The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
her gloved fingers resting lightly on Lovelace's velvet-clad arm.
Richard, hearing the little stir caused by her entry, glanced up, and
perceived her. He did not recognise her companion, but the sparkle in
her eyes and the happy curve to her full lips were quite enough to tell
him that it was someone whom she was very contented to have met. He had
ample opportunity for studying Lovelace as the good-looking pair drew
near, and he could not but admire the delicate, handsome face with the
grey eyes that held a laugh in them, the pleasure-loving, well-curved
mouth, and the chin that spoke of determination. Here was not one of
Lavinia's lisping, painted puppy-dogs, for in spite of the effeminate
curls, it was easy to see that this man had character and a will of his
own, and, above all, a great charm of manner. He saw Lavinia blush and
rap the Captain's knuckles in answer to some remark, and his heart sank.
He rose and came to meet them.
Lady Lavinia smiled sweetly upon him, and patted his arm with a
possessive little air.
"Dicky dear, I have found an old friend--a very old friend! Is it not
agreeable? Captain Lovelace--Mr. Carstares."
The two men bowed, Richard with reluctancy, the Captain with easy
_bonhomie_.
"Sir, I claim to be a worshipper at the shrine of which you, I believe,
are High Priest!" he said impudently, and bowed again, this time to my
lady.
"You are one of many, sir," smiled Richard.
Lady Devereux came tripping up to them, and kissed Lavinia with a great
show of affection.
"My dearest life! My sweet Lavinia!"
Lady Lavinia presented a powdered cheek.
"Dearest Fanny, how charming to see you again!" she cooed. Through her
lashes she gazed at her friend's enormous headdress, with its rolls of
powdered curls and the imitation flowers perched upon the top of the
erection.
"But, my angel!" exclaimed Lady Fanny, stepping back to view her,
"surely you have been ill?"
"How strange!" smiled Lavinia. "I was about to ask you that same
question, my dear! 'Tis age, I doubt not. Do we both look such dreadful
hags?" She turned her bewitching little countenance to the men, and
smiled appealingly.
Compliments showered upon her, and Lady Devereux, who was conscious that
her own sallow countenance, in spite of rouge and powder, must appear
even more sallow beside Lavinia's pink-and-whiteness, flushed in
annoyance and turned away, begging her dearest Lavvy to come to the faro
with her. But Lavinia, it appeared, was going to watch the dicing at
Richard's table: she vowed she should bring him monstrous good luck.
"I don't doubt it, my dear," replied her husband, "but I am not playing
to-night. Will you not take your luck to Bob?" He nodded to where the
Colonel was lounging, dice-box in hand.
Lavinia pouted.
"No, I want you to play!"
"'Tis of no avail, Lady Lavinia!" drawled Sir Gregory. "Richard is the
very devil to-night."
Selwyn, rattling his dice, paused, and looked round at Markham with a
face of innocent surprise. Then he turned slowly and stared at
Carstares' grave, almost stern countenance, with even more surprise. He
started to rattle the dice again, and shifted back to face his opponent,
with pursed lips.
"Is he?" he inquired with studied depression.
Even Lavinia joined in the general laugh, not so much at the wit's words
as at his comic expression, and the extreme deliberation with which he
had enacted the little scene.
Someone cried a bet to Lovelace, which was promptly accepted, and
Lavinia's eyes glowed afresh as she followed the Captain to a table.
Richard went to fetch her some refreshment, and on his return, found her
leaning over Lovelace's chair, her hand on his shoulder, eagerly casting
the dice on to the table. He was in time to see her clap her hands and
to hear her cry of: "My luck! Oh, my luck is in! I will throw again!"
Glancing round she caught sight of her husband, and her face fell.
"Do you _mind_, Dicky?" she pleaded.
He did mind, but he could not appear churlish before all these men; so
he laughed and shook his head, and went to her elbow to watch her play.
When she at length ceased, her luck had run out, and she had lost her
much-prized ruby earring to Mr. Selwyn, who placed it carefully in his
vest pocket, vowing he should wear it next his heart for ever. Then, and
then only, did she consent to leave the gaming tables for the dancing
hall, and for another hour Richard had the felicity of watching her
tread the minuet with various young bloods, but most often with her
new-found Harry Lovelace.
CHAPTER XIX
THE REAPPEARANCE OF HIS GRACE OF ANDOVER
It seemed to Richard in the days that followed, that Captain Lovelace
was never out of his house. If he went to his wife's boudoir, there was
Lovelace, hanging over her while she played upon the spinet or glanced
through the pages of the _Rambler_. If Lavinia went to a ball or
masquerade, the Captain was always amongst the favoured ones admitted to
her chamber for the express purpose of watching her don her gown and
judiciously place her patches. If Carstares begged his wife's company
one morning, she was full of regrets: Harry was calling to take her to
Vauxhall or to Spring Gardens. When he entered his door, the first sight
that met his eyes was the Captain's amber-clouded cane and point-edged
hat; and when he looked out of the window, it was more often to see a
chair draw up at the house and Lovelace alight. After patiently enduring
a week of his continued presence, Carstares remonstrated with his wife:
she must not encourage her friend to spend all his time at Grosvenor
Square. At first she had looked reproachful, and then she inquired his
reason. His reluctant answer was that it was not seemly. At that her
eyes had opened wide, and she demanded to know what could be more seemly
than the visits of such an old friend? With a gleam of humour, Richard
replied that it was not Captain Harold's age that he objected to, but,
on the contrary, his youth. On which she accused him of being jealous.
