The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕

gathered about the newest beauty, Miss Gunning, who, with her sister Elizabeth, had taken fashionable London by storm. Andrew wore a mask, but he was quite unmistakable by his length of limb and carelessly rakish appearance.

Wilding, across the room, beckoned to Richard, and on his approach, dragged him to the card-room to play at lansquenet with March, Selwyn and himself.

Carstares found the Earl in great good-humour, due, so Selwyn remarked, to the finding of an opera singer even more lovely than the last. From lansquenet they very soon passed to dice and betting, with others who strolled up to the table. Then Carstares excused himself and went back to the ball-room. He presently found himself by the side of one Isabella Fanshawe, a sprightly widow, greatly famed for her wittiness and good looks. Carstares had met her but once before, and was now rather surprised that she motioned him to her side, patting the couch with an inviting, much beringed hand.

“Come and sit by me, Mr. Carstares. I have wanted to speak with you this long time.” She lowered her mask as she spoke and closely scrutinised his face with her bright, humorous eyes.

“Why, madam, I am flattered,” bowed Richard.

She cut him short.

“I am not in the mood for compliments, sir. Nor am I desirous of making or hearing clever speeches. You are worrying me.”

Richard sat down, intrigued and attracted by this downright little woman.

“I, madam?”

“You, sir. That is, your face worries me.” Seeing his surprise, she laughed, fanning herself. “‘Tis comely enough, I grant you! I mean there is such a strong likeness to—a friend of mine.”

Richard smiled politely and relieved her of the fan.

“Indeed, madam?”

“Yes. I knew—this other gentleman in Vienna, three years ago. I should judge him younger than you, I think. His eyes were blue, but very similar to yours. His nose was almost identical with yours, but the mouth—n-no. Yet the whole expression—” She broke off, noticing her companion’s sudden pallor. “But you are unwell, sir?”

“No, madam, no! What was your friend’s name?”

“Ferndale,” she answered. “Anthony Ferndale.”

The fan stopped its swaying for a moment.

“Ah!” said Richard.

“Do you know him?” she inquired eagerly.

“Many years ago, madam, I was—acquainted with him. Can you tell me—was he in good spirits when last you saw him?”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“If you mean was he gay, was he witty—yes. But sometimes I thought—Mr. Carstares, when he was silent, his eyes were so sad—! Indeed, I do not know why I tell you this.”

“You may be sure, madam, your confidence is safe with me. I had—a great regard for this gentleman.” He opened and shut her fan as he spoke, fidgeting with the slender sticks. “You, too, were interested in him, madam?”

“I do not think ever anyone knew him and was not, sir. It was something in his manner, his personality—I cannot explain—that endeared him to one. And he once—aided me—when I was in difficulties.”

Richard, remembering scraps of gossip concerning the widow’s past, merely bowed his head.

She was silent for a time, staring down at her hands, but presently she looked up smiling, and took her fan away from him.

“I cannot abide a fidget, sir!” she told him. “And I see Lord Fotheringham approaching. I am promised to him this dance.” She rose, but Richard detained her.

“Mrs. Fanshawe, will you permit me to call upon you? I would hear more of—your friend. You, mayhap, think it strange—but—”

“No,” she answered. “I do not. Certainly call upon me, sir. I lodge in Mount Street with my sister—No. 16.”

“I protest, madam, you are too good—”

“Again, no. I have told you, I like a man to talk as a man and not as an affected woman. I shall be pleased to welcome you.”

She curtsied and went away on the Viscount’s arm.

At the same moment a voice at Richard’s elbow drawled:

“Do I see you at the vivacious widow’s feet, my good Dick?”

Carstares turned to face his brother-in-law, Colonel Belmanoir.

“Is not all London?” he smiled.

“Oh, no! Not since the beautiful Gunnings’ arrival. But I admit she is a dainty piece. And Lavinia? Will she break her heart, I wonder?” He laughed beneath his breath as he saw Richard’s eyes flash.

“I trust not,” replied Carstares. “Are you all here to-night?”

“Our illustrious head is absent, I believe. Andrew is flirting with the Fletcher girl in the Blue Salon; I am here, and Lavinia is amusing herself with Lovelace. Yes, Richard, Lovelace! Be careful!” With another sneering laugh he walked on, bowing to Elizabeth Gunning, who passed by on the arm of her partner, his Grace of Hamilton, most palpably épris.

At that moment two late-comers entered the room and made their way towards their hostess, who appeared delighted to see them, especially the taller of the two, whose hand she slapped with good-humoured raillery. The shorter gentleman wore no mask, and the Colonel recognised Frank Fortescue. His eyes travelled to the other, who, unlike most of the men who only held their masks, had fastened his across his eyes, and they widened in surprise. The purple domino, worn carelessly open, revealed black satin encrusted with silver and diamonds. The natural hair was raven-black, the nostrils were pinched and the lips thin.

“The Devil!” ejaculated Robert, and strolled over to him.

Fortescue walked away when he saw who approached, and his Grace of Andover turned slowly towards his brother.

“I rather thought you were in Paris,” yawned the colonel.

“I am always sorry to disillusion you,” bowed his Grace.

“Not at all; I am transported with joy at seeing you. As is Lavinia, it appears.”

Lady Lavinia, on recognising his Grace, had dropped her partner’s hand and fled incontinent towards him.

“You, Tracy!” She clasped delighted hands on his arm.

“This is very touching,” sneered Robert. “It only needs Andrew to complete the happy reunion. Pray excuse me!”

“With pleasure,” replied the Duke gently, and bowed as if to a stranger.

