“Gone to a party!” repeated the Viscount, stupefied. “She must have known I should seek her out immediately, once I had seen her here!”
“Dare say she did,” responded George coolly. “I fancy she don’t want to see you, Sherry.”
The Viscount’s blue eyes stared into his dark ones for one dangerous minute. Then Sherry turned sharply on his heel, and strode out of the room.
He made no attempt to prove the truth of George’s statement but returned to the Royal Crescent, seething with so many conflicting emotions that he scarcely knew himself whether anger, relief, or anxiety was paramount. His temper was not improved by finding a party, consisting of two young ladies with their brother, sitting in his mother’s private parlour, chatting in the most animated style with Miss Milborne. His aspect was so forbidding as to daunt Mr Chalfont, but the ladies were not easily daunted, and merely thought him a remarkably fine-looking man, and would have done their best to have captivated him had he allowed them the least opportunity for the display of their charms. He excused himself almost at once, and went off to brood in the solitude of his own apartment.
The result of this period for reflection was that every other feeling gave place to the overmastering desire to see Hero at the earliest possible moment. He was knocking on the door of Lady Saltash’s house at an unconscionably early hour next morning, only to be denied admittance by a portly butler, who informed him that neither her ladyship nor Miss Wantage had as yet come downstairs. His look of austere surprise made Sherry flush and retreat in disorder. He had been on the point of announcing his intention to go up to Hero’s bedchamber, quite forgetting that no one in Bath knew her to be his wife, and the realization of the scandalous comment he would thus have occasioned in Lady Saltash’s household shook him temporarily off his balance, so that he went off without leaving his card.
By way of passing the time, and giving a little relief to his feelings, he called on his cousin, at the York Hotel, and favoured him with a pithily worded opinion of his morals and character. Ferdy, who was partaking of a continental breakfast in bed, made no attempt to defend himself, but uttered a few soothing noises, and said it had all been Gil’s fault.
“You may think yourself devilish lucky I don’t haul you out of that bed, and give you a leveller!” said the Viscount, eyeing him in a frustrated way. “Very lucky indeed, let me tell you!”
“Assure you, dear old boy, I do!” Ferdy said winningly. “Very glad you don’t mean to do it! Always bellows to mend with me if I have a set-to with you!”
“Chicken-hearted!” the Viscount taunted him.
“Anything you like, Sherry!” Ferdy said.