The Black Moth - Georgette Heyer (best ereader for students TXT) 📗

began life by cheating at cards, and since then—’ Oh, I shall believe it myself ere long! I seem to have told it to so many people. And I lay myself open to the impertinences of—” he checked himself, thinking of the interview downstairs with Mr. Beauleigh.

“Rubbish, Jack.”

“‘Tis not rubbish. I have one recommendation—only one.”

“Faith, have ye as much? What is it?”

My lord laughed bitterly.

“I dress rather well.”

“And fence better, as far as I remember.”

“I have reason to. That is but another point to damn me. What woman would marry a fencing-master? Oh, my God! what a mess I have made of my life.” He tried to laugh and failed miserably.

“I rather fancy Mistress Di would.”

“She will not be asked thus to demean herself,” was the proud answer.

“My dear Jack, ye forget ye are the Earl of Wyncham.”

“A pretty earl! No thank you, Miles. Richard’s son will be Earl—no son of mine.”

O’Hara brought his fist down on the table with a crash.

“Damn Richard and his son!”

My lord picked up a jewelled pin and, walking to the glass, proceeded to fasten it in his cravat. The other followed him with smouldering eyes.

“Retired into your shell again?” he growled.

Carstares, with his head slightly on one side, considered the effect of the pin. Then he came back to his friend.

“My dear Miles, the long and short of it is that I am an unreasonable grumbler. I made my bed, and I suppose I must—er—lie on it.”

“And will ye be afther telling me who helped ye in the making of it?”

Carstares sat down and started to pull on one boot.

“I foresee we shall be at one another’s throats ere long,” he prophesied cheerfully. “Did I tell you that I informed Mr. Beauleigh of my—er—profession to-day?”

Miles forgot his anger in surprise.

“Ye never told him ye were a highwayman?” he cried.

“Yes, I did. Why not?”

“Why not? Why not? God help us all! are ye daft, man? Do ye intend to tell every other person ye meet what ye are? Bedad, ‘tis mad ye are entirely!”

Carstares sighed.

“I was afraid you would not understand.”

“‘Twould take a wizard to understand ye! Another chivalrous impulse, I doubt not?”

“Chiv—! No. It is just that I could not let him think me an honourable gentleman. He took it well, on the whole, and is now frigidly polite.”

“Polite! I should hope so! The ould scarecrow, after ye’d saved his daughter on him, too! And ‘twas he made ye so furious?”

Carstares laughed.

“He and myself. You see—he—lectured me—oh! quite kindly—on the error of my ways, and—it hurt.”

“‘Tis as well ye are coming to me then, the way things are with ye at present.”

My lord opened his mouth to speak, encountered a fiery glance, and shut it again.

“Anything to say?” inquired O’Hara with a threatening gleam in his eye.

“No, sir,” replied Jack meekly.

“Ye will come?”

“Please.”

O’Hara sprang up joyfully.

“Good lad! Lud! but I was afraid at one time—Put on your other boot while I go and look for that rascal of yours!” He hurried out of the room to find Jim, who, having foreseen the result of the contest, was already stowing the luggage away on the chaise.

Half-an-hour later, his adieux made, Jim and the baggage following, my lord rode out with O’Hara on his way to Thurze House.

For some time there was silence between the two men, with only a perfunctory remark or two on the fineness of the day and the freshness of the mare to break it. Carstares’ mind was, as his friend well knew, dwelling on all that he had left behind him. His parting with Diana had been quite ordinary, she at least making no sign that he was anything beyond a chance acquaintance; indeed, it had almost seemed to him that her attitude was slightly aloof, as if she had drawn a little into herself. Her hand when he had kissed it had been lifeless and cold, her smile sweetly remote. He knew that he had held the hand a fraction of a minute longer than was strictly in accordance with the rules on good manners, and he feared that he had clasped it in most unseemly wise, pressing it hard against his lips. He wondered whether she had remarked it. He little guessed that long after he had ridden out of sight, she continued to feel that pressure. If he could have seen her passionately kissing each finger separately for fear her lips might pass over the exact spot his had touched, his heart might have been lighter.

It was true that she had retired into her shell, a little hurt at what she termed his man’s blind obstinacy. She had laid her heart bare for him to read; she had offered herself to him as plainly as if she had spoken in terms less general than in the pleasaunce; she had fought desperately for her happiness, thrusting aside all thought of maiden modesty, and when she afterwards had realised what she had done, and tried to imagine what he must think of her, she had blushed dark, and mentally flayed herself for her lack of proper pride and manners. Terrified that he might think her immodest, overwhelmed with sudden shyness, she had been colder in her attitude towards him than she had intended, even in her anxiety not to appear forward. But in spite of her coldness, how intensely had she hoped that he would sense her love and all that she wanted him to know! Incomprehensible the ways of women!

Not endowed with feminine perspicacity or intuition, how could John hope to understand her dual feelings? He only knew that he had hurt her, and that she had drawn back that she might not lay herself open to more. He could not hope to understand her when she did not fully understand herself.

