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Dorothea, coming impetuously into the saloon, exclaimed on the threshold: ‘Oh, I am so very glad to see you, sir! I have wished so much to thank you, and I have not known how to do so, for I never asked you your name! I don’t know how I came to be such a goose!’
He came towards her, and took her outstretched hand in his left one, bowing over it. She perceived that he was quite as handsome as she had remembered, and that his right arm lay in a sling. She said in quick concern: ‘How comes this about? Have you broke your arm, sir?’
‘No, no!’ he replied, retaining her hand. ‘A slight accident to my shoulder merely! It is of no consequence. I trust that all went well that evening, and that your absence had not been discovered?’
‘No, and I have not mentioned it to anyone!’ she assured him. ‘I am so very much obliged to you! I cannot imagine how you contrived to prevail upon that man not to hit Charlie! Bernard told me that Charlie hit him, and I must say I am sorry, because it was quite my fault, and although he is so odious I did not wish him to be hurt precisely!’
‘To own the truth, he had little expectation of being hurt,’ he said, with a smile. He released her hand, and seemed to hesitate. ‘Lord Rotherfield, Miss Saltwood
, does not wish to appear odious in your eyes, believe me!’
‘Is he a friend of yours?’ she asked. ‘Pray forgive me! I am sure he cannot be so very bad if that is so!’
‘I fear he has been quite my worst friend,’ he said ruefully. ‘Forgive me, my child! I am Lord Rotherfield!’
She stood quite still, staring at him, at first pale, and then with a flush in her cheeks and tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘You are Lord Rotherfield?’ she repeated. ‘And I said such things about you, and you let me, and were so very kind, and allowed yourself to be wounded – Oh, I am sure you must be the best person in the world!’
‘I am certainly not that, though I hope I am not the worst. Will you forgive me for having deceived you?’
She put out her hand, and again he took it, and held it. ‘How can you talk so? I am quite ashamed! I wonder you did not turn me out of doors! How good you are! How truly noble!’
‘Ah, how can you talk so?’ he said quickly. ‘Do not! I do not think I had ever, before that evening, wished to please anyone but myself. You came to me – enchanting and abominable child that you are! – and I wanted more than anything in life to please you. I am neither good nor noble – though I am not as black as I was painted to you. I assure you, I had never the least intention of wounding your brother mortally.’
‘Oh no! Had I known it was you I should never have thought that!’
He raised her hand to his lips. The slight fingers seemed to tremble, and then to clasp his. He looked up, but before he could speak Lord Saltwood walked into the room.
Lord Saltwood stopped dead on the threshold, his eyes starting from their sockets. He stared in a dazed way, opened his mouth, shut it again, and swallowed convulsively.
‘How do you do?’ said Rotherfield, with cool civility. ‘You must forgive me for having been unable to receive you when you called at my house the other day.’
‘I came – I wished – I wrote you a letter!’ stammered Saltwood, acutely uncomfortable.
‘Certainly you did, and I have come to acknowledge it. I am much obliged to you, and beg you will think no more of the incident.’
‘C-came to see me?’ gasped Saltwood.
‘Yes, for I understand you to be the head of your family, and I have a request to make of you. I trust that our late unfortunate contretemps may not have made the granting of it wholly repugnant to you.’
‘No, no! I mean – anything in my power, of course! I shall be very happy – ! If you would care to step into the book-room, my lord – ?’
‘Thank you.’ Rotherfield turned, and smiled down into Dorothea’s anxious eyes. ‘I must take my leave of you now, but I trust Lady Saltwood will permit me to call on her tomorrow.’
‘Yes, indeed, I am persuaded – that is, I do hope she will!’ said Dorothea naïvely.
There was a laugh in his eye, but he bowed formally and went out with Saltwood, leaving her beset by a great many agitating emotions, foremost amongst which was a dread that Lady Saltwood would, in the failing state of her health, feel herself to be unequal to the strain of receiving his lordship. When, presently, Saltwood went up to the drawing-room, looking as though he had sustained a severe shock, Dorothea was seized by a conviction that her escapade had been disclosed to him, and she fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber, and indulged in a hearty bout of tears. From this abyss of woe she was jerked by the unmistakable sounds of Augusta in strong hysterics. Hastily drying her cheeks, she ran down the stairs to render whatever assistance might be needed, and to support her parent through this ordeal. To her amazement, she found Lady Saltwood, whom she had left languishing on the sofa, not only upon her feet, but looking remarkably well. To her still greater amazement, the invalid folded her in the fondest of embraces, and said: ‘Dearest, dearest child! I declare I don’t know if I am on my head or my heels! Rotherfield! A countess! You sly little puss, never to have told me that you had met him! And not even out yet! You must be presented at once: that I am determined upon! He is coming to visit me tomorrow. Thank heaven you are just Augusta’s size! You must wear the pomona silk dress Celestine has just made for her: I knew how it would be, the instant I brought you out! I was never so happy in my life!’
Quite bewildered, Dorothea said: ‘Presented? Wear Augusta’s new dress? Mama, why?’
‘My innocent treasure!’ exclaimed Lady Saltwood. ‘Tell me, my love, for you must know I am scarcely acquainted with him, do you – do you like Lord Rotherfield?’
‘Oh, Mama!’ said Dorothea impulsively. ‘He is exactly like Sir Charles Grandison, and Lord Orville, only far, far better!’
‘Dearest Dorothea!’ sighed her ladyship ecstatically. ‘Charlie, do not stand there staring! Go and throw a jug of water over Augusta this instant! This is not the moment for hysterics!’
Hazard
The girl stood under the light of the guttering candles, still as a statue, her hands clasped in front of her, and no colour in her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple muslin gown with blue ribbons, and wore no ornament save the fillet threaded through her gold hair. She did not look at her half-brother, nor at any one of the five other men who were gathered round the table in the centre of the over-heated room. But she knew who was present; she had seen them all in the one swift glance she had cast at them under her lashes as she had entered the room. There was Lord Amberfield, sprawling over the table with his head pillowed on his arm; Mr Marmaduke Shapley, not so drunk as Amberfield, leaning on his chair and giggling; Sir Thomas Fort, a little blear-eyed, very purple in the face; Mr Lionel Winter, idiotically smiling; and Carlington Carlington with his black curls in disorder, and his exquisite cravat crumpled, his lean cheeks hectically flushed, and a reckless look in his bright eyes.
