Lady Albinia was there to receive the travellers. She was a short-sighted, vague woman of no particular beauty, and a total disregard for the prevailing fashion. A Paisley shawl, which she wore to protect her from the draughts, was continually slipping from her shoulders and becoming entangled in the furniture. When this happened she immediately summoned up any gentleman who chanced to be near, and commanded him to disengage her tiresome fringe. She seemed incapable of helping herself, and when she dropped her fan or her handkerchief, as she frequently did, merely waited for someone to pick it up for her, breaking off in the middle of whatever she was saying, and resuming again the instant her property was restored to her. She had a habit of uttering her thoughts aloud, which was disconcerting to those not much acquainted with her, but which no one who knew her paid the least attention to. She greeted the Taverners kindly, and having led the ladies to the fire, and begged them to sit down by it and warm their chilled hands, looked Judith over with an expression of mild approval, and said in her inconsequent way: “Such bad weather for travelling, though to be sure it does not snow, and the roads nowadays are so good that one is hardly ever in danger of being held up. Eighty thousand pounds, and quite a beauty besides! Worth is fortunate indeed, if only he may have the sense to realize it.”
Miss Taverner, who had been warned by Mrs. Scattergood what to expect, tried to look unconscious, but could not prevent a blush creeping into her cheeks. Mrs. Scattergood said severely: “Albinia, where is Julian?”
It appeared that the gentlemen had gone out for a day’s shooting, and were not yet returned. The travellers were escorted upstairs to their bedchambers, and left to recover from the fatigues of the journey before dressing for dinner.
By dinner-time the rest of the party had arrived, and the sporting gentlemen returned from their expedition. The remaining guests comprised Lords Petersham and Alvanley, Mr. Brummell, and Mr. Forrest, Lady Albinia’s taciturn spouse, and Mrs. and Miss Marley, particular friends of Miss Taverner. Everyone was acquainted; nothing, Mrs. Scattergood declared, could have been more charming. Lord Alvanley, except for his habit of putting out his bedroom candle by stuffing it under his pillow, must always be an acceptable guest; Lord Petersham, the most finished gentleman alive, was courteous and amiable; the Earl was a calm but attentive host; Mr. Brummell was in a conversable mood, and a pleasant evening was spent in one of the saloons, playing cards, drinking tea, and chatting over a noble fire. The only discomfort Judith had to endure was the sight of her brother begging Lord Petersham to give an opinion on his new snuff, the whole history of which he had been recounting a moment previous. Lord Petersham was obliging enough to help himself to a pinch, and to say courteously that he had no doubt of its being a superior mixture. Lord Worth, less polite, put up his glass when the box was offered to him, and upon hearing that it was highly scented waved it away. “No, thank you, Peregrine. I will believe it to be all you say. I hope you are not using it, Miss Taverner?”
“No, no, I keep my own sort,” Judith assured him. “When I want scent I do not go to my snuff-box for it, but to Mr. Brummell, who is going to make me a stick of perfume.”
“A stick of Mr. Brummell’s perfume, my love!” exclaimed Mrs. Marley. “Do you want to make us all envious? Do you not know that every lady among us wants one of those sticks?”
The Beau shook his head. “Very true, but you know I cannot be giving them to everyone, ma’am. That would be to have them held very cheap. The Regent, now, is dying to get hold of one, but one has to draw the line somewhere.”
“George is feeling peevish because he has caught a cold,” remarked Alvanley. “How did you come by it in this mild weather, George?”
“Why, do you know, I left my carriage this afternoon on my way from town, and the infidel of a landlord put me into a room with a damp stranger!” replied Brummell instantly.
It seemed the next day as though Peregrine had caught the Beau’s cold. He complained of the sore throat, and coughed a little, but trusted that a day’s sport (which he had been promised) would soon set matters to rights. Judith could place no such dependence on the effect of a raw December day, but it was useless to expect Peregrine to remain indoors for no more serious reason than a slight chill. He went off with Petersham, Alvanley, and Mr. Forrest to shoot over some preserves a few miles distant from Worth.