. Almost he was the Philip of Little Fittledean. Cleone forced herself to remember that he was not.

"Cross-purposes, sir? I fail to understand you!"

"Yes? Have you ever been honest with me, Cleone?"

"Have you ever been honest with me, Mr. Jettan?" she said sharply.

"Yes, Cleone. Before you sent me away I was honest with you. When I came back, no. I wished to see whether you wanted me as I was, or as I pretended to be. You foiled me. Now I am again honest with you. I say that I love you, and I want you to be my wife."

"You say that you love me...." Cleone tapped her fan on her knee. "Perhaps you will continue to be honest with me, sir. Am I the only one you have loved?"

"You are the only one."

The blue eyes flashed.

"And what of the ladies of the French Court, Mr. Jettan? What of a certain duel you fought with a French husband? You can explain that, no doubt?"

Philip was silent for a moment, frowning.

"So the news of that absurd affair reached you, Cleone?"

She laughed, clenching her teeth.

"Oh, yes, sir! It reached me. A pity, was it not?"

"A great pity, Cleone, if on that gossip you judge me."

"Ah! There was no truth in the tale?" Suppressed eagerness was in her voice.

"I will be frank with you. A certain measure of truth there was. M. de Foli-Martin thought himself injured. It was not so."

"And why should he think so, sir?"

"Presumably because I paid court to madame, his wife."

"Yes?" Cleone spoke gently, dangerously. "You paid court to madame. No doubt she was very lovely?"

"Very." Philip was nettled.

"As lovely, perhaps, as Mademoiselle de Marcherand, of whom I have heard, or as Mistress Ann Nutley yonder? Or as lovely as Jennifer?"

Philip took a false step.

"Cleone, surely you are not jealous of little Jenny?" he cried.

She drew herself up.

"Jealous? What right have I to be jealous? You are nothing to me, Mr. Jettan! I confess that once I—liked you. You have changed since then. You cannot deny that you have made love to a score of beautiful women since you left home. I do not blame you for that. You are free to do as you please. What I will not support is that you should come to me with your proposal, having shown me during the time that you have spent in England that I am no more to you than Ann Nutley, or Julie de Marcherand. 'To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear,' was it not? Very pretty, sir. And now I intrigue you for the moment. I cannot consider myself flattered, Mr. Jettan."

Philip had grown pale under his paint.

"Cleone, you wrong me! It is true that I have trifled harmlessly with those ladies. It is the fashion—the fashion you bade me follow. There has never been aught serious betwixt any woman and me. That I swear!"

"You probably swore the same to M. de Foli-Martin?"

"When I had given him the satisfaction he craved, yes."

"I suppose he believed you?"

"No." Philip bit his lip.

"No? Then will you tell me, sir, how it is that you expect me to believe what M. de Foli-Martin—closely concerned—would not believe?"

Philip looked straight into her eyes.

"I can only give you my word, Cleone."

Still she fought on, wishing to be defeated.

"So you have never trifled with any of these women, sir?"

Philip was silent again.

"You bring me"—Cleone's voice trembled—"a tarnished reputation. I've no mind to it, sir. You have made love to a dozen other women. Perhaps you have kissed them. And—and now you offer me—your kisses! I like unspoilt wares, sir."

Philip rose, very stiff and stern.

"I am sorry that you consider yourself insulted by my offer, Cleone."

Her hand half flew towards him and fell again. Couldn't he understand that she wanted him to beat down her resistance? Did he care no more than that? If only he would deny everything and master her!

"I hasten to relieve you of my obnoxious presence. Your servant, mademoiselle." Philip bowed. He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Cleone stricken.

Her fan dropped unheeded to the ground. Philip had gone! He had not understood that she wanted to be overruled, overcome. He had gone, and he would never come back. In those few minutes he had been the Philip she loved, not the flippant gallant of the past weeks. Tears came into Cleone's eyes. Why, why had he been so provoking? And oh, why had she let him go? She knew now beyond question that he was the only man she could ever love, or had ever loved. Now he had left her, and would go back to Paris. Nothing mattered, she did not care what became of her once she had lost Philip.

