Lord Tony’s Wife by Baroness Orczy (13 ebook reader TXT) 📕

he said gaily, “how beautifully M. le duc does talk. Ffoulkes,” he added, addressing Sir Andrew, who was standing close by, “I’ll wager you ten pounds to a pinch of snuff that you couldn’t deliver yourself of such splendid sentiments, even in your own native lingo.”

“I won’t take you, Blakeney,” retorted Sir Andrew with a laugh. “I’m no good at peroration.”

“You should hear our distinguished guest M. Martin-Roget on the same subject,” continued Sir Percy with mock gravity. “By Gad! can’t he talk? I feel a d⁠⸺⁠d worm when he talks about our national levity, our insane worship of sport, our⁠ ⁠… our⁠ ⁠… M. le duc,” he added with becoming seriousness and in atrocious French, “I appeal to you. Does not M. Martin-Roget talk beautifully?”

“M. Martin-Roget,” replied the duc gravely, “is a man of marvellous eloquence, fired by overwhelming patriotism. He is a man who must command respect wherever he goes.”

“You have known him long, M. le duc?” queried His Royal Highness graciously.

“Indeed not very long, Monseigneur. He came over as an émigré from Brest some three months ago, hidden in a smuggler’s ship. He had been denounced as an aristocrat who was furthering the cause of the royalists in Brittany by helping them plentifully with money, but he succeeded in escaping, not only with his life, but also with the bulk of his fortune.”

“Ah! M. Martin-Roget is rich?”

“He is sole owner of a rich banking business in Brest, Monseigneur, which has an important branch in America and correspondents all over Europe. Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest recommended him specially to my notice in a very warm letter of introduction, wherein he speaks of M. Martin-Roget as a gentleman of the highest patriotism and integrity. Were I not quite satisfied as to M. Martin-Roget’s antecedents and present connections I would not have ventured to present him to your Highness.”

“Nor would you have accepted him as a suitor for your daughter, M. le duc, c’est entendu!” concluded His Highness urbanely. “M. Martin-Roget’s wealth will no doubt cover his lack of birth.”

“There are plenty of highborn gentlemen devoted to the royalist cause, Monseigneur,” rejoined the duc in his grave, formal manner. “But the most just and purest of causes must at times be helped with money. The Vendéens in Brittany, the Princes at Coblentz are all sorely in need of funds.⁠ ⁠…”

“And M. Martin-Roget son-in-law of M. le duc de Kernogan is more likely to feed those funds than M. Martin-Roget the plain business man who has no aristocratic connections,” concluded His Royal Highness dryly. “But even so, M. le duc,” he added more gravely, “surely you cannot be so absolutely certain as you would wish that M. Martin-Roget’s antecedents are just as he has told you. Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest may have acted in perfect good faith.⁠ ⁠…”

“Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest, your Highness, is a man who has our cause, the cause of our King and of our Faith, as much at heart as I have myself. He would know that on his recommendation I would trust any man absolutely. He was not like to make careless use of such knowledge.”

“And you are quite satisfied that the worthy Bishop did not act under some dire pressure⁠ ⁠… ?”

“Quite satisfied, Monseigneur,” replied the duc firmly. “What pressure could there be that would influence a prelate of such high integrity as Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest?”

VII

There was silence for a moment or two, during which the heavy bracket clock over the door struck the first hour after midnight. His Royal Highness looked round at Lady Blakeney, and she gave him a smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had in the meanwhile quietly slipped away.

“I understand,” said His Royal Highness quite gravely, turning back to M. le duc, “and I must crave your pardon, sir, for what must have seemed to you an indiscretion. You have given me a very clear exposé of the situation. I confess that until tonight it had seemed to me⁠—and to all your friends, Monsieur, a trifle obscure. In fact, it had been my intention to intercede with you in favour of my young friend Lord Anthony Dewhurst, who of a truth is deeply enamoured of your daughter.”

“Though your Highness’ wishes are tantamount to a command, yet would I humbly assert that my wishes with regard to my daughter are based upon my loyalty and my duty to my Sovereign King Louis XVII, whom may God guard and protect, and that therefore it is beyond my power now to modify them.”

“May God trounce you for an obstinate fool,” murmured His Highness in English, and turning his head away so that the other should not hear him. But aloud and with studied graciousness he said:

“M. le duc, will you not take a hand at hazard? My luck is turning, and I have faith in yours. We must fleece Blakeney tonight. He has had Satan’s own luck these past few weeks. Such good fortune becomes positively revolting.”

There was no more talk of Mlle. de Kernogan after that. Indeed her father felt that her future had already been discussed far too freely by all these well-wishers who of a truth were not a little indiscreet. He thought that the manners and customs of good society were very peculiar here in this fog-ridden England. What business was it of all these highborn ladies and gentlemen⁠—of His Royal Highness himself for that matter⁠—what plans he had made for Yvonne’s future? Martin-Roget was bourgeois by birth, but he was vastly rich and had promised to pour a couple of millions into the coffers of the royalist army if Mlle. de Kernogan became his wife. A couple of millions with more to follow, no doubt, and a loyal adherence to the royalist cause was worth these days all the blue blood that flowed in my lord Anthony Dewhurst’s veins.

So at any rate thought M. le duc this night, while His Royal Highness kept him at cards until the late hours of