The Determined Bachelor (18 page)

“Resent it, no! But then, I chose it of my own free will.”

Sir Basil had seen her glance toward the child, and evidently thinking better of it himself, remarked that it was a most interesting subject, which should be pursued further in the future.

“In the meantime, Nicole,” said he, coughing, “I suppose you have consumed sufficient cake to keep you happy for an hour or two. Mind you do not give yourself a belly ache, else we shall not be able to go to Carlton House.”

This was certainly the one remonstrance capable of making the child nearly choke, and she instantly set down her plate.

“Oh, dear! I have not eaten so very much, Uncle Basil!”

Uncle Basil could not have looked, at that moment, less like a doting uncle and more like a somber Baronet. He made, however, a faint attempt to smile indulgently, an attempt which struck Anne as exceedingly strange after the natural easiness of his manner so short a time ago.

“But it is enough. Now then, ladies, I fear that I have work to do. You will excuse me?”

And rising from his chair, the Ambassador made a curt bow, and left the room.

Chapter XIII

If Anne had been twice stunned that afternoon, the first time at seeing her employer changed from his usual self into a laughing stranger, and then, as quickly, back again, she was destined to be still more amazed by the events of the next few days. Nicole could offer no explanation for her guardian's transformation, but with a child's acceptance, would not question it either. It seemed to her only that Sir Basil had come into his true self, had found the good nature which, before, had been hidden by some freak of nature or accident. She was, therefore, perplexed by her governess's questions more than by the change itself.

“Why, I suppose he has not been feeling well,” she offered, with a shrug of her shoulders. “In any case, I like him much better now—and I believe he likes me a little bit, too! We did have such a lovely time, Miss Calder—if only you had been with us!”

Anne wished she had been there even more than her pupil, if only to see what had set off his good humour, for she would not believe it had happened of itself. As to the succeeding transformation, she was perfectly sure that she knew what had caused
that
—the sight of her had obviously affected him very badly. What else could explain his instantaneous change of mood, the moment he had seen her? If this was too unlikely an explanation, considering that she could not mean anything to him, she nevertheless managed to explain it to herself: “It is perfectly clear: Sir Basil detests women, and even I, a lowly governess, must represent to him the idiocy of my sex.”

The explanation would not satisfy her completely, however.
Anne was too keen to judge of human nature, for so she had always believed, to think that so profound a metamorphosis could have been set off only by the sight of her. She would not give it any further thought, however: what had been once of great interest as the subject of a novel, could offer no further amusement now that she had given up the project. And well out of it I am, too, thought she. Sir Basil is beyond everything for changefulness and obscurity. Had I the time and the energy, I might devote myself to a lifetime study of his character and still remain as puzzled as I am now.

Indeed, Sir Basil was so unlike any gentleman that Anne had ever seen that he defied every preconception she had ever entertained about manhood. Even excepting his difference in station, wealth, sophistication, and education, she could not reconcile his strange ways with any idea she had ever had of human nature. When he ought to have been warm, he was cold, when another man might have been angry, perverse, or passionate, Sir Basil remained aloof and cool. Never mind: She would do her work, and have done. Only let some other theme present itself to her, and she would take up her pen again.
The Determined Bachelor
(for so she had already entitled the proposed novel) would never be written, at least by her. Let some more philosophical, some wiser and older writer undertake the chore, if there was such a creature upon the earth.

Thus Ann perceived her employer on that Sunday afternoon, and, had she been allowed the time or interest to think upon it again on Monday, she would certainly have felt the same. But Monday was taken up with so many preparations for the impending visit to Carlton House, which was to be on Tuesday, that she had not a moment for any other thought. Nicole must be clad and tutored, drilled in table etiquette, and etiquette before the Prince. She must be taught which fork to use, when and how to lift her cup, and what she might offer in response to His Highness's questions, should he address her directly. Lady Cardovan was of vast usefulness in all of this, and seemed so delighted by the whole process, taking such infinite pleasure in watching the little girl progress from ignorance to expertise, that she might have been going herself on a first visit to the Prince.

“Have you discovered who shall go to chaperone Nicole?” asked she of Anne whilst they were waiting for a servant to fetch a ribbon from the Countess's own dressing room.

“I can only assume that Sir Basil will go,” replied Anne. “Nothing has been said to me to make me think otherwise.”

“Lord! I wish I could be an invisible observer to see it!” laughed Her Ladyship, and Anne joined in her mirth.

“Why do not
you
go, Lady Cardovan? You have known the Prince longer than Sir Basil, and are certainly better fit to undertake the task than he.”

“Oh,
do
come, Your Ladyship!” exclaimed Nicole, tugging at the lady's hand. “I should be so happy if you would—f or I am sure I shall do something wrong, or say something amiss.”

“Hush, child—there is nothing to be afraid of. I shall not go. I do not go about much any more. When someone wishes very much to see me, they come here.”

“Even the Prince?” demanded Nicole, her eyes very wide.

“Even the Prince,” responded Lady Cardovan with a nod. “He has not come very often, but he has come. I believe he likes to get away from his perpetual train of pomp from time to time, and pretend he is no different from the rest of us.”

Anne smiled at hearing this. Yes, it must be true—how cumbersome it must be, sometimes, to be a monarch! And yet, she could not imagine a better chaperone for Nicole than Lady Cardovan. She dearly wished Her Ladyship could be persuaded to go, but no amount of coaxing or argument would make her change her mind. No: it was the place of Sir Basil, or Sir Basil's governess to go. Lady Cardovan must be only a friend, and however dearly she loved the little girl, she would not usurp the proper duties of her guardian.