James Winton, never far away, came to her side and sat down. Cleone greeted him mechanically and proceeded to follow out her own line of dismal thought. Through a haze of misery she heard James' voice. It sounded rather shy, and very anxious. She had not the faintest idea of what he was saying, but she felt vaguely annoyed by his persistency. Presently these words filtered through to her brain:

"Say yes, Cleone! Say yes! Oh, say yes, Cleone!"

How importunate he was! Cleone turned impatiently.

"Oh, yes, yes! What is it?"

As James had been blurting out a carefully-worded proposal of marriage, he was not flattered by this answer. He rose, hurt to the bottom of his youthful soul.

"It is evident that you have not heard a word of what I said, Cleone!"

"Oh, don't worry me, James! I've said yes. What is it? You are so persistent, and I wish to be quiet!"

James bowed.

"I will leave you, madam. I offered you my hand and my heart." With that he walked off, a picture of outraged dignity.

Cleone broke into hysterical laughter. Up came Sir Deryk.

"You seem vastly entertained, lady fair. May I share the pleasantry?"

Cleone sprang up.

"Take me away from this!" she begged. "I—I am nigh fainting from the heat! I—oh, I must be quiet! The fiddling goes through and through my head. I—oh, take me somewhere cool!"

Sir Deryk was surprised, but he did not show it.

"Why, of course, dearest! I know of a small withdrawing-room nearby. Take my arm, it's stifling in here!" He led her across the room to where a heavy curtain hung, shutting off a small, dimly-lighted apartment.

Meanwhile Philip had gone to Lady Malmerstoke's side. He sat down, frowning gloomily.

Her ladyship eyed him speculatively.

"Well?" she demanded.

Philip laughed bitterly.

"Oh, I have been rebuffed! Do I conceal it so admirably?"

"No, you do not," said her ladyship. "You must have played your cards monstrously badly. Trust a man."

"Oh, no! Tis merely that your niece does not love me."

"Fiddle! Don't tell me that. D'you think I'm a fool, Philip?"

"She objects, madam, to my—tarnished reputation. She was quite final."

"You thought she was quite final. Now, don't be stately, child! What happened?"

"I asked her to marry me—and she flung my wretched Paris affaires in my face."

"Of course, you denied everything?"

"No, I did not. How could I? There was a certain measure of tr—"

Lady Malmerstoke leaned back disgustedly.

"God preserve me from young men! You admitted it?"

"No—that is, I was frank with her."

"Great heavens, Philip! Frank with a woman? God help you, then! And what next? Did you tell Cleone not to be a fool? Did you insist that she should listen to you?"

"How could I? She—"

"You didn't. You walked off when you should have mastered her. I'll wager my best necklet she was waiting for you to assert yourself. And now she's probably miserable. Serve her right, and you too."

"But, Lady Malmerstoke—"

"Not but what I don't sympathise with the child," continued her ladyship inexorably. "Of course, she is a fool, but so are all girls. A woman of my age don't inquire too closely into a man's past—we've learned wisdom. Cleone knows that you have trifled with a dozen other women. Bless you, she don't think the worse of you for that!"

"She does! She said—"

"For goodness' sake, don't try to tell me what she said, Philip! What's that to do with it?"

"But you don't understand! Cleone said—"

"So she may have. That does not mean that she meant it, does it?" asked her ladyship in great scorn.

"Mais—"

"Don't start talking French at me, child, for I can't bear it! You should know by now that no woman means what she says when it's to a man."

"Oh, stop, stop! Lady Malmerstoke, you don't understand! Cleone does think the worse of me for those intrigues! She is very angry!"

"Of course she is. What do you expect?"

Philip clasped his head.

"Mais, voyons! Just now you said that she does not think the worse of me for it!"

