The Hermit's Daughter Page 9

  “I would appreciate learning all the details,” Sally answered with a quiet, anticipatory smile lurking in the depths of her eyes. “And the sooner, the better.”

  “Must not bruit it about town, but I don’t have to tell the Hermit’s daughter that. Use it to trim him into line, if you like. No harm in that. So, Mabel,” he continued, “you have outrun the grocer again. If you need funds, I can advance you something till next quarter or till Derwent comes into his own. There is no hurry about repaying. Your husband’s business has done me proud. I learned a few sly tricks from the Hermit, and it keeps folks coming to me. I ain’t as sharp as your husband, but I am sharper than any other shyster in town, if I do say so myself.”

  “We could not take money from you, Darrow,” she answered, but without that conviction that a determined negative would have carried.

  It was for Sally to refuse with equal politeness and a good deal more firmness.

  “This one rules the roost, I see,” he said to her mother. “Does she lead you a merry chase, Mabel? Her papa often forecast it. He warned you times out of mind to get her shackled to the first decent fellow who offered. I am amazed she is still on the shelf. Ha, the London beaux will soon take care of that. That is why you are here, I daresay?” he asked, turning to Sally.

  “You read me like an open book, Sir Darrow. Have you any eligible partis to put forward?”

  “My set would all be too old for you, my girl. I run with Prinny’s pack these days. A ripe bunch for plucking, you must know. I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll have Prinny invite you to one of his larger dos at Carlton House and let you look over the Season’s offerings. Stay away from Walworth and Kidder. Libertines and wastrels, with not a sou to their names.”

  Sally made a mental note of the names, and soon Sir Darrow picked up his cane in preparation of leaving. “I am working up a brief for Lord Handworth. He wants to dump his wife, but you must not say I told you so. I shall toddle along now and be in touch soon. Good day, Mabel. You are as pretty as ever. Perhaps we shall get shackled, eh? Ha-ha.”

  “Is Lady Willowby--”

  “She passed on a few years ago.” He shook his head as he hobbled from the room.

  “Don’t forget to let me know what matter it was Papa handled for Lord Monstuart,” Sally called after him.

  “Ho, you are determined to get the upper hand with him, I see. I’ll do what I can to help you. Least I can do for the Hermit. Good day, ladies.”

  “Well, that is that,” Mrs. Hermitage said when they were alone once more. “Monstuart need not give us any money if he chooses. I might as well be in touch with our man of business and see about selling those Consols. I hate to do it.”

  “Sell a thousand pounds’ worth,” Sally suggested. “The opera box must be paid for, and we’ll need some operating money.”

  It was hard to dip into their little fund, but when Melanie and Derwent came home with invitations to not less than two rout parties and one ball, when there was the box at the theater waiting to be occupied that same evening, it was impossible not to be more excited than worried.

  And it was, indeed, an evening to remember. It seemed that all of the ten thousand had come to Drury Lane, wearing their finest diamonds and their gayest smiles. Lord Derwent had many friends who wished to meet his new bride and bid her happy. A new pair of beauties in town, one blond, the other a striking brunette, were bound to garner their fair share of attention. Sally noticed with satisfaction that they had the fullest box in the house during the first intermission.

  But the highlight of the evening occurred during the second intermission. Sir Barrow’s white head peeped into the box, eyes dancing merrily. “Mabel, ladies, put on your best smiles. There is someone who wants you to come to his box for wine.”

  For no sane reason, Sally found herself thinking the “someone” was Monstuart. How like his arrogance, to command that they go to his box. “Pray request ‘someone’ to come to our box if he wishes to meet us.” She smiled.

  “We’ll never get him squeezed through the portal before the intermission is over. It took a brace of us to get him in,” Sir Darrow replied.

  Such a portly gentleman was obviously not Monstuart. It was Mrs. Hermitage who uttered a squeal of delight. “Not Prinny, Darrow!”

  “No less. Come along, or he’ll have drunk up all the wine.”

