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“Oh, don’t poker up, child!” said the elder lady, forestalling her with a lifted finger. “Dear Maidie, of course you are quite right to pursue your goal. As well you have made the decision, for I fear you will have no peace from your would-be wooers.”
“Well, I have the advantage of them, ma’am,” Maidie said, her flush dying down.
“True enough. But here I must echo Laurie. Take care whom you choose, child, for you know nothing of the world. Fortunately Delagarde does know, and he will, I am persuaded, at least discharge his duty honourably.”
Conscious of a resurgence of feeling, Maidie poised on the edge. There was a hollow in her chest, but at the same time, a flicker of resentment.
“Precisely what does that mean, ma’am?”
Lady Hester shrugged a little, as if the matter was of small account. “Why, only that Laurie will do what he can to prevent you from marrying to your own disadvantage.”
“I beg your pardon?” Maidie could hardly believe her own ears. Was it possible? “Delagarde will prevent me?”
“If he can. I am sure he will feel himself in honour bound to discourage you from an imprudent match.”
Chapter Twelve
Maidie cast a quick glance about Lady Wingrove’s crowded saloon, and noted with satisfaction that several pairs of male eyes had already spotted her. Leaving Lady Hester’s side, she moved to seat herself on a small sofa, determined to encourage every gentlemen who came within six feet of her.
The suggestion Delagarde could feel himself called upon to object to her choice of husband had thrown her into strong indignation. Delagarde to be a judge of what might suit her! Her marriage to be subject to Delagarde’s approval! Had she not told him at the outset she required nothing more from him than his sponsorship? Of course, she saw he was bound to interfere. Had he not done so upon every possible occasion? He would not marry her himself, oh, no. But he apparently reserved to himself the right to arrange her marriage to another. Not, of course, that she wanted to marry him—who would?—but it was the principle of the thing. What right had he to dictate to her upon her choice of husband? Well, he would not get the chance. She would get herself betrothed in the shortest possible order.
In accordance with this determination, and in unconscious challenge to Delagarde, she arrayed herself in the blue silk gown of which he had so much disapproved that first evening. She did not go so far as to wear the riband and feathers, instead instructing Trixie to dress her hair high, in a knot of ringlets from the crown, with a tendril or two curling down her cheeks. For the first time taking a serious interest in her appearance, Maidie examined her features closely in the mirror. A discouraging exercise but, recollecting she was no longer dependent upon her looks, she dismissed the despised image from her mind, disposed a lace shawl about her elbows, and went down to dinner.
If she had looked for some reaction to the blue silk gown from Delagarde, she was disappointed. His manner was as cool as her own, and he exchanged more conversation with her puzzled duenna, seated on his right, than with either Maidie or his great-aunt. Lady Hester kept up a steady flow of cheerful small talk throughout, to which Maidie responded somewhat at random, for it was difficult to concentrate when the object of one’s annoyance would keep intruding upon one’s attention. Maidie could not withstand a flutter of apprehension at the thought of how he might react to what she intended to do.
The first recipient of her newfound graciousness was Lord Bulkeley. His grossness and his advanced years were alike forgiven, as Maidie smiled a welcome and patted the seat beside her. His lordship, taken aback but nothing loath, sat himself down and proceeded to display his charm.
“Lady Mary, how do you do? I have only just learned you recently suffered from a nasty head cold. I do beg of you to take better care of yourself!”
“Thank you, I am quite well now,” Maidie said, adding without thinking, “You need not suppose I am going to prevent you seeking your fortune at my hands by dying.”
The full features before her reddened, and a pendulous chin dropped. “Lady Mary, I protest! You mistake me, I protest.”
“Do I? Are you not then desirous of wedding me? I thought I had been reliably informed your pockets were to let. But perhaps that is wrong?”
The unfortunate Bulkeley sat champing, apparently unable to think of any suitable reply to make. Puzzled, Maidie raised her brows. But before she could speak, another voice intervened.
“There’s for you, Bulkeley! Come away, there, and allow others place!”
Maidie looked up into a merry face she vaguely recalled, but could not put a name to. “Sir?”
“Lady Mary, send him about his business, I beg of you!” said the gentleman. He was graceful, not at all handsome, but with a jovial air which certainly attracted Maidie more than Bulkeley. She acted on the thought.
“Lord Bulkeley, pray go away for the present. I do not know who this gentleman is, but I should like to talk to him for a little.”
The discomfited Bulkeley rose, bowed stiffly, and walked off without another word. The newcomer took his place, disposed his limbs gracefully upon the sofa beside Maidie, and held out two fingers.
“Wiveliscombe. Very much at your service, Lady Mary.”
Maidie lightly touched the fingers. “I do not think I have heard your name. Have you a title?”
“Alas, no. I am a humble mister, ma’am. Humble, and shockingly poor. I commend myself to your charity.”
Maidie had to laugh. “I am not disposed to be charitable, Mr Wiveliscombe.”
“Oh, surely. I am persuaded you cannot mean to bestow your largesse upon Delagarde, despite what the vulgar may say.”
“No, I do not mean to. Nor, I may add, does he have any such hope or expectation.”