"Who said she did? Can't one think two things at the same time?"

"But surely not two such—such contradictory things! I have never done so in my life!"

"You! You're only a man! You've not our gifts! I can tell you!" My lady spread out her fan. "Why, a woman can think of a hundred different things at once, all of them contradictory!" She nodded at him complacently.

"It's ridiculous! It's impossible! Are women's brains so—so incoherent?"

"Most of 'em," answered her ladyship. "They jump, you see."

"Jump?" Philip was thoroughly bewildered.

"Jump. From one thing to another. You'll arrive at a new thought by degrees, and you'll know how you got there. Women don't think like that. Cleone could not tell you why she thinks well and ill of you at once, but she does."

"But surely if she reasons with herself she'll see how absurd—"

"If she what?"

"Reasons. I mean—"

"You're mad," said Lady Malmerstoke with conviction. "Women don't reason. That's a man's part. Why, do you suppose that if Cleone thought as you think, and had a brain like a man's, you'd be in love with her? Of course you'd not. You'd not be able to feel your superiority over her. Don't tell me!"

"I don't feel—"

Her ladyship chuckled.

"Oh, don't you, Philip? You think that Clo is reasonable-minded, and able to care for herself, needing no master?"

"I—no, I don't!"

"That's what I say. Goodness me, how blind you are! If you didn't consider that you had to care for Cleone and guard her from everyone else and herself, you wouldn't love her. Now don't be foolish!"

Philip laughed ruefully.

"You're a fount of wisdom, Lady Sally!"

"Well, I should be at my age. I've had experience, you see, and I never was a fool."

"Then—tell me what I am to do?"

Lady Malmerstoke wagged an impressive finger at him.

"Take that girl and shake her. Tell her you'll not be flouted. Tell her she's a little fool, and kiss her. And if she protests, go on kissing her. Dear me, what things I do say!"

"Yes, but, dear Lady Sally, how am I to kiss her when she's as cold as ice—and—and so unapproachable?"

"And why is she cold?" said her ladyship. "Tell me that!"

"Because she—thinks me naught but an elegant trifler!"

"Not a bit of it. Because you treat her gently and politely, and let her flout you. God bless my soul, women don't want gentle politeness! Not Cleone, at all events! They like a man to be brutal!"

"Brutal?"

"Well, not exactly. They like to feel he'll stand no airs and graces. Oh, they want gentleness, never fear! But they want to feel helpless. They want mastering, most of 'em. When you kiss the tips of Clo's fingers, and treat her as though you thought she was made o' porcelain, she thinks you're no man, and don't care for her."

"She cannot! She—"

"She don't know it, of course, but it's true. Be advised by me, Philip, and insist on having your way with her. Don't be finicky!"

"It's very well, but she doesn't love me!"

"Oh, drat the man!" said her ladyship. "You fatigue me! Go your own road, but don't blame me when everything goes awry. If you have made Clo miserable she'll do something mad. And now I've warned you. Oh, here is James, looking like a sulky bear! James, my good boy, I've left my handkerchief in another room. Will you fetch it for me, please? Over there, behind the curtain. Yes, shocking, isn't it? But 'twas only old Fotheringham, so you can tell your uncle, Philip."

He rose and laughed down at her.

"And will he master you, my lady?"

"Not he," said Lady Malmerstoke placidly. "I'm past the age of wanting that nonsense. Not that I ever wanted it, but I was always unusual. Be off with you!"

Philip took James by the arm.

"We are summarily dismissed! Come, Jamie, we'll find her handkerchief, and she'll smile again."

In the withdrawing-room Cleone was dicing with Sir Deryk. A very unmaidenly proceeding. She had just lost the rose at her breast to Brenderby, and he was trying to undo the pin that held it in place. Failing in that, he grasped the stem firmly, and broke off the bloom. But with the rose he had clutched a thin blue riband from which hung a locket. It snapped, and the trinket rolled on to the floor.

