“Do you think you will?” enquired Lord Legerwood, regarding him with a fascinated eye.
“Bound to!” said Freddy. “Well, what I mean is, must!”
Chapter VII
It was fortunate for Miss Charing, who, from the moment of entering the Legerwood town-house, had been stricken by feelings of remorse, that her hostess was so much preoccupied with the thought of her ailing children that as soon as she had installed her young guest in a comfortable bedchamber, and had rapidly explained to her the unhappy state of affairs, she felt herself impelled to go up to the nursery-floor, to ascertain that no relapse had been suffered by any of the invalids, and that Nurse had not fallen asleep in her chair—a hideous dread which was as persistent as it was unjust. Miss Charing, left alone to the unaccustomed luxury of a fire in her bedchamber, and to the terrifying knowledge that she had but to pull the bell-rope to bring a handmaiden to her assistance, reviewed her situation with feelings of guilt. It had not previously occurred to her that the plot she had hatched might involve others besides the hapless Freddy. His parents, although known to her, had seemed to be but vague figures in the background, whose existence had no bearing upon her schemes. The entrance of Lord Legerwood into the Blue Saloon had banished such false notions; she had been within a hair’s breadth of abandoning her whole project. She was restrained partly by an agonizing reluctance to confess so foolish an exploit to such an awe-inspiring personage; and partly by an even more agonizing fear that to do so would mean her instant return to Arnside. By the time Lady Legerwood had joined the party, she had contrived in some measure to soothe her conscience with the reflection that since she had no intention of marrying Freddy no lasting harm would be done by the imposture. But for all that, she looked forward with dismay to the questions Lady Legerwood must inevitably ask, and could only be thankful that maternal solicitude obliged her ladyship to postpone the dangerous tête-à-tête.
Having assured herself that Edmund, though sadly feverish, seemed inclined to sleep, Lady Legerwood descended the stairs again to her dressing-room. Out of consideration for Miss Charing, whose wardrobe she knew to be scanty, she had declared that she would herself sit down to dinner in her morning-dress, but she would have thought it a very odd thing not to have made some alteration in her appearance. Not even her desire to seek counsel of her lord could be allowed to take precedence over the more pressing need to change her cap, and to repair possible damages to her complexion. She sent for her maid, discovered that her hair must be dressed again, and had just resigned herself to the impossibility of seeking his lordship out before the dinner-bell rang, when he most providentially walked into the room.
She greeted him with relief. “Oh, my love, I have been wanting to speak to you! Yes, the rose-point cap, Clara, and you need not wait! Stay, give me the orange-blossom scarf with the broad French border! No, perhaps that is a little too—The paisley shawl will do very well! You need not wait.”
“Charming!” remarked his lordship, picking up the lace cap, and looking at it through his eyeglass.
“Yes, is it not? I knew you would be pleased! Not that I care a fig for such fripperies at such a moment! How can you be so provoking, Legerwood? What, I ask you, is to be done? I was never more taken-aback in my life, and what must you do but stand there smiling as though you liked it!”
He laughed, and set the cap down. “Well, what would you have had me do? I could scarcely forbid the banns: Freddy is of age.”
“As though that could signify! Not that I wished you to go to such lengths as that!”