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‘Everywhere!’ he declared, still grasping her hands. ‘I had abandoned hope! Where do you live? Let me not lose you again!’
She gave a little laugh. ‘How absurd you are! In Harley Street, with my uncle, who was kind enough to take me into his family when my father died.’
He had never encountered a Welborne; from the direction it seemed probable that her uncle might be a banker, or a merchant, or an Indian nabob. His brain fleetingly acknowledged the possibility, and discarded it as a matter of no consequence. ‘But what, in God’s name, are you doing at a Pantheon masquerade?’ he demanded. ‘In such company, too! Do you tell me that your uncle brought you here?’
‘Oh, no, no!’ she said quickly. ‘Indeed, I do not think that he or my aunt knew just how it would be, for they do not go into society much.’
‘Then how comes it about that you are here?’
She did not seem to resent the question, but it was a moment before she answered it. She said then, with a little difficulty: ‘It was a party of Sir Godfrey Claines’s contriving. He is the man in the purple domino. A cousin of his, a Mrs Worksop, invited me, and my aunt wished me not to refuse. You see, sir, I – I have not the advantage of fortune, and my aunt has three daughters of her own, the eldest of whom she will bring out next year. It would not be reasonable to suppose that she would desire to be saddled with m
e under such circumstances.’
‘I understand you!’ he said, tightly holding her hands.
She had lowered her eyes, but she raised them at that, and said: ‘Ah, you are not to be thinking that I have met with unkindness! It is not so! I was bred in the country, and perhaps I am missish in not liking – But I was never more thankful in my life, sir, than when you came to my rescue just now!’
He released her hands at last. ‘Go and put on your cloak!’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘I will take you back to your uncle’s house.’
‘Mrs Worksop!’ she faltered. ‘Ought I not –’
‘No. She did not take such care of you that you owe her a particle of civility.’
‘Your sister! I collect that she too is present. I must not –’
‘It is of no consequence,’ he interrupted. ‘If she is here, it is not under my protection! Come, do as I bid you! Do you think I mean to let you slip through my fingers again?’
6
‘SURELY I MUST be dreaming!’ Ruth said, as the hack drew to a standstill. ‘I thought I should never see you again, and now –! But how can it be? You do not know me!’
‘I am very sure that I do. As for my own mind, I knew that the instant you opened your dear eyes, that day in Bond Street, and looked up into my face.’
‘It was so with you too!’ she said wonderingly.
He kissed her hand, and let it go. ‘It was so. Come, we must get out of this musty coach, and brave your uncle and aunt!’
‘Good heavens, you will not tell them –? They must think you mad! Pray do not –!’
‘No, not tonight,’ he said reassuringly, assisting her to alight.
‘I fear my aunt may be much displeased with me,’ she said. ‘Should you perhaps leave me now?’
‘No. Nor, I fancy, will your aunt be displeased,’ he replied.
The master of the house, they were informed by the servant who admitted them, was still at his club, but Mrs Welborne was at home, and in the drawing-room.
They found her deep in the pages of the newest marble-backed novel from the Circulating Library. Taken unawares, she looked up in surprise, and exclaimed: ‘Good God, Ruth, what in the world brings you home so soon? I declare, you are the most vexatious –’ She stopped short, her gaze travelling past Ruth to Mr Wrexham. One instant she sat with her jaw dropping, then she cast aside her novel and sprang up, a look compound of amazement and delight transfiguring her sharp countenance. ‘Oh –! Surely I cannot be mistaken? Is it not – Mr Wrexham?’
He bowed. ‘Yes, I am Wrexham, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I made the acquaintance of Miss Welborne a month and more ago, in Bond Street, as she may have told you.’
Her face was a study. ‘In Bond Street! You were the gentleman who –? Good God, Ruth, why did you not inform me? I am sure, sir, that had we but known my husband would have called on you to convey the sense of his obligation!’
Mr Wrexham, inured to flattery, and never famed for his social graces, cut her short, saying in his incisive way: ‘It is of no consequence, ma’am. What is of consequence is that I have brought Miss Welborne home this evening because I found her where no young lady of quality should be, and being subjected to such embarrassment as, I am persuaded, you would not wish her to be obliged to endure.’
‘No, indeed! I am sure, if I had had the least notion –’
‘Just so, ma’am. I am sure that I need not enlarge upon this topic. May I beg that you will give me leave to call tomorrow to see how Miss Welborne does?’