Cleone was already overwrought. She sprang up.

"Oh, my locket!" And searched wildly on the floor.

Surprised at her earnestness, Brenderby went down on his knees, and presently retrieved the locket just as Cleone had seen it. He rose, and was about to present it to her when she clasped agitated hands and demanded that it should be given her at once! This aroused Sir Deryk's curiosity. He withheld it.

"Why so anxious, Cleone? What secret does it hide?"

"Naught! Oh, give it me, give it me!"

Sir Deryk held fast to the trophy.

"Not so fast, Cleone! I'll swear there's some mystery here! I've a mind to peep inside!"

"I forbid you!" said Cleone. "Sir Deryk—" She controlled herself. "Please give it me!"

"And so I will, fairest, but first I must see what is inside!"

"Oh, no, no! There's naught! I could not bear you to look! Besides, it's—it's empty. I—oh, give it me!" She stamped angrily.

Brenderby's eyes were alight with impish laughter.

"I'll make a bargain, sweetest! You shall play me for it." He picked up the dice-box. "If you beat my throw, I will give you the locket unopened. If you lose you shall pay a price for it."

"I don't understand! What do you mean?"

"You shall kiss me for it. One hard-earned kiss. Come, you must admit my terms are generous!"

"I won't! How dare you, sir! And it is my locket! You have no right to it!"

"What I find I keep! Come! The odds are equal, and in neither case do I open the locket."

"I—I thought you a gentleman!"

"So I am, Clo. Were I not—I'd take the price and then the locket. There's no one to see, and no one need know. Cleone—you lovely creature!"

Cleone wrung her hands.

"I should die of shame! Oh, Sir Deryk, please be kind!"

"Why should I be kind when you are not? You'll none of my terms? Very well!" He made as if to open the locket.

"No, no, no!" almost shrieked Cleone. "I'll do anything, anything! Only don't open it!"

"You'll play me?"

Cleone drew a deep breath.

"Yes. I will. And I'll never, never, never speak to you again!"

He laughed.

"Oh, I trust you'll change your mind! Now!" He cast the dice. "Aha! Can you beat that?"

Cleone took the box in a firm clasp, and shook it long and violently. Her cheeks were burning, her eyes tight shut. She threw the dice. Brenderby bent over the table.

"Alack!"

Her eyes flew open.

"I've won? Oh, I have won!"

"No. I was grieving for you, fairest, not for myself. You have lost."

Tears glistened on the end of her long lashes.

"Sir Deryk—p-please be gen-generous now! I don't want to—kiss you!"

"What! You cry off? Shame, Cleone!" he teased.

"You are monstrous unk-kind! It's my locket, and I d-don't want to kiss you! I don't, I don't! I hate you!"

"That adds spice, my dear. Must I take the price?"

She choked down a sob.

"Very well. Kiss me." She stood where she was, face upturned, with the resignation of a martyr.

He laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her.

"By God, Cleone, you're damnably beautiful!" he said thickly. "You've played with fire to-night—but I won't burn you too much!" He bent his head till his lips met hers.

At that inauspicious moment James and Philip walked into the room.

"No, it was here she said, Philip. I re—"

With a cry of horror Cleone sprang away from Sir Deryk, her cheeks flaming. Her wide eyes went from James' face of frozen astonishment to Philip's pale, furious countenance.

Philip took a half-step forward, his hand wrenching at his sword-hilt. Then he checked and slammed the sword back into the scabbard. Cleone had not struggled in Brenderby's embrace. What could he do? He had always thought her in love with the fellow. And on the top of his own proposal.... He swept a magnificent bow.

"Mille pardons, mademoiselle! It seems that I intrude."

Cleone winced at the biting sarcasm in his voice. She tried to speak, and failed. What could she say?

James came out of his stupor. He strode forward.

"What in thunder—"

"I don't kn-know!" quavered Cleone. "Oh—oh, heaven!"

