CHAPTER VIII.
_Which Is Rather Strange_.
IT WAS on the morning after the assembly at Bellair House that Ferdinand
was roused from his welcome slumbers, for he had passed an almost
sleepless night, by his servant bringing him a note, and telling him
that it had been left by a lady in a carriage. He opened it, and read as
follows:--
‘Silly, silly Captain Armine! why did you not come to my Vauxhall last
night? I wanted to present you to the fairest damsel in the world, who
has a great fortune too; but that you don’t care about. When are you
going to be married? Miss Grandison looked charming, but disconsolate
without her knight. Your mother is an angel, and the Duchess of-----is
quite in love with her. Your father, too, is a worthy man. I love your
family very much. Come and call upon poor old doting bedridden H. B.,
who is at home every day from two to six to receive her friends. Has
charming Lady Armine got a page? I have one that would just suit her. He
teases my poor squirrel so that I am obliged to turn him away; but he is
a real treasure. That fine lady, Mrs. Montgomery Floyd, would give her
ears for him; but I love your mother much more, and so she shall have
him. He shall come to her to-night. All the world takes tea with H. B.
on Thursday and Saturday.’
‘One o’clock!’ said Ferdinand. ‘I may as well get up and call in
Brook-street, and save my mother from this threatened infliction.
Heigho! Day after day, and each more miserable than the other. How will
this end?’
When Ferdinand arrived in Brook-street, he went up stairs without
being announced, and found in the drawing-room, besides his mother and
Katherine, the duchess, Lord Montfort, and Henrietta Temple.
The young ladies were in their riding-habits. Henrietta appeared before
him, the same Henrietta whom he had met, for the first time, in the
pleasaunce at Armine. Retreat was impossible. Her Grace received
Ferdinand cordially, and reminded him of old days. Henrietta bowed, but
she was sitting at some distance with Miss Grandison, looking at some
work. Her occupation covered her confusion. Lord Montfort came forward
with extended hand.
‘I have the pleasure of meeting an old friend,’ said his lordship.
Ferdinand just touched his lordship’s finger, and bowed rather stiffly;
then, turning to his mother, he gave her Lady Bellair’s note. ‘It
concerns you more than myself,’ he observed.
‘You were not at Lady Bellair’s last night, Captain Armine,’ said her
Grace.
‘I never go anywhere,’ was the answer.
‘He has been a great invalid,’ said Lady Armine.
‘Where is Glastonbury, Ferdinand?’ said Lady Armine. ‘He never comes
near us.’
‘He goes every day to the British Museum.’
‘I wish he would take me,’ said Katherine. ‘I have never been there.
Have you?’ she enquired, turning to Henrietta.
‘I am ashamed to say never,’ replied Henrietta. ‘It seems to me that
London is the only city of which I know nothing.’
‘Ferdinand,’ said Katherine, ‘I wish you would go with us to the Museum
some day. Miss Temple would like to go. You know Miss Temple,’ she
added, as if she of course supposed he had not that pleasure.
Ferdinand bowed; Lord Montfort came forward, and turned the conversation
to Egyptian antiquities. When a quarter of an hour had passed, Ferdinand
thought that he might now withdraw.
‘Do you dine at home, Katherine, to-day?’ he enquired.
Miss Grandison looked at Miss Temple; the young ladies whispered.
‘Ferdinand,’ said Katherine, ‘what are you going to do?’
‘Nothing particular.’
‘We are going to ride, and Miss Temple wishes you would come with us.’
‘I should be very happy, but I have some business to attend to.’
‘Dear Ferdinand, that is what you always say. You really appear to me to
be the most busy person in the world.’
‘Pray come, Captain Armine,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Thank you; it is really not in my power.’ His hat was in his hand;
he was begging her Grace to bear his compliments to the duke, when
Henrietta rose from her seat, and, coming up to him, said, ‘Do, Captain
Armine, come with us; I ask you as a favour.’
