Peter Miggins's letter to Lord John Lavender has probably sufficiently introduced him to the reader. The right honourable personage to whom that letter was addressed was the youngest son of a duke, and in all respects as great a contrast to all the blood of the Migginses as can possibly be imagined.
Lord John had been, for many years, one of the best-looking men about town; so many years, indeed, had he been a beauty, that it was quite wonderful to detect no change in his figure, face, or manner. He still looked as he always had looked, and probably always intended to look. There is this one great advantage in beginning to make up early in life,—nobody detects any difference. The toilet requires a more protracted attention, and a steadier hand; but, once completed, to the eye of the observer the colours and the outline are the same. No woman ever thought more about her appearance than did Lord John Lavender; yet there was a manliness in his manner and conversation which rescued him from the charge of effeminacy.
He was devoted to the fair sex; so much so, that the world could not help giving him credit for being so sedulously attentive to the beautification of his person solely that he might render himself agreeable in their eyes.
He certainly succeeded most admirably; and, at the same time that he was in all societies courted and caressed by the fairest and the most distinguished, there was one little well-known theatrical connexion, of which we will say as little as possible, and to which old Mr. Miggins had alluded in his letter.
Lord John Lavender's income was small, his expectations minute, his expenses great, and his debts amounted to his overplus expenditure for the number of years he had been about town. Of the sum total of his incumbrances he was ignorant. Bills came in at stated periods, and were carelessly thrown aside; for what was the use of looking at their amount, knowing beforehand that he could not pay them? But he was aware this could not go on for ever; he knew that, according to custom, tradesmen would trust him, as they constantly trust others, almost to any amount, for a certain period, without having from the first the slightest reason to suppose that the individual so trusted would ever be in a condition to pay them; and then all of a sudden they would pounce upon him, demand payment of all arrears, and trust no more.
Now, it was quite impossible for Lord John to think of retrenchment. Among the absolute necessaries of life he reckoned at least two pair of primrose kid gloves a-day, at three shillings a-pair. Two guineas a-week for gloves,—the price of a moderate bachelor's lodging! Life would be intolerable without such things; so, in order that he might continue in the land of the living, his fastidious lordship had deigned to smile upon Miss Sophy Miggins, and had permitted the idea of marriage with a plebeian to enter his aristocratic mind.
No wonder that Sophy should be dazzled by smiles from such a quarter. She was pleased and flattered, and imagined that she liked his lordship exceedingly, though she never felt at ease in his presence. He was so unlike everybody with whom she had been accustomed to associate, that she had sense enough to suppose she must be equally unlike his former companions, and she was always afraid of exciting his wonder and ridicule by some awkward breach of the usages of good society. But then to walk about with a lord, was a thing not to be resisted; and though she would have been much happier with the Captain Mills of whom her father made honourable mention in his letter to Lord John, still she never could bring herself to reject the proffered arm of his lordship.
And had she made up her mind to accept the hand of Lord John Lavender, should that also in due course of time be proffered? Not exactly; but Mrs. Miggins had decided for her. That his intentions were honourable, she could not doubt. Honourable! nay, was he not a right honourable lover? So, in full expectation of an offer for her daughter, the old lady bought a "Peerage," placed it in a conspicuous part of her drawing-room, and looked very coldly on Captain Mills.
The captain was ordered to Woolwich; and Lord John having left Dover, Sophy could not, at parting, help evincing to poor Mills a little of the partiality which she felt. Such was the position of affairs when Mr. Miggins, who had no notion of men (nor lords neither) being shilly shally, as he called it, was determined to bring matters to a crisis. He therefore, after much serious cogitation, wrote the letter which has been confidentially exhibited to the reader; and also another, requiring infinitely less forethought, which he dispatched to Captain Mills.
"What day of the month is it?" said Lord John to his valet, after perusing the epistle of his Dover correspondent.