Venetia (42 page)

But when she had heard the story of that autumn idyll she did believe it. She looked oddly at her daughter, and then began to fidget with the pots on the dressing-table, arranging and rearranging them. “You and Damerel!” she said, after a long silence. “Do you imagine he would be faithful to you?”

“I don’t know,” said Venetia. “I think he will always love me. You see, we are such dear friends.”

Lady Steeple’s eyes lifted quickly, staring at Venetia. “You’re a strange girl,” she said abruptly. “You don’t know what it means, though, to be—a social outcast!”

Venetia smiled. “But thanks to you and to Papa, ma’am, that’s what I have been, all my life.”

“I suppose you blame me for that, but how should I have guessed—”

“No, indeed I don’t blame you, but you will allow, ma’am, that you haven’t given me cause to be grateful to you,” Venetia said bluntly.

Lady Steeple shrugged, saying with a pettish note in her voice: “Well, I never wished for children! I told you so.”

“But I can’t believe that you wished us to be made unhappy.”

Of course I did not! But as for—”

“
I
am unhappy,” Venetia said, her gaze steady on that lovely, petulant countenance. “You could do a very little thing for me—such a
tiny
thing!—and I might be happy again, and grateful to you from the bottom of my heart!”

“It is too bad of you!” exclaimed Lady Steeple. “I might have known you would only try to cut up my peace—throw me into an irritation of nerves— What do you imagine I can do to help you?”

Sir Lambert, venturing to peep into the room half an hour later, found his daughter-in-law preparing to take her leave, and his wife in an uncertain temper, poised between laughter and vexation. He was not surprised; he had been afraid that she might find this meeting with her lovely daughter a little upsetting. Fortunately he was the bearer of tidings that were bound to raise her spirits.

“Oh, is it you, Lamb?” she called out. “Come in, and tell me how you like my daughter! I daresay you have been flirting with her already, for she is so pretty! Isn’t she? Don’t you think so?”

He knew that voice, rather higher-pitched than usual, full of brittle gaiety. He said: “Yes, that she is! Upon my soul, it’s devilish hard to tell you apart! I fancy you have the advantage, however—ay, you ain’t quite the equal of your mama, my dear—and you won’t mind my saying it, because she has perfect features, you know. Yes, yes, that was what Lawrence said, when he painted her likeness! Perfect features!”

Lady Steeple was seated at a small writing-table, but she got up, and came with a hasty step to stand beside Venetia, pulling her round to face a long looking-glass. For a minute she stared at the two mirrored faces, and then, to Venetia’s dismay, cast herself upon Sir Lambert’s burly form, crying: “She is five-and-twenty, Lamb!
five-and-twenty
!”

“Now, my pretty! now, now!” he responded, patting her soothingly. “Plenty of time for her to grow to be a beauty like her mama! There, now!”

She gave a hysterical little laugh, and tore herself away. “Oh, you are too absurd! Take her away! I must dress! I
abominate
morning callers! I look
hagged
!”

“Well, I can tell you that you don’t,” said Venetia, tucking a sealed letter into her reticule. “I was used to think, you know, when I was a little girl, that you were like a fairy, and so you are. I never was made to feel so clumsy in my life! I
wish
I knew how to walk as if I were floating!”

“Flattering creature! There, kiss me, and be off to seek your fortune! I wish you may find it! You won’t, of course, but don’t blame me for it!”

“Going to seek her fortune, is she?” said Sir Lambert. “So you have set up a secret between you? But here is your woman, my pretty, on the fret to make you ready to receive I know not how many people sent round from Roberts’s!”

“Oh, my new riding-habit!” exclaimed Lady Steeple, her face lighting up. “Send Louise in to me directly, Lamb! Dear child, I must bid you goodbye—I positively must! No Frenchman can make a riding-habit: Roberts has made mine ever since I came out! That’s why I came with the Lamb! I
hate
London—and in November, too!”

Once more Venetia was given a soft, scented cheek to kiss; she said: “Goodbye, ma’am—and
thank you
!
You have been very, very kind to me!”

She curtsied as Lady Steeple made a wry mouth at her, and then Sir Lambert ushered her out of the room, saying as he closed the door: “That’s a good gall I’m glad you said that to her! She feels it, you know—gets into the dumps! Not as young as she was! You didn’t object to my saying you wasn’t her equal?”

