His charm failed to captivate one lady at least. Hero could not like him. She knew it to be her duty to find Sherry’s friends all that was amiable, and she made every effort to overcome her repugnance. But it was too often Revesby, as on that first evening in Half Moon Street, who took Sherry from her side. Ferdy’s strictures, too, lingered in her memory, and were reinforced by a tactful hint from her kind patroness, Lady Sefton, that it would be well to wean Sherry from the company of his âme damnée. She did not think that she could bring herself to explain to Lady Sefton that she and Sherry had agreed not to interfere in each other’s lives, for some instinct warned her that her ladyship would not approve of this tolerance. Sir Montagu came once or twice to dine in Half Moon Street, and she was a kind and considerate hostess, concealing the scarcely recognized jealousy that rose in her heart when she saw the influence this assured, smiling man exercised over the volatile Viscount. But if Sir Montagu made one of the convivial little card-parties held in Sherry’s library, Hero withdrew after dinner, in a very correct way, and did not reappear. It was only when the guests were Mr Ringwood, Ferdy and his brother Marmaduke, and Lord Wrotham, that conventionality went by the board and the hostess, as at Melton, curled herself up in a large chair and interestedly watched the play.
She herself was beginning to go to quite a number of card parties. From a sedate pool of quadrille or one of commerce, it was no great step to the headier excitements of loo, faro, and whist. Mrs Hoby was very fond of gaming, and Hero was perfectly ready to spend an evening in her smart little house off Park Lane, putting into rather inexpert practice all she had learned from Sherry. She lost more than she won, but the allowance which Sherry, under Mr Stoke’s advice, made her seemed so handsome that there could be little point in considering a few losses at cards.
Mr Ringwood had been as good as his word in teaching her how to drive her phaeton, and as she discovered an aptitude in herself for handling the ribbons it was not long before she was to be seen driving in dashing style through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of the promenade. This was quite unexceptionable, and was applauded by the Viscount, since it brought his Hero to the notice of the Polite World, and made her appear to advantage. She sometimes took Isabella up with her, but the Beauty was a trifle nervous of being perched up behind a very high-stepping horse, and had no great confidence in her friend’s mastery over this animal. She perceived that the new Viscountess was bent on making a stir in the world, and could not help envying her her position, and her freedom from the shackles that hampered a single lady. Sometimes she felt just a little jealous of Hero’s undoubted popularity with Sherry’s friends, but she was generally able to comfort herself with the reflection that they treated her with a camaraderie which seemed to preclude the sort of devotion she herself inspired in male breasts. His Grace of Severn, who was slightly pompous, gave it as his opinion that Hero was inclined to be fast, and never accorded her more than a common bow in passing, a circumstance which Miss Milborne tried hard not to be glad of.
The visit to Almack’s was, as far as Hero was concerned, one of unmixed contentment. She thought that everyone was very kind, scarcely noticed the cold propriety of Miss Drummond Burrell’s manners, or the critical stare of Princess Esterhazy. She could not but be happy with her hand in Sherry’s arm, and if he found an evening spent where dancing and not cards was the order of the day somewhat flat, he was so well-pleased with the reception accorded his bride that he even forbore to comment unfavourably to her on the nature of the refreshments. He magnanimously stayed throughout the proceedings, bore his part in several of the dances, presented Hero to all the most influential persons present, and generally behaved in an exemplary fashion. On their way home, however, he said that he would take her to something a little more amusing than one of these assemblies, and see how she liked it. She did not think that she could like anything as well, but she was ready to go anywhere with him, and set forth three or four days later to a masquerade at Covent Garden with every expectation of enjoyment.
And indeed it was, as he had promised, a most entertaining evening, though of a very different character from the sedate assembly at Almack’s. They went masked, and found a vast rout of people of all sorts and conditions in the Opera House, making a good deal of noise, and apparently enjoying themselves hugely. Sherry had taken one of the lower boxes for the evening, and after he had danced once or twice with his wife, he led her to the box to partake of a varied supper there, washed down with iced champagne punch. While they sat over this, the Viscount, rather forgetful of his company, quizzed any woman who took his wandering fancy, levelled his eyeglass at any well-turned ankle, and laughed with his wife over several of the couples within their range of vision. Hero had no objection to any of this, even pointing out good ankles or particularly neat figures to Sherry, speculating on the identity of various persons, and interestedly learning from her incorrigible husband the signs by which she would in future be able to recognize what he gracefully termed ‘a bit of muslin’.
One of these bits of muslin, who had been watching their box for some time, presently took occasion to stroll past it, with such a provocative glance over her shoulder, such an alluring swing of her hips that no gentleman of the Viscount’s mettle could withstand the challenge. “I fancy I know that little love-bird!” he exclaimed. “I must discover if she is not Flyaway Nancy, for I’ll lay you a monkey she is, the saucy little piece!”
With this, he abruptly left Hero’s side to pursue the alluring siren through the press of persons on the floor of the vast house. Hero thought this a very good joke, and sat watching his audacious advances to the suddenly coy damsel, her eyes dancing through the slits of her mask.
All at once she found that she was no longer alone in the box, a masked stranger having entered by the simple expedient of climbing over the low partition that railed it off from the floor. She turned in surprise as an arch male voice said in her ear: “All by yourself, my dear?”
“Yes. Who are you?” asked Hero innocently.
“Another lonely soul!” responded the visitor, seating himself unasked in Sherry’s vacant chair and laying an arm along the back of hers. “Take pity on me, pretty stranger!”