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Authors: Georgette Heyer
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you don’t wish to meet your nephew?”
That made him laugh. “Good God, no! What concern was it of his?”
“I only thought—wondered—since it was his father—”
“No, no, that’s fustian!” he expostulated. “You can’t turn me into an object for compassion! I didn’t like my brother Humphrey, and I didn’t like my father either, but I don’t bear them any grudge for shipping me off to India. In fact, it was the best thing they could do, and it suited me very well.”
“Compassion certainly seems to be wasted on you, sir!” she said tartly.
“Yes, of course it is. Besides, I like you, and I shan’t if you pity me.
She was goaded into swift retort. “Well, that wouldn’t trouble me!”
“That’s the barber!” he said appreciatively. “Tell me more about this niece of yours! I collect her mother’s dead too?”
“Her mother died when she was two years old, sir.”
There was an inscrutable expression in his face, and although he kept his eyes on hers the fancy struck her that he was looking at something a long way beyond her. Then, with a sudden, wry smile, he seemed to bring her into focus again, and asked abruptly: “Rowland did marry her, didn’t he?—Celia Morval?”
“Why, yes! Were you acquainted with her?”
He did not answer this, but said: “And my nephew is dangling after her daughter?”
“I am afraid it is more serious than that. I haven’t met him, but he seems to be a young man of considerable address. He has succeeded in—in fixing his interest with her—well, to speak roundly, sir, she imagines herself to be violently in love with him. You may think that no great matter, as young as she is, but the thing is that she is a high-spirited girl, and her character is—is determined. She has been virtually in my charge—and that of my eldest sister—from her childhood. Perhaps she has been too much indulged—granted too much independence. I was never used to think so—you see, I was myself—we all were!—brought up in such subjection that I vowed I wouldn’t allow Fanny to be crushed as we were. I even thought—knowing how much I was used to long for the courage to rebel, and how bitterly I resented my father’s tyranny—that if I encouraged her to be independent, to look on me as a friend rather than as an aunt, she wouldn’t feel rebellious—would allow herself to be guided by me.”
“And she doesn’t?” he asked sympathetically.
“Not in this instance. But until your nephew bewitched her she did! She’s the dearest girl, but I own that she can be headstrong, and too impetuous.” She paused, and then said ruefully: “ Once she makes up her mind it is very hard to turn her from it. She—she isn’t a lukewarm girl! It is one of the things I particularly like in her, but it is quite disastrous in this instance!”
“Infatuated, is she? I daresay she’ll recover,” he said, a suggestion of boredom in his voice.
“Undoubtedly! My fear is that she may do so too late! Mr Calverleigh, if your nephew were the most eligible bachelor in the country I should be opposed to the match! She is by far too young to be thinking of marriage. As it is, I need not, I fancy, scruple to tell you that he is not eligible! He bears a most shocking reputation, and, apart from all else, I believe him to be a fortune-hunter!”
“Very likely, I should think,” he nodded.
This cool rejoinder made it necessary for her to keep a firm hand on the rein of her temper. She said, in a dry voice: “ You may regard that with complaisance, sir, but I do not!”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” he agreed amiably.
She flushed. “And—which is of even more importance!—nor does my brother!”
This seemed to revive his interest. A gleam came into his eyes. “What, does he know of this?”
“Yes, sir, he does know of it, and nothing, I assure you, could exceed his dislike of such a connection! It was he who told me what had been happening here, in Bath, during my
That made him laugh. “Good God, no! What concern was it of his?”
“I only thought—wondered—since it was his father—”
“No, no, that’s fustian!” he expostulated. “You can’t turn me into an object for compassion! I didn’t like my brother Humphrey, and I didn’t like my father either, but I don’t bear them any grudge for shipping me off to India. In fact, it was the best thing they could do, and it suited me very well.”
“Compassion certainly seems to be wasted on you, sir!” she said tartly.
“Yes, of course it is. Besides, I like you, and I shan’t if you pity me.
She was goaded into swift retort. “Well, that wouldn’t trouble me!”
“That’s the barber!” he said appreciatively. “Tell me more about this niece of yours! I collect her mother’s dead too?”
“Her mother died when she was two years old, sir.”
There was an inscrutable expression in his face, and although he kept his eyes on hers the fancy struck her that he was looking at something a long way beyond her. Then, with a sudden, wry smile, he seemed to bring her into focus again, and asked abruptly: “Rowland did marry her, didn’t he?—Celia Morval?”
“Why, yes! Were you acquainted with her?”
He did not answer this, but said: “And my nephew is dangling after her daughter?”
“I am afraid it is more serious than that. I haven’t met him, but he seems to be a young man of considerable address. He has succeeded in—in fixing his interest with her—well, to speak roundly, sir, she imagines herself to be violently in love with him. You may think that no great matter, as young as she is, but the thing is that she is a high-spirited girl, and her character is—is determined. She has been virtually in my charge—and that of my eldest sister—from her childhood. Perhaps she has been too much indulged—granted too much independence. I was never used to think so—you see, I was myself—we all were!—brought up in such subjection that I vowed I wouldn’t allow Fanny to be crushed as we were. I even thought—knowing how much I was used to long for the courage to rebel, and how bitterly I resented my father’s tyranny—that if I encouraged her to be independent, to look on me as a friend rather than as an aunt, she wouldn’t feel rebellious—would allow herself to be guided by me.”
“And she doesn’t?” he asked sympathetically.
“Not in this instance. But until your nephew bewitched her she did! She’s the dearest girl, but I own that she can be headstrong, and too impetuous.” She paused, and then said ruefully: “ Once she makes up her mind it is very hard to turn her from it. She—she isn’t a lukewarm girl! It is one of the things I particularly like in her, but it is quite disastrous in this instance!”
“Infatuated, is she? I daresay she’ll recover,” he said, a suggestion of boredom in his voice.
“Undoubtedly! My fear is that she may do so too late! Mr Calverleigh, if your nephew were the most eligible bachelor in the country I should be opposed to the match! She is by far too young to be thinking of marriage. As it is, I need not, I fancy, scruple to tell you that he is not eligible! He bears a most shocking reputation, and, apart from all else, I believe him to be a fortune-hunter!”
“Very likely, I should think,” he nodded.
This cool rejoinder made it necessary for her to keep a firm hand on the rein of her temper. She said, in a dry voice: “ You may regard that with complaisance, sir, but I do not!”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” he agreed amiably.
She flushed. “And—which is of even more importance!—nor does my brother!”
This seemed to revive his interest. A gleam came into his eyes. “What, does he know of this?”
“Yes, sir, he does know of it, and nothing, I assure you, could exceed his dislike of such a connection! It was he who told me what had been happening here, in Bath, during my
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