“Ah!” said Mr Paulett, smiling in a maddening way. “But there are two years to run before the Trust comes to an end, my dear boy, and we must hope that by that time you will have seen the error of your ways.”
“Unless I get married!” the Viscount reminded him, his eyes very bright and sparkling.
“Certainly! But you are not, after all, going to get married, dear boy,” his uncle pointed out.
“Oh, aren’t I?” retorted his lordship, striding towards the door.
“Anthony!” shrieked Lady Sheringham. “What in heaven’s name are you going to do?” She released her brother’s hand, and sat up. “Where are you going? Answer me, I command you!”
“I’m going back to London!” answered the Viscount. “And I’m going to marry the first woman I see!”
Chapter Two
AS MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED, THE VISCOUNT’S Parthian shot immediately prostrated his parent. She evinced every sign of falling into a fit of the vapours, and was only revived by the reflection that the Viscount was no longer present to be chastened by the sight of his mother suffering from strong hysterics. A little hartshorn-and-water, tenderly administered by Mr Paulett, a few lavender drops sprinkled upon a handkerchief, and some gentle hand-slapping presently made it possible for the afflicted lady to open her eyes, and to straighten her turban. She at once confided to Mr Paulett her conviction that Anthony would bring home some dreadful, vulgar creature from the opera-ballet on his arm, if only to spite her, and expressed a fervent longing for the quiet of the family tomb.
Mr Paulett did not feel that there was much danger of his nephew’s marrying anyone in the immediate future. He said that he would find Anthony, and represent to him that his unfilial behaviour was leading his mother’s tottering steps to the very brink of the grave, but by the time he had restored the lady to such health as remained to her, and had pointed out to her that a young gentleman desperately enamoured of a Beauty was not very likely to fall into matrimony with some other female, the Viscount was already upon the road to London.
He was driving his curricle. A pair of spirited bays were harnessed to it; a sharp-faced Tiger was perched up behind him; his portmanteau was strapped in its place; and the Viscount, with all the air of one shaking the dust of a loathed spot from his shoes, drove along at a spanking pace, and with very little regard for whatever other vehicles he might chance to meet on the road.