Chapter XVI At the Unmasking
When Prue and Robin had left the conservatory a sufficiently long time to insure their return to the ball-room, out from behind a clump of plants slipped Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. Observing her exit from the ball-room with a tall and conspicuously habited masker, he had followed with the intention of interrupting a tête-à-tête and forestalling one of Prue’s little flirtations that, however harmless in themselves, were dangerous, as he knew by experience, to anterior claims.
When he found that, avoiding the well-lighted rooms, Prue guided her companion to an out-of-the-way retreat, where it was unlikely that they would be disturbed by any one less familiar with the house than herself, his annoyance increased, and with it his anxiety to know who the favored swain might be, and when Peggie, with the good-natured intention of giving Robin an opportunity, left them to rid herself of her sheepskin, the green-eyed monster took complete possession of Sir Geoffrey and prompted a baseness of which, a moment before, he would have blushed to think himself capable.
The only available concealment was at such a distance that at first nothing reached him but the murmur of voices. He could see that Prue stretched out her hands to her companion, and that he kissed them with ardor, but until his own name was mentioned, he heard nothing but a disjointed word here and there. Then, with ears preternaturally sharpened by something even more poignant than jealousy, he overheard Prue’s repudiation of himself and her companion’s expression of relief and gratitude for the same.
It was fortunate, perhaps, that the colloquy was so soon brought to an end by Peggie’s eagerness to carry her cousin off to the ball-room, whither Sir Geoffrey followed as quickly as he deemed wise, only to find Prue already standing up in a country-dance, and the tall masker in scarlet missing. He hunted everywhere for him, but in vain, and finally withdrew to one of the card-rooms, where he played with a marked absence of his usual skill, and also of the luck for which he was proverbial.
At midnight a flourish of trumpets announced that the moment for unmasking had arrived. The dancers formed a double line and marched past the dais, each couple unmasking as they saluted the duchess and her royal guest. Following them came an almost interminable procession of the beauty, talent and rank of the country, and among the very last of these, Sir Geoffrey’s search was rewarded. The tall figure in its scarlet drapery suddenly appeared, he knew not whence, and within a few feet of him, doffed domino and mask and revealed the familiar but unlooked-for person of Lord Beachcombe.
Instantly there flashed into Sir Geoffrey’s mind an explanation of the words he had overheard, which roused him to an almost uncontrollable fury. This man, once his rival, was still in love with Prue, and after goading him into a monstrous wager about her, had exerted some infernal arts or arguments to induce her to play the jilt once more and thus rob him, at one stroke, of his bride and his money.
“Oh!” he muttered, with intense bitterness, “such a trick is worthy of a man who would not pay his own sister’s dowry, until he was sued for it! He shall answer for this treachery with his heart’s best blood, and as for her—” His look boded ill for the future of the capricious beauty toward whom his feeling just then was less like love than hate. He was forced into self-control, however, by the reflection that to provoke a meeting on this issue would place him in a more than equivocal position and that it would be necessary to find some other cause of quarrel.
Beachcombe, meanwhile, unconscious of what had happened under shelter of his disguise, saluted his hostess and his sovereign and passed on with a bland exterior and a temper in a highly inflammable state.
Sir Geoffrey lost no time in throwing himself in Beachcombe’s way. They exchanged greetings and then, “How goes the courting?” asked my lord. “How is it you are not in attendance on the fair widow?”
Sir Geoffrey’s fury choked him. Was ever such impudence as this scoundrel’s?
“Do you require an explanation on the subject?” he said, between his clenched teeth.
“Far from it,” retorted Beachcombe, with a jeering laugh. “It will be quite enough for me to know that she has jilted you; I care nothing for the details. Still, if I were you, I would not carry my willow quite so openly.”
“No doubt your lordship regards it as quite permissible to prejudice the Viscountess Brooke against a suitor who has a wager with you, dependent on her favor,” sneered Beaudesert.
“I hardly fancy it would be diplomatic,” drawled the other, not having the clew to Sir Geoffrey’s meaning, and relishing his peevishness as evidence of defeat. “As the lady has probably never pardoned my speedy consolation, I doubt not that anything I might say against you would only drive her into your arms. This is the first time I have seen the Lady Prudence since Her Majesty requested her to retire from the court a year ago. She appears to me even more beautiful and vivacious than formerly. I must endeavor to make my peace with her; one can not afford to be at odds with so bewitching a creature, especially if she is to be attached to the queen’s household again, where we shall be obliged to meet constantly.”
Sir Geoffrey was so dumfounded by what he took to be the earl’s audacity and dissimulation, that he fell back and allowed him to follow in the wake of the subject of their conversation. It was but a small consolation to him that Prue was in his power through her rash marriage; she had already shown him that she considered him particeps criminis, if she did not go so far as to lay the blame on his shoulders. It was plain to him that Beachcombe would give him no opening for a quarrel about her and that he would have to find some other cause for the duel he was determined to force upon him, but that gave him no uneasiness. At that period dueling, though nominally unlawful, was a highly popular means of settling any and every difference between gentlemen, and love, cards, etiquette, family jars, political opinions and a host of more or less trivial causes gave plausible excuse for the indulgence of personal hatred. Sir Geoffrey was a dead shot and a fairly skilled swordsman, and had come off scathless in encounters with far more formidable antagonists than this young lordling, whose prowess was still untried and whose reputation for courage or any other lofty quality was yet to make.