It was true enough, but he indignantly repudiated the suggestion. Very
well, then, he was merely stupid! He must not be cross; Harry was her
very good friend, and did not Richard admire the new device for her
hair? Richard was not to be cajoled: did she clearly understand that
Lovelace's visits must cease? She only understood one thing, and that
was that Dicky was marvellous ill-tempered and ridiculous to-day. And he
must not tease her! Yes, she would be very good, but so must he! And now
she was going shopping, and she would require at least twenty guineas.
In spite of her promise to "be good," she made no attempt to discourage
Lovelace's attentions, always smiling charmingly upon him and beckoning
him to her side.
It was the morning of the Duchess of Devonshire's rout that Carstares
again broached the subject. My lady was in bed, her fair hair unpowdered
and streaming all about her shoulders, her chocolate on a small table at
her side and countless _billets doux_ from admirers scattered on the
sheet. In her hand she held a bouquet of white roses with a card
attached bearing, in bold, sprawling characters, the initials "H. L."
Perhaps it was the sight of those incriminating letters that roused
Richard's anger. At all events, with a violence quite unlike his usual
gentle politeness, he snatched the flowers from her hand, and sent them
whizzing into a corner.
"Let there be an end to all this folly!" he cried.
Lavinia raised herself on one elbow, astonished.
"H-how _dare_ you?" she gasped.
"It has come to that!" he answered. "How dare I, your husband, try to
control your actions in any way? I tell you, Lavinia, I have had enough
of your antics, and I will not longer put up with them!"
"You--you--What in heaven's name ails you, Richard?"
"This! I will not countenance that puppy's invasion of my house!" He
made a furious gesture towards the wilted bouquet.
"Neither will I permit you to make yourself the talk of London through
him!"
"I? I? _I_ make myself the talk of London? How dare you? Oh! how dare
you?"
"I beg you will cease that foolishness. There is no question of my
daring. How dare _you_ disobey me, as you have been doing all this past
week?"
She cowered away from him.
"Dicky!"
"'Tis very well to cry 'Dicky,' and to smile, but I have experienced
that before. Sometimes I think you are utterly without heart!--a
selfish, vain, extravagant woman!"
The childish lips trembled. Lady Lavinia buried her face in the pillows,
sobbing.
Carstares' face softened.
"I beg your pardon, my dear. Mayhap that was unjust."
"And cruel! And cruel!"
"And cruel. Forgive me."
She twined white, satiny arms about his neck.
"You did not _mean_ it?"
"No. I mean that I will not allow Lovelace to dangle after you,
however."
She flung away from him.
"You have no right to speak like that. I knew Harry long before I ever
set eyes on _you_!"
He winced.
"You infer that he is more to you than I am?"
"No! Though you try to make me hate you. No! I love you best. But I will
not send Harry away!"
"Not if I order it?"
"Order it? Order it? No! No! A thousand times no!"
"I do order it!"
"And I refuse to listen to you!"
"By God, madam, you need a lesson!" he flamed. "I am minded to take you
back to Wyncham this very day! And I promise you that, an you do not
obey me in this, to Wyncham you _shall_ go!" He stamped out of the room
as he spoke, and she sank back amongst her pillows, white and trembling
with fury.
As soon as she was dressed, she flounced downstairs, bent on finishing
the quarrel. But Carstares had gone out some time since, and was not
expected to return until late. For a moment Lavinia was furious, but the
timely arrival of a box from her mantua-maker's chased away the frowns
and wreathed her face in smiles.
Richard did not return until it was time to prepare for the rout, and on
entering the house he went straight to his chamber, putting himself into
the hands of his valet. He submitted to the delicate tinting of his
finger-nails, the sprinkling of his linen with rosewater and the
stencilling of his brows. He was arrayed in puce and gold, rings slipped
on to his fingers, his legs coaxed into hose with marvellous clocks
splashed on their sides, and a diamond buckle placed above the large
black bow of his tie-wig. Then, powdered, painted and patched, he went
slowly across to his wife's room.
Lavinia, who had by now quite forgotten the morning's _contretemps_,
greeted him with a smile. She sat before the mirror in her under-gown,
with a loose _déshabillé_ thrown over her shoulders. The _coiffeur_ had
departed, and her hair, thickly powdered, was dressed high above her
head over cushions, twisted into curls over her ears and allowed to fall
in more curls over her shoulders. On top of the creation were poised
ostrich feathers, scarlet and white, and round her throat gleamed a
great necklet of diamonds. The room was redolent of some heavy perfume;
discarded ribbons, laces, slippers and gloves strewed the floor; over
the back of a chair hung a brilliant scarlet domino, and tenderly laid
out on the bed was her gown, a mass of white satin and brocade, with
full ruffles over the hips and quantities of foaming lace falling from
the corsage and from the short sleeves. Beside it reposed her fan, her
soft lace gloves, her mask and her tiny reticule.
Carstares gingerly sat down on the extreme edge of a chair and watched
the maid tint his wife's already perfect cheeks.
"I shall break hearts to-night, shall I not?" she asked gaily, over her
shoulder.
"I do not doubt it," he answered shortly.
"And you, Dicky?" She turned round to look at him. "Puce... 'tis not the