Read Online Arabella by Georgette Heyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Georgette Heyer
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house, one of them murmuring disjointed protests, the other perceiving no reason in the world why she should not claim a hospitality anyone in Yorkshire would have been eager to offer.
IV
it was at about this moment that that erratic young sprig of fashion, Lord Fleetwood, fixed his friend, and host, Mr. Beaumaris, with a laughing eye, and demanded in a rallying tone: “Well! You promise me a rare day with the hounds tomorrow—by the by, where do we meet?—but what— what ,Robert, do you offer me for my entertainment this evening?”
“My cook,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “is generally thought to be an artist in his own line. A Frenchman: I think you will like his way of dressing a Davenport chicken, while some trick he has of flavouring a Benton sauce—”
“What, did you send Alphonse down, then, from London?” interrupted Lord Fleetwood, momentarily diverted.
“Alphonse?” repeated Mr. Beaumaris, his finely chiselled brows lifting a little. “Oh, no! this is another. I don’t think I know his name. But I like his way with fish.”
Lord Fleetwood burst out laughing. “I expect if you discovered a cook with a way of serving game which you liked, you would send him off to that shooting-box of yours, and pay him a king’s ransom, only to kick his heels for three parts of the year!”
“I expect I should,” agreed Mr. Beaumaris imperturbably.
“ But ,”said his lordship severely, “I am not to be put off with a cook! I came here in the expectation of finding fair Paphians, let me tell you, and all manner of shocking orgies—wine out of skulls, y’know, and—”
“The lamentable influence of Lord Byron upon society!” interpolated Mr. Beaumaris, with a faint, contemptuous smile.
“What? Oh, that poet-fellow that set up such a dust! Myself, I thought him devillish underbred, but of course it don’t do to say so. But that’s it! Where, Robert, are the fair Paphians?”
“If I had any Paphians in keeping here, you don’t imagine, do you, Charles, that I would run the risk of being cut-out by a man of your address?” retorted Mr. Beaumaris.
Lord Fleetwood grinned at him, but replied: “None of your gammon to me! It would take ten times my address to cut-out a—a—dash it, a Midas like you!”
“If my memory does not err, all that Midas touched turned to gold,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “I think you mean Croesus.”
“No, I don’t! Never heard of the fellow!”
“Well, most of the things I touch have a disheartening way of turning to dross,” said Mr. Beaumaris, lightly, but with a note of bitter self-mockery in his languid voice.
This was going a little too deep for his friend. “Humdudgeon, Robert! You can’t bamboozle me! If there are to be no Paphians—”
“I can’t conceive why you should have supposed there would be,” interrupted his host.
“Well, I didn’t, but I can tell you this, my boy!—that’s the latest on-dit! ”
“Good God! Why?”
“Lord, how should I know? Daresay it’s because you won’t throw your glove at any of the beauties who have been setting their caps at you any time these five years. What’s more, your chères-amies are always such devilish high-flyers, dear boy, it puts notions into the heads of all the old tabbies! Think of the Faraglini!”
‘“I had rather not. The most rapacious female of my acquaintance.”
“But what a face! what a figure!”
“And what a temper!”
“What became of her?” asked his lordship. “I haven’t laid eyes on her since she left your protection.”
“I think she went to Paris. Why? Had you a fancy to succeed me?”
“No, by Jove, I couldn’t have stood the nonsense!” said his lordship frankly. “She’d have had me rolled-up within a month! What did you have to give for those match-grays she used to drive all over town?”
“I can’t remember.”
“To tell you the truth,” confided Lord Fleetwood, “I shouldn’t have thought it worth it myself—though I’m not denying she was a
IV
it was at about this moment that that erratic young sprig of fashion, Lord Fleetwood, fixed his friend, and host, Mr. Beaumaris, with a laughing eye, and demanded in a rallying tone: “Well! You promise me a rare day with the hounds tomorrow—by the by, where do we meet?—but what— what ,Robert, do you offer me for my entertainment this evening?”
“My cook,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “is generally thought to be an artist in his own line. A Frenchman: I think you will like his way of dressing a Davenport chicken, while some trick he has of flavouring a Benton sauce—”
“What, did you send Alphonse down, then, from London?” interrupted Lord Fleetwood, momentarily diverted.
“Alphonse?” repeated Mr. Beaumaris, his finely chiselled brows lifting a little. “Oh, no! this is another. I don’t think I know his name. But I like his way with fish.”
Lord Fleetwood burst out laughing. “I expect if you discovered a cook with a way of serving game which you liked, you would send him off to that shooting-box of yours, and pay him a king’s ransom, only to kick his heels for three parts of the year!”
“I expect I should,” agreed Mr. Beaumaris imperturbably.
“ But ,”said his lordship severely, “I am not to be put off with a cook! I came here in the expectation of finding fair Paphians, let me tell you, and all manner of shocking orgies—wine out of skulls, y’know, and—”
“The lamentable influence of Lord Byron upon society!” interpolated Mr. Beaumaris, with a faint, contemptuous smile.
“What? Oh, that poet-fellow that set up such a dust! Myself, I thought him devillish underbred, but of course it don’t do to say so. But that’s it! Where, Robert, are the fair Paphians?”
“If I had any Paphians in keeping here, you don’t imagine, do you, Charles, that I would run the risk of being cut-out by a man of your address?” retorted Mr. Beaumaris.
Lord Fleetwood grinned at him, but replied: “None of your gammon to me! It would take ten times my address to cut-out a—a—dash it, a Midas like you!”
“If my memory does not err, all that Midas touched turned to gold,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “I think you mean Croesus.”
“No, I don’t! Never heard of the fellow!”
“Well, most of the things I touch have a disheartening way of turning to dross,” said Mr. Beaumaris, lightly, but with a note of bitter self-mockery in his languid voice.
This was going a little too deep for his friend. “Humdudgeon, Robert! You can’t bamboozle me! If there are to be no Paphians—”
“I can’t conceive why you should have supposed there would be,” interrupted his host.
“Well, I didn’t, but I can tell you this, my boy!—that’s the latest on-dit! ”
“Good God! Why?”
“Lord, how should I know? Daresay it’s because you won’t throw your glove at any of the beauties who have been setting their caps at you any time these five years. What’s more, your chères-amies are always such devilish high-flyers, dear boy, it puts notions into the heads of all the old tabbies! Think of the Faraglini!”
‘“I had rather not. The most rapacious female of my acquaintance.”
“But what a face! what a figure!”
“And what a temper!”
“What became of her?” asked his lordship. “I haven’t laid eyes on her since she left your protection.”
“I think she went to Paris. Why? Had you a fancy to succeed me?”
“No, by Jove, I couldn’t have stood the nonsense!” said his lordship frankly. “She’d have had me rolled-up within a month! What did you have to give for those match-grays she used to drive all over town?”
“I can’t remember.”
“To tell you the truth,” confided Lord Fleetwood, “I shouldn’t have thought it worth it myself—though I’m not denying she was a
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