Venetia reassured him; he then said that he would take her downstairs to her maid, and, upon her disclosing that she had come alone, declared his resolve to escort her back to Cavendish Square. She begged him not to put himself out, saying that she was used to walk alone, and meant to do a little shopping in Bond Street, but to no avail.

“No, no, it will not do! I wonder at Maria Hendred, upon my word, I do! A lovely gal walking by herself! Ay, and all the Bond Street beaux ogling you, the rascals! You must give me the pleasure of escorting you, and no need to be in a worry that your mama might not like me to go with you. I promise you she won’t take a pet, for,” said Sir Lambert simply, “I shan’t mention the matter to her.”

So, as soon as Sir Lambert’s man had eased his master into his overcoat, handed him his hat, his gloves, and his walking-cane, Venetia sallied forth in his company, not ill-pleased to demonstrate to as many of her aunt’s acquaintances as she might be fortunate enough to meet that she stood on the best of terms with her disreputable stepfather. Sir Lambert’s was an impressive figure, and since his corpulence made rapid movement impossible to him their progress was slow. By the time they had turned into Bond Street they were fast friends, and Sir Lambert, besides behaving in a very gallant manner to his fair companion, had regaled her with several anecdotes of his youth, which made her laugh in a way that delighted him very much, and encouraged him to confide several rather warmer anecdotes to her. He accompanied her into a linen-draper’s shop, and was of the greatest assistance to her in choosing muslin for a dress; and when they came out would have carried the parcel for her had she not tucked it into her muff, telling him that she had never yet seen a Pink of the
Ton
carrying anything so dowdy as a parcel tied up with string.

There were a good many carriages in the road, and quite a number of modish-looking strollers, but it was not until Grosvenor Street was reached that Venetia had the satisfaction of seeing anyone with whom she was acquainted. She then recognized in an astonished countenance a lady whom she had met in Cavendish Square, and bowed slightly. Sir Lambert, always very polite, raised the beaver from his pomaded locks, and bowed too. The Cumberland corset which he wore creaked protestingly, but Venetia was quite amazed to see with what majestic grace so portly a man could perform this courtesy.

By this time they were abreast of a jeweller’s shop, and Sir Lambert, struck by a happy thought, said: “You know, my dear, I think, if you should not dislike it, we will take a look in here. Poor Aurelia is subject to fits of dejection, and there’s no doubt she was a trifle overset. You shall help me to choose some little thing to divert her mind!”

She was very willing, and considerably entertained to discover that his interpretation of “some little thing” proved to be a diamond pendant. Aurelia, he said, was partial to diamonds. It did not seem to Venetia that he stood in much need of guidance from her in making his choice, but she soon found that he liked to have his taste approved, so she stopped preferring any of the pendants which did not take his fancy, and dutifully admired each one of the three which obviously appealed to him. The choice at last made, he demanded to be shown some brooches, and here Venetia was allowed to have her way. She could not prefer an opulent brooch made up of sapphires and diamonds to a very pretty one of aquamarines. He did his best to persuade her that the aquamarines were mere trumpery, but when she laughed at him, and insisted that they were charming, he said: “Well, well, if you think so indeed I will buy it, for you have excellent taste, my dear, and I daresay you know best!”

They emerged from the shop to find Edward Yardley standing with his hands behind his back, closely studying a tray of rings set out in one of the windows. He turned his head just as Venetia tucked her hand in Sir Lambert’s proffered arm, and ejaculated in a voice loud enough to make a passer-by look over his shoulder at him: “
Venetia
!”

“Good-morning, Edward!” she said, with what he felt to be brazen calm. “I am very glad to see you, but pray don’t make the whole street a present. of my name! Sir, will you allow me to present Mr. Yardley to you? He is an old friend of mine, from Yorkshire. Edward, you are not acquainted, I fancy, with my father-in-law—Sir Lambert Steeple!”

“How-de-do?” said Sir Lambert, giving Edward two fingers. “Aha, you wish me at Jericho, don’t you? Well, I don’t blame you, but I don’t give up my prize! No, no, you may glare as much as you choose, but this little hand shall stay where it is!”