  The ladies were not tardy to nip along to the most famous box in the house. Physically, the visit was an extremely uncomfortable squeeze, but it set the cap on their evening. His Royal Hugeness, as the Prince of Wales was being called that week, found the daughters comely. Their older and more fully figured mother, a dame in Prinny’s preferred style, was pronounced an Incomparable.

  It was generally agreed among the ladies later that Monstuart’s threat of ostracization might very well be overcome. He did not attend the play, but Sally found her mind veering often in his direction. She wondered what “delicate matter” it was her father had handled for him and how soon she might have the opportunity of throwing it in his face.

  Chapter Nine

  A Season of six weeks is not very long when it has to include a presentation at Court, an introduction to polite society, the setting up of a court of admirers, the singling out of one of them as the one to be attached, and the final landing of him in her net. Without ever wasting a minute, Sally didn’t see how she was to pull the thing off. The gentlemen she wished to draw to her saloon were elusive. Derwent’s friends, all callow youths, were arriving in abundance. They were amusing rattles to have dance attendance on her at parties, but there was not one in the lot she could envisage spending an evening alone with in anything but absolute boredom. The other alternative was the aging cronies of Sir Darrow Willowby and her late papa, who were always attentive. Sir Darrow was the Hermitages’ usual escort to all the ton functions.

  Shortly after the ladies were anointed with respectability at Queen Charlotte’s Drawing Room, Sir Darrow arranged for the family to attend one of Prinny’s fabulous parties at Carlton House. This do required three new gowns of an elegance nearly matching the presentation gowns. “For we do not want to show the world we’ve been rusticating all these years,” Mrs. Hermitage pointed out. “Do you think the ecru crepe does anything for me, Sal? I fear it is a poor choice. It is the same faded shade as my face. I must use more rouge. We antiques are all resorting to it to lend us a touch of color.”

  Now a happy matron, Melanie could put off the white of maidenhood and had concocted an ice-blue peau de soie gown that made her look even younger than her eighteen years. It rankled a little with Sally that she must still wear white, when she was three years older, but the color was not downright unbecoming. As Sir Darrow had the wits to supply a corsage of red flowers, she did not look quite as though she were masquerading as a youngster.

  “I do hope Monstuart will not be there,” Mrs. Hermitage fretted. “Do you suppose it is his doing that none of the fellows the proper age are calling on you, Sal? He has a wide circle of friends, the very gentlemen who ought to be courting you.”

  “I wouldn’t put it a bit past him,” Sally replied with an angry jerk at her gloves.

  “Do be careful, dear. The kidskin splits if you look too hard at it. I have gone through three pairs of gloves this Season, and it is early times yet. They cost a fortune, too.”

  “How is the thousand pounds you converted from Consols holding out?” Sally asked.

  Her mother blinked in surprise. “Why, it is gone long ago. I have had to draw out two thousand more since then.”

  “We must cut back,” Sally scolded, but in her

  heart she knew it could not be done. She had no more desire than her family to appear in anything but the highest kick of fashion. Another thousand would have to be taken out for their ball, but she meant to draw the line absolutely at five thousand. That would leave them ten thousand for the next two years, if Monstuart could not be brought to heel. And really, he was so remarkably stubborn it was a genuine possibili
ty. He had never called in three weeks since his first visit and scarcely acknowledged that he knew them when they met in society.

  They were interrupted by the sound of the door knocker. “That will be Darrow.” Mrs. Hermitage smiled.

  He was soon shown in. “How are my two girlfriends?” he asked. His blue eyes turned first to the mother for a close scrutiny, then to Sally. “Six of one and half a dozen of the other,” he concluded. “I cannot decide which is the more lovely. But I know which one Prince George will favor. He has no use for young fillies. Are the Derwents not coming with us?”

  “They went on ahead in Ronald’s carriage,” Mrs. Hermitage replied. “Five in yours would be crowded, Darrow. We do not want to arrive crushed.”

  “Ho, you’ll be squeezed to death once you get there. Prinny has five hundred coming for an intimate little evening. Let us all cross our fingers and pray he don’t decide to play his flute for us. Poor boy, he has no idea how ridiculous he looks and how badly he plays. His squawking reminds me of the sounds coming from an abattoir.”