Quickly Brenderby stepped to her side. He took her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Gentlemen, you have the honour of addressing my affianced wife," he said haughtily.

Philip's hand was on the curtain. It clenched slowly. He stood very still, his eyes on Cleone's face.

"Oh!" cried Cleone. "Oh, I—" She stopped helplessly. Heavens, what a position she was in! If she denied that she was betrothed to Brenderby, what could Philip think? What must he think? He had seen her in Sir Deryk's arms; the only excuse was a betrothal. And she had accused Philip of loose behaviour! Whatever happened, he must not think her a light woman! But, oh! how could she say she was betrothed to another when she desired nothing better than to fly to him for protection? She compromised.

"I—oh, I think I am about—to faint!" she said.

Sir Deryk drew her hand through his arm.

"No, no, my love! Tell these gentlemen that it is as I say."

Cleone looked at Philip. Was he sneering? She couldn't bear it.

"Yes," she said. "It is."

Philip seemed to stiffen. He bowed again.

"Permit me to offer my felicitations," he said, but his voice was not quite steady.

James hurried forward, furious.

"Your pardon, sir! I beg leave to contradict that statement!"

They all stared at him in amazement. Philip eyed him through his quizzing-glass.

"I—beg—your—pardon?" drawled Brenderby.

"I am betrothed to her myself!" shouted James.

Cleone's hands flew to her cheeks.

"Oh!" she fluttered. "Oh—oh, I am going to faint!"

Brenderby's eyes twinkled.

"Bear up a little longer, dear! Of course, I know there is no truth in what Mr. Winton says!"

"It is true!" James danced in his fury. "Cleone promised to wed me, only a little while back! You can't deny it, Clo! You did!"

"I did not!"

"You did! You said yes! You know you did!"

Cleone leaned on the nearest thing to her for support. It chanced to be Sir Deryk, but she was past caring.

"James, you know I—never meant it!"

Suddenly Philip's lips twitched. Brenderby was bubbling over with ill-suppressed merriment.

"My dear, this is most serious! Did you, indeed, accept Mr. Winton's proposal?"

"Yes, but he knows I did not mean it! I—"

"Cleone, do you tell me you accepted him and—"

"Yes, she did! And I hold her to her promise!"

Cleone's knees threatened to give way.

"James, I can't marry you! I won't marry you!"

"I hold you to your promise!" repeated James, almost beside himself.

"And I." Sir Deryk passed his arm round Cleone's waist. "I hold Cleone to the promise she has given me!"

Philip interposed.

"Probably the lady would be glad of a chair," he suggested evenly. "James, Brenderby—let your future wife sit down!"

Sir Deryk's shoulders shook. He led Cleone to the couch, and she sank on to it, hiding her face.

Philip swung the curtain aside.

"Permit me to withdraw. Decidedly I am de trop. Mademoiselle, messieurs!" He went out, and the curtain fell back into place.

"Oh, oh, oh!" moaned Cleone.

James bent over her.

"Come, Clo! Let me take you back to your aunt!"

Brenderby stepped to Cleone's other side.

"Cleone needs no other escort than that of her affianced husband, sir!"

"And that is I!"

"On the contrary, it is I! Cleone, sweet, come!"

Cleone sprang up.

"It's neither of you! Don't—touch me! Oh, that I should be so humiliated! I will not marry you, James! You know that I never heard what you said!"

James set his chin stubbornly.

"I'll not release you from your promise," he said.

"And nor will I." Sir Deryk was enjoying himself.

"You must release me, James!" cried Cleone. "I—I am going to wed—Sir Deryk!" She dissolved into tears. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? How—how dreadful it is! Let me go! I hate you both!" She fled from them and was at her aunt's side before either had time to follow her.

"Good gracious, child, what's amiss?" exclaimed Lady Malmerstoke. "You're as white as my wig!"

"Take me home!" begged Cleone. "I am b-betrothed to Sir Deryk and James! Oh, for heaven's sake, take me home!"