Lord Tony’s Wife, Baroness Orczy [bill gates best books TXT] 📗

asked somewhat anxiously if milor Anthony Dewhurst was in the room, and looked obviously relieved when the reply was in the negative.

At which trifling incident everyone who was in the know smiled and whispered, for M. le duc made it no secret that he favoured his own compatriot’s suit for Mademoiselle Yvonne’s hand rather than that of my lord Tony⁠—which⁠—as old Euclid has it⁠—is absurd.

III

But with the arrival of the royal party M. de Kernogan’s troubles began. To begin with, though M. Martin-Roget had not arrived, my lord Tony undoubtedly had. He had come in, in the wake of Lady Blakeney, but very soon he began wandering round the room obviously in search of someone. Immediately there appeared to be quite a conspiracy among the young folk in the ballroom to keep both Lord Tony’s and Mlle. Yvonne’s movements hidden from the prying eyes of M. le duc: and anon His Royal Highness, after a comprehensive survey of the ballroom and a few gracious words to his more intimate circle, wandered away to the card-room, and as luck would have it he claimed M. le duc de Kernogan for a partner at faro.

Now M. le duc was a courtier of the old regime: to have disobeyed the royal summons would in his eyes have been nothing short of a crime. He followed the royal party to the card-room, and on his way thither had one gleam of comfort in that he saw Lady Blakeney sitting on a sofa in the octagon hall engaged in conversation with his daughter, whilst Lord Anthony Dewhurst was nowhere in sight.

However, the gleam of comfort was very brief, for less than a quarter of an hour after he had sat down at His Highness’ table, Lady Blakeney came into the card-room and stood thereafter for some little while close beside the Prince’s chair. The next hour after that was one of special martyrdom for the anxious father, for he knew that his daughter was in all probability sitting out in a specially secluded corner in the company of my lord Tony.

If only Martin-Roget were here!

IV

Martin-Roget with the eagle eyes and the airs of an accredited suitor would surely have intervened when my lord Tony in the face of the whole brilliant assembly in the ballroom, drew Mlle. de Kernogan into the seclusion of the recess underneath the gallery.

My lord Tony was never very glib of tongue. That peculiar dignified shyness which is one of the chief characteristics of well-bred Englishmen caused him to be tongue-tied when he had most to say. It was just with gesture and an appealing pressure of his hand upon her arm that he persuaded Yvonne de Kernogan to sit down beside him on the sofa in the remotest and darkest corner of the recess, and there she remained beside him silent and grave for a moment or two, and stole timid glances from time to time through the veil of her lashes at the finely-chiselled, expressive face of her young English lover.

He was pining to put a question to her, and so great was his excitement that his tongue refused him service, and she, knowing what was hovering on his lips, would not help him out, but a humorous twinkle in her dark eyes, and a faint smile round her lips lit up the habitual seriousness of her young face.

“Mademoiselle⁠ ⁠…” he managed to stammer at last. “Mademoiselle Yvonne⁠ ⁠… you have seen Lady Blakeney?”

“Yes,” she replied demurely, “I have seen Lady Blakeney.”

“And⁠ ⁠… and⁠ ⁠… she told you?”

“Yes. Lady Blakeney told me many things.”

“She told you that⁠ ⁠… that.⁠ ⁠… In God’s name, Mademoiselle Yvonne,” he added desperately, “do help me out⁠—it is cruel to tease me! Can’t you see that I’m nearly crazy with anxiety?”

Then she looked up at him, her dark eyes glowing and brilliant, her face shining with the light of a great tenderness.

“Nay, milor,” she said earnestly, “I had no wish to tease you. But you will own ’tis a grave and serious step which Lady Blakeney suggested that I should take. I have had no time to think⁠ ⁠… as yet.”

“But there is no time for thinking, Mademoiselle Yvonne,” he said naively. “If you will consent.⁠ ⁠… Oh! you will consent, will you not?” he pleaded.

She made no immediate reply, but gradually her hand which rested upon the sofa stole nearer and then nearer to his; and with a quiver of exquisite happiness his hand closed upon hers. The tips of his fingers touched the smooth warm palm and poor Lord Tony had to close his eyes for a moment as his sense of superlative ecstasy threatened to make him faint. Slowly he lifted that soft white hand to his lips.

“Upon my word, Yvonne,” he said with quiet fervour, “you will never have cause to regret that you have trusted me.”

“I know that well, milor,” she replied demurely.

She settled down a shade or two closer to him still.

They were now like two birds in a cosy nest⁠—secluded from the rest of the assembly, who appeared to them like dream-figures flitting in some other world that had nothing to do with their happiness. The strains of the orchestra who had struck the measure of the first figure of a contredanse sounded like fairy-music, distant, unreal in their ears. Only their love was real, their joy in one another’s company, their hands clasped closely together!

“Tell me,” she said after awhile, “how it all came about. It is all so terribly sudden⁠ ⁠… so exquisitely sudden. I was prepared of course⁠ ⁠… but not so soon⁠ ⁠… and certainly not tonight. Tell me just how it happened.”

She spoke English quite fluently, with just a charming slight accent, which he thought the most adorable thing he had ever heard.

“You see, dear heart,” he replied, and there was a quiver of intense feeling in his voice as he spoke, “there is a man who not only is the friend whom I love best in all the world, but is also the one whom I