  “You didn’t hear whether Monstuart is attending?” Mrs. Hermitage asked.

  “He is one of the ten thousand, but whether he is one of the five hundred awaits to be seen. I did not forget your commission to me regarding him,” he added, turning to Sally.

  “The case Papa handled for him?”

  “Exactly. I must report total failure. The file was removed from the office. Your papa sometimes did so at a client’s special request. The bill is on the books—five hundred guineas. That indicates a substantial case, but the exact nature of it remains a mystery, except that I recall it involved a lightskirt. Well, are we off?”

  Excitement at the approaching party diluted the disappointment of not learning Monstuart’s wicked past. He was so seldom met, in any case, that there was little likelihood of being able to twit him about it.

  The entrance hall of Carlton House was lit with hundreds of lamps, giving the effect of stepping from night into the blazing heat of day. The heat was even worse than the light. The gentlemen, who were required by decency to keep their coats on their shoulders, thought so, at least. They tugged surreptitiously at their cravats, gasping for air. The Prince found the room comfortable, despite the heavily ornamented uniform he wore.

  “The on dit is that the jacket weighs what it cost—two hundred pounds,” Sir Darrow chuckled. “We are in luck tonight. He don’t play the flute when he’s decked out in his comic opera uniform. Here he comes now, to do the pretty. Butter him up, ladies, and he’ll make you both duchesses.”

  The Prince Regent was in high spirits. He had just that day learned he had lost two pounds. “High time you came out of the woodwork, Madam, and let society admire your charming daughters,” he told Mrs. Hermitage. “I attended the Queen’s Drawing Room and saw your gels make their bows. The prettiest pair in the lineup, and the three loveliest ladies in town, I might add. I see from the corner of Willowby’s mouth that he is not pleased with me. Poaching, eh what, Willowby? He’ll take me to court, heh-heh.”

  The ladies curtsied, so awed by all the magisterial splendor of house and uniform that they scarcely heard the inanities flowing from his lips.

  “There is a bit of a dance going forth in the next room,” the Prince told Sally. “I would ask you to waltz, but the old quizzes at Almack’s would frown at me. No good making those charming eyes at me, lass. My authority stops at the doors of Almack’s. The patronesses reign there. Be civil to Countess Lieven, and she will give you the nod. I’ll introduce you now.”

  He turned aside to speak to a gaunt female wearing the strangest hair style ever seen in public. It looked as though she had starched her hair and gotten caught in a violent windstorm, to stiffen it into spikes. The Russian ambassador’s wife was one of the all-powerful patronesses of Almack’s club, however, and was catered to by everyone. Even the Prince gave her a great smacking kiss on the cheek and called her “My dear Dorothea.”

  “So this is the Hermit’s daughter,” Countess Lieven said, skimming her eyes over the new beauty. “You didn’t get your looks from your papa, did you? I hope you nicked a corner of his brains. I adored him. We must have a chat later. I am on my way to the table before the salmon and daubed goose are all gone. What a wretched little snipe that was you served for dinner, Your Majesty. Since you are gone on a diet, we are all starving to death. No jellies or creams for dessert. You know I detest fruit—slow poison. Delighted to have met you, Miss Hermitage.”

  She was off to the table, and Sir Darrow led the ladies through various chambers to goggle at the ornate decor till their eyes ached. “I should have brought my smoked glasses,” Sir Darrow complained. “The lights here give me the migraine. Ah, here is an excellent chap, Wilton Parkes. He will make you a good partner while your mother and I escape to the card room, Sally.”

  Their ideas of a good partner did not jibe. Sally could not feel a gentleman on the windy side of forty was entirely agreeable, but the escorts Sir Darrow supplied were never young. She endured half an hour of slightly archaic chivalry from Parkes while scanning the room for more youthful companionship.

  She noticed Monstuart had entered during the dance and taken up a position at the side of the room. She thought he might come forward at the set’s end, but he chose another lady. Parkes, fatigued after the unusual exertion of the cotillion, gratefully handed Miss Hermitage over to a confrere, Mr. Peacock.

