It was no wonder, Hero thought, that George should look worn and stormy at the end of the expedition. She was impelled to clasp his hand between both of hers when he left her at her door, and to say shyly: “Don’t mind her, dear George! I dare say she may have had the headache.”
He flushed, muttered something inarticulate, and strode off down the street. Hero was left to reflect that perhaps her adored Sherry was not so much to be pitied as she had supposed.
Chapter Nine
DURING THE COURSE OF THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, a number of persons left cards in Half Moon Street, the ubiquitous Mr Stoke having obtained the Viscount’s leave to insert into the society column of the Morning Post a notice informing the Polite World that Lord and Lady Sheringham were residing at this address. The more elderly of the callers came because they felt it to be their duty to pay their respects to Sherry’s wife. It was hardly to be expected that matrons with hopeful young families ranging from University to nursery ages would concern themselves much over a bride of seventeen; and as there was no matron of consequence whose business it was to launch Hero into the most correct society, it was natural that such friendships as she made were with ladies of a younger and, for the most part, dashing set.
One of her earliest visitors was Mrs Hoby, a smart, lively young woman who announced herself to be a distant cousin of Hero’s, and almost overwhelmed her with protestations and attentions. She was the wife of an Irishman who, being heir to a respectable property, was at present living precariously on eight hundred a year and the expectancy. She confessed that she had not known of Hero’s existence until the announcement of her marriage had appeared in the press, but upon discovering that she had a cousin who was actually the daughter of dear Cousin Geoffrey she had lost no time in coming to visit her. One swift glance having informed her that her new-found relative was extremely young and inexperienced, she engaged herself to take her under her wing. That the protection of a flighty young woman, living upon the fringes of society, could not add to her consequence Hero was not in a position to know, and she had no hesitation in accepting an invitation to make one of an evening party at the Pantheon, once Mrs Hoby had laughed indulgently at the notion that she could not go without Sherry to escort her.
“Oh, my dear Lady Sheringham, I assure you it is quite the established mode! I do not scruple to tell you — for I perceive how strange you are to this frippery life we all lead in London! — that to be seen for ever with one’s husband in one’s train will not do at all! No, positively, it would be to conduct yourself like a dowd, and that I can see at a glance you are far from being!”
Since Sherry had told her very much the same thing, Hero was perfectly ready to accept this dictum, and to consider herself uncommonly fortunate when she learned that Sherry was willing to go with her to Almack’s Assembly Rooms.
“I fancy I had best take you there myself,” Sherry said, with the air of one having a nice regard to his obligations. “Mind you, it ain’t in my line, but the patronesses are so deuced starchy I dare say it will be more comfortable for you if I go with you, at any rate the first time. Ten to one you won’t care for it: devilish slow, I warn you!”
He raised no objection to her new friendship; he had not heard of Mrs Hoby before, but if she was one of Hero’s cousins he had no doubt of her being an acceptable acquaintance; in fact, he was glad to find that she was beginning to make friends of her own, since his own engagements prevented him from being with her as much as he had feared she might expect. These engagements seemed to take his lordship rather frequently to certain discreet establishments in Pall Mall and Pickering Place, generally in the company of Sir Montagu Revesby, whose chosen mission in life appeared to some older heads to be to introduce young men of fortune to such gaming-houses as could be expected to relieve them of their wealth in the least possible space of time. His address, his decided air of fashion, had gained him the entré into all but the most exclusive circles; and there was little doubt that he exercised a considerable degree of charm over his young friends. Monty, with his worldly wisdom, his caressing manner towards his favourites, was, they said, a regular top-sawyer, a nonpareil, a knowing ’un. The older generation of dandies who sat in Olympian aloofness in the Bow window at White’s, refusing to acknowledge salutations from the street, might lift supercilious eyebrows at Sir Montagu, but their indolent disapproval was not likely to weigh with youthful bloods bent on kicking up what larks they could, and already beginning to think men like Worcester, and Alvany, and ‘King’ Allen old stagers. The ladies, too, were not impervious to Sir Montagu’s charm, and there were few who were not secretly a little flattered if he appeared to pay them distinguishing attentions.
For he was by no means one of those who dangled at the ladies’ apron strings. Always civil, there was a light, faintly amused note in his soft voice, even when he was paying a handsome compliment, and this could not but be provocative to the fair sex, not one of whom could as yet plume herself on having added him to her list of conquests. He had certainly shown himself to be an admirer of the famous Miss Milborne’s beauty, but Miss Milborne was not quite sure that his manner towards her was entirely free from mockery. This circumstance naturally aroused the interest of one who was accustomed to receive whole-hearted homage, and whenever he presented himself before her, or appeared in a house where she was a fellow-guest, she found herself to be a great deal more conscious of his presence than she liked.