Reflecting on the swiftness with which love had come to them, he believed that with a like swiftness it might fade, at least from Diana’s memory. He told himself that he hoped for that end, but he was honest enough to know that it was the last thing in the world he wanted. The mere thought of Diana indifferent to him, or worse, another man’s bride, made him bite on his underlip and tighten his hold on the rein.

O’Hara cast many a surreptitious glance at the stern young profile beside him, wondering whether his lordship would last out the tedious ride or no. He knew enough of Carstares’ indomitable courage to believe that he would, but he feared that it would prove too great a strain on him in his present weakened condition.

Very wisely he made no attempt to draw Carstares out of his abstraction, but continued to push on in silence, past fields knee-deep in grass, soon to be hay, with sorrel and poppies growing apace, along lanes with hedges high above their heads on either side, over hill and down dale—always in silence.

Presently O’Hara fell a little to the rear that he might study his friend without palpably turning to do so. He thought he had never seen Jack’s face wear such a black look. The fine brows almost met over his nose with only two sharp furrows to separate them; the mouth was compressed, the chin a little prominent, and the eyes, staring ahead between Jenny’s nervous ears, seemed to see all without absorbing anything. One hand at his hip was clenched on his riding-whip, the other mechanically guided the mare.

O’Hara found himself admiring the lithe grace of the man, with his upright carriage and splendid seat.

Suddenly, as if aware that he was being studied, my lord half turned his head and met O’Hara’s eyes. He gave a tiny shrug and with it seemed to throw off his oppression. The frown vanished, and he smiled.

“I beg your pardon, Miles. I am a surly fellow.”

“Mayhap your shoulder troubles you,” suggested O’Hara tactfully.

“N-no, I am barely conscious of it. I’ve no excuse beyond bad manners and a worse temper.”

From thence onward he set himself to entertain his friend, and if his laugh was sometimes rather forced, at least his wit was enough to keep O’Hara in a pleasurable state of amusement for some miles.

By the time they arrived at Thurze House, Carstares was suspiciously white about the mouth, and there was once more a furrow—this time of pain—between his brows. But he was able to greet my Lady O’Hara with fitting elegance and to pay her at least three neat, laughing compliments before O’Hara took him firmly by the arm and marched him to his room, there to rest and recover before the dinner hour.

Shortly after, Jim arrived, highly contented with his new surroundings, and able to give a satisfactory verdict on Jenny’s stalling. He had quite accepted O’Hara as a friend, after some jealous qualms, and was now well pleased that his master should be in his house instead of roaming the countryside.

At five o’clock, as the gong rang, my lord descended the stairs resplendent in old gold and silver trimmings, determined to be as gay and light-hearted as the occasion demanded, as though there had never been a Diana to upset the whole course of a man’s life.

Not for nothing had he fought against the world for six long years. Their teaching had been to hide all feeling beneath a perpetual mask of nonchalance and wit; never for an instance to betray a hurt, and never to allow it to appear that he was anything but the most care-free of men. The training stood him in good stead now, and even O’Hara wondered to see him in such spirits after all that had passed. Lady Molly was delighted with her guest, admiring his appearance, his fine, courtly manners, and falling an easy victim to his charm.

O’Hara, watching them, saw with content that his capricious little wife was really attracted to my lord. It was a high honour, for she was hard to please, and many of O’Hara’s acquaintances had been received, if not with actual coldness, at least not with any degree of warmth.

At the end of the meal she withdrew with the warning that they were not to sit too long over their wine, and that Miles was not to fatigue his lordship.

O’Hara pushed the decanter towards his friend.

“I’ve a piece of news I daresay will interest ye!” he remarked.

Carstares looked at him inquiringly.

“Ay. ‘Tis that his Grace of Andover has withdrawn his precious person to Paris.”

Carstares raised one eyebrow.

“I suppose he would naturally wish to remain in the background after our little fracas.”

“Does he ever wish to be in the background?”

“You probably know him better than I do. Does he?”

“He does not. ‘Tis always in front he is, mighty prominent. Damn him!”

My lord was faintly surprised.

“Why that? Has he ever interfered with you?”

“He has interfered with me best friend to some purpose.”

“I fear the boot was on the other leg!”

“Well, I know something of how he interferes with Dick.”

Carstares put down his glass, all attention now.

“With Dick? How?”

O’Hara seemed to regret having spoken

“Oh, well—I’ve no sympathy with him.”

“What has Tracy done to him?”

“‘Tis nothing of great moment. Merely that he and that worthless brother of his seek to squeeze him dry.”

“Robert?”

“Andrew. I know very little of Robert.”

“Andrew! But he was a child—”

“Well, he’s grown up now, and as rakish a young spendthrift as ye could wish for. Dick seems to pay their debts.”

“Devil take him! Why?”

“Heaven knows! I suppose Lavinia insists. We all knew that ‘twas for that reason Tracy flung you both in her