An Unreasonable Match. Sylvia Andrew

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t believe it! You must be making it up, Brummell! Are you trying to tell us that Hester Perceval actually took Addington to task on the question of Catholic emancipation? Addington!”

      “My dear chap, every word of it is true, I swear.” Hester looked cautiously over the balcony. Seven or eight young gentlemen were gathered underneath. She drew quickly back.

      “Oh God!” There was despair in Hugo’s voice. “What has she done now? What did he say?”

      George Brummell was a born mimic. Addington’s self-important tones were captured perfectly. “My dear Miss Perceval, how you can think I would discuss policies of His Majesty’s Government with an impertinent chit of a girl I cannot imagine. And why the devil you should see fit to mention such a subject in Lady O’Connell’s drawing-room has me even more at a loss.”

      Shouts of laughter, and applause. Then Hester strained forward as she heard Robert Dungarran’s drawl.

      “Poor girl! I know that blistering tone of Addington’s.”

      “Come, come, Robert! Little Miss Cure-all deserved the set-down. She’s an impudent ninny. What have politics to do with a woman? Their little brains simply aren’t up to it!”

      “Do tell me, George—are yours?”

      More laughter, and the good-natured reply. “I’ve never tried t’ fathom them—even if my health permitted me to try. Fatiguin’ things, politics. All the same, Hugo, isn’t it time you did something about the girl?”

      “Quite right, Brummell!” The interruption came from Tom Beckenwaite. “Dammit, when I’m with a woman I don’t want to think—that’s not what they’re for!” He gave a low laugh, which was followed by a chorus of ribald remarks. Hester was shocked. She had always regarded Lord Beckenwaite as a true gentleman. A fool, but a gentlemanly fool. He spoke again.

      “The fact is, Hugo, old dear, you are wasting your time. Your little sister is incurable. And un-marriageable. Demme, there’s a limit to what a fellow can stand! I’m as ready as the next man to do a friend a favour, but your sister is demned hard work, and that’s not something I look for. She never stops talkin’! Ridin’, drivin’, dancin’—it’s all the same! Talk, talk, talk!”

      “Hugo—” Hester leaned forward again. This was Dungarran speaking. She smiled in anticipation. He would defend her against these asses. He seldom spoke but when he did it was always to the point. They would listen to him. His drawl was more pronounced than ever. “Hugo, I’m sorry to say it, but it’s time you did something!”

      “Not you too, Robert!” Hugo said resignedly.

      “Have a word with Lady Perceval, old chap. Your wretched sister’s behaviour is doing neither herself, nor anyone else, much good. She is too young, and much too foolish for life here. Get your mother to take her back to Nottingham, or Northampton or wherever it is you all come from. Perhaps the country air will blow away some of her silly notions. Bring her back when she’s learned how to behave. But, please, not before.”

      Hugo said stiffly, “She never used to be like this, and I’m sorry for it. I don’t know what my mother was thinking of, bringing her to London with her head full of such nonsense.”

      “It’s not nonsense, exactly. Just absurd coming from your sister.” Dungarran again. “It would be better suited to a graybeard with a corporation than a child out of the schoolroom. A girl into the bargain.”

      “I don’t know what to say to you all. She’s my sister and I love her, I suppose. But believe me, when I asked you all to give her a good start to the Season I never imagined it would be such hard work. You’ve been Trojans.”

      “Well, from now on, dear boy, your sister can lecture someone else. This Trojan is retiring to his tent. Wounded in the course of duty, you might say. Shall we look for the card-room?” A chorus of agreement faded as they went away, leaving Hester sitting in her chair staring into space. How could they talk of her like that! How dare they! Shallow, stupid…It was as if a veil had been ripped from her eyes. She could now see that their smiles had been sly, their compliments mere flattery, their attentions empty…She drew in a shuddering breath. They were all fools! Every one of them! Fashionable fools with no more brain than a pea! Heartless, brainless fools!…

      “You’re looking serious, my dear. Are you alone?”

      She looked up. An elderly gentleman was gazing at her in concern. His face was vaguely familiar.

      “Sir…” she stammered. “You must excuse me. I…I am a little…a little…” Her voice faded.

      “My dear girl, you are clearly upset. How fortunate that I happened on your hiding place. Come. You shall have something to restore you, and then I shall take you back to your Mama. Or…” He eyed her speculatively. “Perhaps you would tell me more of the very interesting reforms in the north you’ve been studying?”

      Hester looked at him in surprise. “I’ve talked to you before? I’m afraid…”

      “No, but I was there when you were talking about them to Lady Castle. I found them quite absorbing. May I know more?”

      This was balm to Hester’s wounded pride. Here was a man of mature years, obviously distinguished, who, far from laughing at her, respected her views enough to want to hear more! What a contrast to those…fribbles of Hugo’s, especially Dungarran! Here was someone who really appreciated her.

      They talked for a moment or two, and never since she came to London had Hester had such an attentive listener. After a moment he winced as a burst of music came from below, and said, “I hardly dare suggest it, but we would be more private in the library. Of course, if you don’t care for the idea we could continue to sit here…”

      The temptation to sit there on the balcony, to be seen by people who did not appreciate her as they ought, was very strong. But he went on, “The Duchess has a splendid selection of books on the subject…?”

      Books! She hadn’t seen a book in weeks! Hester smiled and nodded with enthusiasm. She was too shy to ask him his name, but he clearly knew her family. There could be nothing wrong in accepting the invitation from such a very distinguished-looking old man. The cane he used to support him was of ebony with a silver-chased top. His coat was of blue velvet and the ribbon and diamonds of some sort of order was pinned to its front. His white hair was tied back in the old-fashioned way with a velvet ribbon. He was altogether the epitome of august respectability. Filled with pride at having attracted the attention of such a man, she accepted the arm he offered and let him guide her through the doors and on into the library. He led her to a sofa by the window. On a table next to it was a decanter filled with wine, and some glasses.

      “Sit down, Miss Perceval. Will you have some wine?”

      “I’m not sure…Why did you shut the door?”

      “Do you not find the noise outside disturbing? You are young, of course. Your hearing is more acute than mine. Would you like me to open it again?”

      “Oh no!”

      “Good! Let me pour you some wine.” He smiled at her reassuringly in a grandfatherly way.

      “Th…thank you.” Hester smiled nervously at him. He handed her a large glass of wine at which she gazed apprehensively, then came round and sat down beside her.

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