With a wager of five thousand guineas contingent upon Prue’s fidelity to him, Sir Geoffrey was not prepared to be overnice about the pretext that would put such an antagonist hors de combat for a few weeks.
While he was turning over in his mind a variety of baits by which he might draw Beachcombe into a quarrel, the latter pursued his way through the crowd, exchanging greetings and receiving congratulations upon the advent of his son and heir, and at last reached Prudence. It was no very easy task to edge his way through the throng of her admirers, nor had he any special reason to felicitate himself upon his success when he had gained it. He came up, bowing low, with his hand upon his breast, pouring out the customary stream of high-flown compliments and asseverations that the sun, moon and stars had refused their light since her eyes, the brightest of all luminaries, had been withdrawn from the firmament!
Prue regarded him with one of her most beaming smiles.
“‘And pray, sir, when came you from hell?
Our friends there—did you leave them well?’”
she inquired, with an air of flattering interest.
In the midst of the laughter that greeted this sally, Peggie was heard to exclaim, in a voice of mock-horror, “Prue! how shocking!”
“My dear, you must blame Mr. Prior, not me, if you object to the quotation,” said Prue demurely.
“Maybe,” retorted Peggie; “but in conversation one can not see the inverted commas, and you know Lord Beachcombe does not read poetry.”
“True, I apologize,” said Prue, and turning again to her former suitor, she dropped a deep curtsey. “How is it, Lord Beachcombe, that we have not seen you earlier?” she asked graciously. “When did you arrive from—home? and did you leave her ladyship and the baby well?”
The laugh that followed this was utterly incomprehensible to the proud father, who replied with urbanity, feeling that Prue showed great self-denial in making these inquiries so publicly and exposing herself to the hilarity of those who could not fail to remember how she had forfeited the proud position of wife to the present and mother of the future Earl of Beachcombe. He felt quite sorry for the regret and mortification she must be suffering and was inclined to concede that the punishment was overharsh for the frailty of a creature so winsome.
He offered his hand to lead her into the supper-room and the magnetic thrill of her touch sent the blood surging through his veins in the old accustomed way—he looked down into the sparkling depths of her lovely eyes and straightway forgot—everything that he ought to have remembered. It needed but the gloomy frown of Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert to incite him to offer the most effusive attentions and Prue to permit, if not actually encourage them, until wearying of a pastime that had nothing to recommend it but its folly, she turned the battery of her fascinations in another direction.
It must not be supposed that Lord Beachcombe was without curiosity as to the use Robin had made of the invitation and disguise he had borrowed so peremptorily. He questioned several people, but no one seemed to have observed the scarlet domino, and the one person who could have enlightened him, he did not dream of connecting with the exploits of a highwayman. He began to feel reassured, and a couple of bottles of wine helped to restore his damaged amour propre, though his temper was considerably ruffled. He followed Prue to the ball-room, but his invitation to dance was coldly declined and he retreated to the card-room where Sir Geoffrey was already seated and hailed his coming with fierce joy. It would be strange, indeed, he argued, if means could not be found to fasten a quarrel upon a man who came to the card-table with a naturally morose temper heated with wine and still further excited by the bitter-sweet arts of a coquette.
That Beachcombe was still infatuated with his old love, Sir Geoffrey had not the slightest doubt, and that he had persuaded her to jilt him he had, as he firmly believed, the evidence of his own senses.
The play was high, and Sir Geoffrey’s luck had taken another turn. The pile of guineas in front of him grew apace and gradually the others dropped out, except Beachcombe, who had also been winning, though not so largely. His luck soon gave way before Sir Geoffrey’s, and in a short time he had lost all his winnings and a considerable sum besides. Seeing him hesitate and half rise from the table, his opponent laughingly exclaimed, “Don’t leave me, Beachcombe; I’m in the vein to-night—”
“Unlucky in love, lucky at cards,” sneered Beachcombe. “I see the widow has jilted you.”
“That’s a lie and you know it!” cried Sir Geoffrey. Both the men started to their feet and stood glaring at each other across the table. Most of the other games were suspended, and a breathless hush fell upon the whole assembly.
“Is that intended for an insult?” said Beachcombe thickly. A laugh or two expressed the opinion of the onlookers as to the propriety of such a question.
“You can take it any way you please,” retorted Sir Geoffrey. “What I have said I am ready to repeat, if you require it, and uphold in any way you demand.”
A gray-haired man in general’s uniform came forward and laid a hand on the arm of each.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “the duchess will be much offended, if this should go further under her roof, on such an occasion as this. If you wish to continue this discussion, my quarters, near by, are at your disposal after the ball. Until then, pray let us avoid any unpleasantness.”
Beachcombe turned on his heel and walked off to the other end of the room. Sir Geoffrey accepted the old general’s invitation, and pocketing his winnings, repaired to the ball-room, his temper and spirits vastly improved.
There he had the good fortune to find Prue in a gracious mood, and willing to make up for her previous neglect by dancing with him and allowing him to linger at her side until the ball came to an end. Then he had the felicity of shawling her and handing her into her carriage, where she bade him good morrow and permitted him to press a kiss upon Robin’s pearl-embroidered gloves.