Anne saw the wisdom of this at last, and ceased to argue. Nicole, however, was determined, and much dismayed when Lady Cardovan gave her a final, and very firm, response. She had only recently commenced to feel at ease with Sir Basil, and may be excused for desiring a more trustworthy companion on her first visit to Carlton House. What if she should make some terrible blunder? Sir Basil, she was sure, would not excuse her so easily as Lady Cardovan or Miss Calder.

The matter was arranged in the end very differently from what anyone had envisioned. Nicole and her governess took their supper alone that evening in the schoolroom, as was their habit when Sir Basil dined away from home. With a great deal of coaxing, Nicole was persuaded at length to lie down in her bed, although she swore that she would not be able to sleep one wink all night from excitement. Anne, hoping to use her free time that evening to write a letter to Ben, went directly to her own bedchamber as soon as Nicole
had been tucked in. She had only just commenced to write, however, when a knock came at the door. Thinking it was Nicole, incapable of sleep and desiring to be kept company, she rose from her chair to answer, arranging her features into a stern look. But the figure at the door belonged to a footman, who inquired very civilly if Miss Calder was too busy to speak to the Ambassador for a moment?

Amazed, Anne shook her head. A glance at the clock told her it was not yet ten o'clock—much earlier than Sir Basil was accustomed to return from an evening party.

“Sir Basil wished to say that he would not disturb you if you were occupied,” declared the footman.

“No, I am perfectly at liberty to come,” responded Anne, wondering what the matter could be. Seizing her shawl, she descended the stairs behind the footman, who, opening the door to the library, bowed and withdrew.

Sir Basil, still in his evening clothes, was standing before a wall of shelves filled with volumes. He did not turn around when Anne came in, but a slight movement of his head made her believe that he knew she was there. Uncertain what to do, she stood in the doorway and waited for him to notice her presence.

After a moment, Sir Basil spoke. His voice was meditative, as if he were only continuing a conversation he had been holding with himself silently.

“I have often thought,” he murmured, “that if I had my life to live over again, I should have chosen to live among books rather than people.”

Anne, at a loss for how to respond, said nothing. She knew not what was expected by the Ambassador, nor if he really desired a response. For a moment, she actually thought he had been speaking to himself, and feeling the embarrassment that one does experience upon stumbling upon a private conversation, had a sudden urge to turn and go, as quietly as she had come. But just then the Baronet spoke again.

“What do you think, Miss Calder? But, no:
you
do not have my difficulty. I suppose you cannot even comprehend what it is like to feel so much easier among ideas than human beings.”

Now the Baronet turned and, with a quizzical smile, seemed for several moments to examine her countenance. Not knowing whether to smile or speak, and feeling uncertain of what she
could
say, even if she had any desire to do so,
Anne remained silent, only growing increasingly nervous beneath his gaze.

What did he mean? Was this the preamble to a dismissal? Had she angered him in some way which she could neither remember nor guess at? Sir Basil had already proved himself beyond her comprehension: and with every passing moment, Anne became less sure than ever of her convictions.

But if Sir Basil had some motive for this interview, he evidently did not mean to reveal it at once. Bidding her to take a chair, he remained himself upon his feet, first walking to the hearth, where he toyed for a moment with some little artifacts upon the mantel, and exclaimed:

“How I loathe rented houses! Everything in them is strange, yet oddly complete, as if some retinue of decorators and a model housekeeper had come in, simply in order to anticipate one's needs. Everything is in its place, down to the last gew-gaw. Yet nothing has any personal significance. What a mockery it makes of one!”

Hardly more sure of herself than she had been before, but sensing that she must say something, Anne murmured:

“You must be restless to be in Paris again, Sir. I can well imagine how you must miss the Embassy.”

“Bah!” grunted the Baronet, setting down the miniature he had been examining with a thud. “I don't miss the Embassy one bit. It is only another temporary address, one of a long line I have occupied, Miss Calder. “I miss my
work
—it is abominable to be away. I am completely at a loss when I have nothing to occupy me.”

“But surely you have a great deal to attend to here, Sir!” exclaimed Anne. I know that you are every morning with the Prince, and every afternoon at the Foreign Office.”

“Where the entire scene consists of several fat old men, gossiping behind each other's backs. Don't look so shocked, my dear Miss Calder. Governments are very little different from other branches of human endeavour; they are no better than the men who make them up, and I have not found in the whole length of my life, above one or two men whom I should trust with the destiny of a village, much less of a nation.”

“But the Prince, Sir—does not he regulate England's destiny?”

Now Sir Basil, who had wandered over to the bookshelves again and had been staring abstractedly at them, swung around with a brilliant, if sardonic smile:

“What innocence! The Prince! Miss Calder, do you know who has governed our destiny since the King succumbed to his—ah—malaise? A vain, fat, infantile peacock, who cares more for his cravats than for the whole human race put together. Excuse me. Try, if you will, to erase that from your memory.”

Anne, her eyes as wide as her ears were stunned, mumbled, “I shall forget it, Sir Basil. Pray do not speak to me any more, for I am afraid I shall not be able to listen if you do.”

Sir Basil's whole face had been frozen when he spoke, but now, watching the governess sitting in her chair, her hands pressed tightly together in her lap, her usually candid eyes large with shock and uncertainty, his own features relaxed into a smile.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Calder: I ought not to have put you in such an awkward position. You must realize that His Highness, is, to me, more than a mere sovereign—he is my employer, to whom I must justify myself every day, and upon whom I must depend to be infallible. When he is not, as most employers are not—” this with a rueful smile—“it affects not only my disposition, but in some cases, the whole population of England.”

Anne, grateful for the intended, if not spoken, apology, smiled down at her hands.