That voice! Oh! it came o’er his ear ‘like the sweet south;’ it unmanned
him quite. He scarcely knew where he was. He trembled from head to foot.
His colour deserted him, and the unlucky hat fell to the floor; and yet
she stood before him, awaiting his reply, calm, quite calm, serious,
apparently a little anxious. The duchess was in earnest conversation
with his mother. Lord Montfort had walked up to Miss Grandison, and was
engaged in arranging a pattern for her. Ferdinand and Henrietta
were quite unobserved. He looked up; he caught her eye; and then he
whispered, ‘This is hardly fair.’
She stretched forth her hand, took his hat, and laid it on the table;
then, turning to Katherine, she said, in a tone which seemed to admit
no doubt, ‘Captain Armine will ride with us;’ and she seated herself by
Lady Armine.
The expedition was a little delayed by Ferdinand having to send for his
horse; the others had, in the meantime, arrived. Yet this half-hour,
by some contrivance, did at length disappear. Lord Montfort continued
talking to Miss Grandison. Henrietta remained seated by Lady Armine.
Ferdinand revolved a great question in, his mind, and it was this: Was
Lord Montfort aware of the intimate acquaintance between himself and
Miss Temple? And what was the moving principle of her present conduct?
He conjured up a thousand reasons, but none satisfied him. His curiosity
was excited, and, instead of regretting his extracted promise to join
the cavalcade, he rejoiced that an opportunity was thus afforded him of
perhaps solving a problem in the secret of which he now began to feel
extremely interested.
And yet in truth when Ferdinand found himself really mounted, and riding
by the side of Henrietta Temple once more, for Lord Montfort was very
impartial in his attentions to his fair companions, and Ferdinand
continually found himself next to Henrietta, he really began to think
the world was bewitched, and was almost sceptical whether he was or was
not Ferdinand Armine. The identity of his companion too was so complete:
Henrietta Temple in her riding-habit was the very image most keenly
impressed upon his memory. He looked at her and stared at her with
a face of curious perplexity. She did not, indeed, speak much; the
conversation was always general, and chiefly maintained by Lord
Montfort, who, though usually silent and reserved, made on this occasion
successful efforts to be amusing. His attention to Ferdinand too was
remarkable; it was impossible to resist such genuine and unaffected
kindness. It smote Ferdinand’s heart that he had received his lordship’s
first advances so ungraciously. Compunction rendered him now doubly
courteous; he was even once or twice almost gay.
The day was as fine as a clear sky, a warm sun, and a western breeze
could render it. Tempted by so much enjoyment, their ride was long. It
was late, much later than they expected, when they returned home by the
green lanes of pretty Willesden, and the Park was quite empty when they
emerged from the Edgware-road into Oxford-street.
‘Now the best thing we can all do is to dine in St. James’-square,’ said
Lord Montfort. ‘It is ten minutes past eight. We shall just be in time,
and then we can send messages to Grosvenor-square and Brook-street. What
say you, Armine? You will come, of course?’
‘Thank you, if you would excuse me.’
‘No, no; why excuse you?’ said Lord Montfort: ‘I think it shabby to
desert us now, after all our adventures.’
‘Really you are very kind, but I never dine out.’
‘Dine out! What a phrase! You will not meet a human being; perhaps not
even my father. If you will not come, it will spoil everything.’
‘I cannot dine in a frock,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I shall,’ said Lord Montfort, ‘and these ladies must dine in their
habits, I suspect.’
‘Oh! certainly, certainly,’ said the ladies.
‘Do come, Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.
‘I ask you as a favour,’ said Henrietta, turning to him and speaking in
a low voice.
‘Well,’ said Ferdinand, with a sigh.
‘That is well,’ said Montfort; ‘now let us trot through the Park, and
the groom can call in Grosvenor-square and Brook-street, and gallop
after us. This is amusing, is it not?’