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“It’s what everyone will think, Laurie,” warned Everett solemnly. “Particularly if you mean to conduct yourself like a plaster when the girl is about.”
“Well, everyone will be wrong, won’t they? Good God, I can’t foist a girl onto the town and then leave her to sink or swim!”
“Seems to me to be swimming pretty well,” observed Riseley.
Delagarde followed the direction of his gaze to where Maidie seemed to be the centre of an animated circle that no longer included his great-aunt. She was talking, that disconcertingly direct gaze of hers trained upon one of the two gentlemen who, with Lady Wingrove’s daughter and a couple of other females, were grouped about her. From the smiles and laughter, Maidie appeared to be amusing them, and Delagarde became conscious of a sensation of warmth mingled, most strangely, with something that felt suspiciously like discontent—which must be nonsense. He was glad she was indeed finding her feet. Although he would wager any sum at all Maidie was unconscious of saying anything comical. He was sorely tempted to go over and join them. But that, he was persuaded, could only result in Maidie’s discomfiture. She would not thank him for it.
“I am relieved she is making her way,” he said. “Which leaves me free to seek amusements of my own. Shall we go to the card room?”
Maidie watched the Viscount’s departure from the saloon with mixed feelings. She was very happy to think her demonstration of independence had not gone unnoticed. If Delagarde supposed she cared anything for the fact that the only time he had anything to say to her was when he had some stupid complaint to make, he was very much mistaken. The early interest in her hair appeared to have died down, and she was able to forget about it for moments together. She was actually enjoying herself a little, even if the persons with whom she was conversing were the sort Great-uncle would have condemned as empty-headed fribbles. What should take them to laugh inanely every time she opened her mouth, she was at a loss to understand. But they had served a useful purpose. No doubt Delagarde supposed her to be happily engaged, which had at last made him relax his oppressive vigilance.
“Do tell us more about the stars, Lady Mary,” demanded young Darby Hampford, recalling Maidie’s wandering thoughts.
Maidie frowned. She was not going to recite any more names to them. The ladies, whose scanty knowledge consisted merely of the Zodiacal signs under which they had been born, were apt to shriek with mirth when the gentlemen, who had Latin, translated for their benefit. All had heard of Ursa Major, the Great Bear, but it seemed to provide delight of no common order to discover the existence of the Great Dog, the Little Dog and the Whale, while the Serpent-bearer and Watersnake produced artistic shudders. Familiarity having robbed Maidie of the ability to share in such reactions, she chose instead to discourse on stars in general.
“Well, they are at a very great distance from us. We are indebted to the Reverend James Bradley for having calculated in measurement the positions of many thousands of stars.”
“But how far are they?” asked one of the ladies. “They do not look to be very distant.”
“That is because the light we see appears to be close. But it is said starlight has travelled millions and millions of miles before it reaches us. The sun is much nearer than any of the stars.”
Maidie saw disbelief mingling with awe in the faces about her. How odd to find so much ignorance of what was to her a commonplace. There was much more she might have gone on to explain, had not an interruption occurred—one distinctly unwelcome.
“My dear Mary, do not be prosing on forever about your dratted stars!”
Maidie turned quickly to find Adela at her elbow. A false smile twisting her mouth, she simpered at Maidie’s companions. “You must not encourage Lady Mary to ride upon her hobby-horse. She will continue all night, and I dare say nothing could be more tedious.” Grasping Maidie’s arm, she gave it a warning pinch, and added, “Besides, I must drag my little cousin away. We have not had a chance to converse this age. Come, Mary.”
Reluctant, but as unable to repulse Adela’s strong hold as she had been that of Delagarde earlier, Maidie allowed herself to be pulled into the other saloon which was relatively uninhabited, bar a couple in earnest colloquy, and one or two older ladies seated in desultory discussion to one side.
“What do you want with me, Adela?” Maidie asked, remembering—for she was learning fast—to keep her voice low. “You cannot pretend to be anxious for my company.”
“How you do take one up!” Then Adela smiled in what Maidie supposed she must imagine was a winning way, but which only served to increase her sense of the other’s duplicity. “Need we be enemies? I do think, Mary, you owe me at least a semblance of kinship in public. I assure you I have been obliged to respond to several impertinent enquiries as to why you are not in town with me.”
“What have you answered?”
“I have told Lady Hester’s own tale. What else could I do? I am not so foolish as to declare my wrongs to the world.”
Maidie regarded her with scepticism. “You mean Firmin has instructed you to behave with circumspection.” She saw the daggers leap back into her cousin’s eyes and knew she was right. “I am glad he at least has accepted the situation.”
“Not without some qualms.” Adela’s tone was back to sharpness. “He places no more dependence on your discretion, my dear Mary, than I do myself—an opinion which your conduct tonight has done nothing to alter. I can only be thankful it is not I who must answer to charges of your blunt insolence. People will soon be saying you are disgracefully ill bred.”
It had needed only this to crown a singularly unpleasant evening. Lady Rankmiston—Delagarde—and now Adela. Ill bred? An insult to Great-uncle!
“Why must everyone tell me how to behave? Am I an upstart mushroom pushing my way into a rank of society where I have no place? No, Adela. I outrank many of the ladies here, yet I am supposed to alter my whole character to suit their notions. If not for Lady Hester, I should be much inclined to abandon the entire scheme.”
Adela gave a false laugh. “Do not expect me to sympathise. Not that I have the remotest guess what your precious scheme may be.”
“You need not dissemble. You know I am here, like every other damsel, to find a husband.”
“Then I wonder you will insist upon foolishly ruining your own chances,” Adela returned peevishly. “But I do not know why I should complain of that. The more you drive his rivals away—which you are bound to do, for gentlemen cannot bear a female to be outspoken—the better reason you will have to reconsider Eustace’s suit.” She added, with a glint of malice, “Unless, that is, you have some idea of entrapping Delagarde.”
Chapter Seven
Maidie slept badly. The notion, once instilled into her head, took strong possession of her mind. A ludicrous suggestion, that went without saying. Nothing could have been further from her thoughts than setting her cap at the Viscount. But that Adela could say it, could even suppose it, had given her furiously to think.
When she looked at her own actions, and realised the construction which might be put upon them by an unprejudiced observer, her cheeks burned in the darkness. Thank heaven no one but Adela knew how she had bearded Delagarde! Thrusting herself into his life, and placing herself at his mercy. Worse, she knew she would have done it even had Lady Hester not been there.
The remembrance of that first encounter threw her into a worse case than ever. Had not Lady Hester hinted at the same suspicion? What had she said? Something about wondering how high Maidie might be aiming. But she had left off that theme soon enough. After Maidie had mentioned her independence. A creeping suspicion made her flesh crawl. It was not—it could not be—that Lady Hester had supported her because of her independence?