“He grows tedious,” he remarked, as soon as the Colonel was out of earshot.

“Oh, Bob! I take no account of him! But, Tracy, how is it you have come to-day? I thought—”

“My dear Lavinia, do I wear an air of mystery? I imagined you knew I was promised to Dolly Cavendish to-night?”

“Yes, but—oh, what matters it? I am so charmed to see you again, dear!”

“You flatter me, Lavinia.”

“And now that you have come, I want to hear why you ever went! Tracy, take me into the room behind us. I know ‘tis empty.”

“Very well, child, as you will.” He held back the curtain for her and followed her into the deserted chamber.

“You want to know why I went?” he began, seating himself at her side. “I counsel you, my dear, to cast your mind back to the spring—at Bath.”

“Your affaire! Of course! So the lady proved unkind?”

“No. But I bungled it.”

“You? Tell me at once!—at once!”

His Grace stretched out his leg and surveyed his shoe-buckle through half-closed lids.

“I had arranged everything,” he said, “and all would have been well but for an interfering young jackanapes who chanced along the track and saw fit to espouse Madam Diana’s cause.” He paused. “He tripped me up by some trick, and then—_que veux-tu?_”

“Who was it?”

“How should I know? At first he seemed familiar. At all events, he knew me. He may be dead by now. I hope he is.”

“Gracious! Did you wound him?”

“I managed to fire at him, but he was too quick, and the bullet took him in the shoulder. It may, however, have been mortal.”

“And so you went to Paris?”

“Ay. To forget her.”

“And have you forgotten?”

“I have not. She is never out of my thoughts. I plan again.”

His sister sighed.

“She is then more beautiful than the Pompadour?” she asked meaningly.

Tracy turned his head.

“The Pompadour?”

“Ay! We heard you contrived to amuse yourself in a pretty fashion, Tracy!”

“Really? I had no idea people were so interested in my affairs. But ‘amuse’ is an apt word.”

“Ah? You were not then épris?”

“I? With that low-born cocotte? My dear Lavinia!”

She laughed at his haughty tone.

“You’ve not always been so nice, Tracy! But what of your Diana? An you are so infatuated, you had best wed her.”

“Why, so I think.”

Lady Lavinia gasped.

“Tracy! You do not mean it? Goodness me, but a marriage!”

“Why not, Lavinia?”

“Oh, a respectable married man, forsooth! And how long will the passion last?”

“I cannot be expected to foretell that, surely? I hope, for ever.”

“And you’ll tie yourself up for the sake of one chit? Lud!”

“I can conceive a worse fate for a man.”

“Can you? Well, tell me more! ‘Tis monstrous exciting. Do you intend to court her?”

“At this stage of the proceedings? That were somewhat tactless, my dear. I must abduct her, but I must be more careful. Once I have her, I can propitiate Papa.”

“Tracy, ‘tis the maddest scheme ever I heard! What will the others say?”

“Do you really suppose I care?”

“No, I suppose not. Oh, will not Bob be furious, though!”

“It were almost worth while—just for the sake of foiling him. He would so like to succeed me. But I really do not think he must.” His elbow was on his knee, his chin in his hand, and a peculiar smile on his lips. “Can you imagine him stepping into my ducal shoes, Lavinia?”

“Very easily!” she cried. “Oh, yes, yes, Tracy! Marry the girl!”

“If she will.”

“Why, ‘tis not like you to underrate your persuasive powers!”

His Grace’s thin nostrils wrinkled up in a curious grimace.

“I believe one cannot force a girl to the altar,” he said.

“Unless she is a fool, she’ll have you.”

“Her parent would be influenced by my dukedom, but she, no. Not even if she knew of it.”

“Does she not know?”

“Certainly not. I am Mr. Everard.”

“How wise of you, Tracy! So you’ve nought to fear?”

“Fear?” He snapped his fingers. “I?”

The heavy curtain swung noiselessly aside. Richard Carstares stood in the opening.

Tracy turned his head and scrutinised him languidly. Then he put up his hand and removed his mask.

“Is it possible the husband scented an intrigue? It seems I am doomed to disappoint to-night.”

Lavinia, smarting from her morning’s wrongs, laughed savagely.

“More probable he mistook me for someone else!” she snapped.

Richard bowed, his hand on the curtain. He had shown no surprise at seeing the Duke.

“Far more probable, my dear. I thought you Lady Charlwood! Pray give me leave.” He was gone on the word.

Tracy replaced his mask, chuckling.

“Honest Dick grows cold, eh? But what a snub, Lavinia!”

Her little hand clenched.

“Oh, how dare he! How dare he insult me so?”

“My dear sister, in all justice to him, you must admit the boot was rather on the other leg.”

“Oh, I know—I know! But he is so provoking!—so jealous!—so unreasonable!”

“Jealous? And why?”

With an impatient twitch at her petticoat she made answer, not looking at him.

“Oh, I do not know! Nor he! Take me back to the ball-room.”

“Certainly, my dear.” He rose and led her out. “I shall do myself the honour of waiting on you—tomorrow.”

“Yes? How delightful ‘twill be! Come to dine, Tracy! Richard is promised to the Fortescues.”

“In that case, I have much pleasure in accepting your invitation… . In heaven’s name, who is this?”

Lovelace was bearing down upon them.

“Lavinia! I have been seeking you everywhere!—ah—your servant, sir!” He bowed to his Grace, and took Lavinia’s hand.

“Oh—oh, Harold!—you remember Tracy?” she said nervously.

“Tracy! I did not know you masked! I saw you last