  Outside of Monstuart, Peacock was the youngest man in the room, though he was about twice Melanie’s age. Unlike Sir Darrow and Parkes, he was conversable. He had that facility to remain interested and interesting past his prime. As he had made a point to be presented to Sally, he was regarded with some favor by her.

  “At last,” he said with a languishing sigh when he offered her his arm. The laughter lurking in his eyes robbed the words of folly.

  She looked with rising interest to gauge his appearance at close range. He smiled, showing a rather dashing face that was not far from reckless. “You are a difficult young lady to meet, Miss Hermitage. I have been staring at you through my opera glasses at the theater, my quizzing glass at the routs, my carriage window in the park, and my own unaided orbs at balls for close on two weeks now, trying to catch your attention. I expect you have been ignoring me to pique my interest.”

  “I assure you I never saw you before this evening, sir. Odd you have not had yourself presented before now. Shyness, obviously, is not at the root of it.”

  “Bashfulness is for boys. The fact is I don’t run with Derwent and those juveniles who surround you. I knew sooner or later you would find your proper milieu, the Prince Regent’s set.”

  “That’s hard to take as a compliment! The ladies of his set are no longer in the first blush of youth. If you will look, Mr. Peacock, you will see I am wearing a white gown.”

  “I never judge a book by its cover. I have done more than stare at you. I have also hung about at your elbow, and I know your conversation is more interesting than your puppies deserve.”

  She smiled, pleased with his flattery. “It’s strange I never noticed you before if you have been underfoot these two weeks.”

  “I have often observed you never look down, Miss Hermitage. You hold your head so high you only see gentlemen seven feet or taller. Underfoot was the wrong place for me to hang about. I would have done better to hang from a tree branch in the park.”

  “Except that you might have been taken for a monkey.”

  “Mistaken, surely!” he objected with a readiness of wit that was welcome after Mr. Parke’s staid common sense. “You have a radiant smile, you know. It beams like the sun. I wish you would stop. We don’t need any more heat or light in here.”

  “I thought monkeys enjoyed a warm climate.”

  “We are going to get along just fine, Miss Hermitage,” he decided. He tucked her hand under his elbow and led her to the floor when Fate, with her natural perversity, promptly struck up a waltz. The waltz was not permitted for debs t
ill the Patronesses of Almack’s decided they were sufficiently bronzed to withstand its insidious temptation.

  Peacock led Sally out for a glass of wine instead. With a parting glance over her shoulder, she saw Monstuart looking after her, frowning even while he whirled his partner around the floor. Mr. Peacock was subjected to a few jibes at his fine jacket and exquisite cravat when it occurred to his partner that his name must not escape unchallenged.

  “You wear a less appropriate name,” he retorted. “I find it hard to believe a family of hermits brought forth such a dazzler. In fact, to speak of hermits bringing forth anything but philosophy refutes their calling. We must discuss this mystery further. I’ll call on you tomorrow afternoon and take you to Hyde Park. We’ll select my tree, and next time you are there you can bring me a fruit.”

  “And a chain to put around your neck. If you are to be my pet, you must become accustomed to the leash.”

  “I cannot promise such docility, even for the Hermitess,” he answered with one of his reckless smiles that sent her heart racing faster. “I misread your character if you would be happy with a tame pet on a string. No shackles for me. I’m not interested in marriage.” He looked a challenge at her.

  “You misunderstood me, sir. It is not my intention to marry my pet. Ladies hardly ever do, do they?”

  “I’ve seen more than one marry a puppy, or even a jackass, but I take your point. Is it possible I’ve met my match?” His bold eyes raked her from head to toe in a way that made her feel naked. His eyes flickered to the door, and he added, “I fear I have. It is Monstuart, come to rescue you from my clutches. He will give you a stern lecture on my lack of character. Pay him no heed. I’m not nearly so bad as I let on. Oh, about Hyde Park ... shall we say three tomorrow?”

  With Monstuart pacing quickly toward her, she said in a loud voice, “Three o’clock is fine, Mr. Peacock. I look forward to it.” Mr. Peacock bowed and aimed a laughing bow at Monstuart as he departed.