Edward might be said to have been taking full advantage of the permission so genially accorded him. As he spoke Sir Lambert patted the little hand on his arm in a fatherly way, and smiled down into Venetia’s merry eyes in a manner so far removed from fatherly that Edward was quite unable to contain himself, but said with a good deal less than his usual grave deliberation: “I am on my way to Cavendish Square, sir, and will escort Miss Lanyon!”

Sir Lambert was amused. His prominent blue eyes took Edward in from top to toe, missing no detail that marked him as the country squire of comfortable fortune but no touch of town bronze. This, then, was the inevitable
pretendant,
and, judging by the familiarity with which Venetia addressed him, he enjoyed her favour. Sir Lambert thought she might have done better for herself, but he wasn’t an ill-looking young fellow, and no doubt she knew her own business best. He looked down at her, a roguish gleam in his eye. “Shall we let him go along with us, my dear, or shall we give him the go-by? What do you say?”

This was too much for Edward. His countenance was already unbecomingly flushed, for not only had his wrath been aroused by the sight of Venetia with her hand in Sir Lambert’s arm, but his self-esteem was smarting under that experienced roue’s jovial but faintly contemptuous, scrutiny. Sir Lambert might be nearly double Edward’s age, but Edward resented his lazy assurance, and still more did he resent being regarded by Sir Lambert as a jealous stripling. He glared more fiercely than ever, and said with awful civility: “Miss Lanyon is obliged to you, sir, but will not put you to the trouble of escorting her farther!”

Sir Lambert chuckled. “Yes, yes, I see how it is! You would like to have it out with me at dawn! That’s the dandy! I like to see a young fellow ready to sport his Canvas! Lord, I was the devil of a fire-eater myself in my day, but that was before you were born, my boy! You can’t call me out, you know! Well, well, it’s too bad of me to roast you! Do you go along with us to the top of the street, and then, if my pretty little daughter likes, you may take her the rest of the way by yourself.”

Edward nearly choked. Before he could utter whatever rash words surged to his tongue Venetia intervened, saying in a tone of cool amusement: “Oswald Denny to the life! My dear Edward, do not
you
make a cake of yourself, I beg!”

“And who,” demanded Sir Lambert, pleasantly intrigued, “is Oswald Denny, eh? Oh, you may look demurely, but you don’t bamboozle me, puss! Yes, yes, I can see what a twinkle you have in your eye! I’ll be bound you have all the cockerels in Yorkshire squaring up to each other!”

She laughed, but turned it off, directing the conversation into channels less exacerbating to Edward. He, determined not to leave her with Sir Lambert and unable to wrest her forcibly away from that elderly buck, had nothing to do but to fall in beside her, and to reply, in stiff monosyllables, to such remarks as were from time to time addressed to him.

Arrived at the top of the street, Venetia stopped, and, withdrawing her hand from Sir Lambert’s arm, turned to face him, saying, with her friendliest smile: “Thank you, sir. You are a great deal too good to have come so far with me, and it would be quite infamous of me to drag you any farther. I am so very much obliged to you—and you were
perfectly
right: the Indian muslin will make up much better than the sprig!”

She held out her hand to him, and he clasped it warmly, sweeping off his curly-brimmed and shining beaver with an air many a budding dandy would have envied. She found that he was pressing into her hand the smaller of the two jeweller’s cases, and was for a moment bewildered. “But, sir—!”

He closed her fingers over the little box. “There, it’s nothing! A trumpery thing, but you seemed to like it the best! You will let me give you a little present—a trifle from your father-in-law!”

“Oh,
no
!”
she exclaimed. “Indeed, sir, you mustn’t!

Pray
—!”

“No, no, take it, my dear! You will oblige me very much by taking it! I never had a daughter, you know, but if I had I should have wished for one like you, with your sweet face, and your pretty ways!”

She was very much touched, and regardless alike of the passers-by and Edward’s speechless anger stood on tiptoe to kiss Sir Lambert’s cheek, one hand on his broad shoulder. “And I wish very much that you
had
been my father, sir,” she said. “I should have loved you much more than ever I loved my own, for you are a great deal kinder! Thank you! indeed I will take it, and remember you whenever I wear it, I promise you!”