The Black Moth - Georgette Heyer (best ereader for students TXT) 📗
- Author: Georgette Heyer
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Her bewildered aunt unravelled this with difficulty.
“He’d be a cur if he asked you to marry him?” she asked, with knitted brows.
“Yes. Because he’s a highwayman.”
“A highwayman! Then ‘twas true what he said? Well, well! I should never have thought it! That nice boy!”
Diana disengaged herself; in her eyes was a threatening gleam.
“Don’t dare say a word against him!”
“No, no—of course not! I was only surprised. But I am thankfully glad he did not ask you, for all that!”
“Glad? How can you be so cruel?”
“My dear, you could not possibly marry—a—a—”
“Common felon!” sobbed Diana. “I can—I can!”
“And heaven alone knows what else he may have done! Why, child, he said himself that he had a—a spotty past!”
At this her niece gave a tearful giggle.
“La! What ails you now, Di?”
“H-he never said—spotty.”
Miss Betty smiled reluctantly.
“A doubtful past, then.”
“I don’t believe it!”
Her aunt pursed up her lips.
“I won’t believe it. He couldn’t be wicked. You forget he saved me!”
Miss Betty relented.
“No, I do not, my love; and, to be sure, I think he is a dear boy, but I also think ‘twas very right of him to go away.”
She was enveloped in a rapturous embrace.
“Auntie, you know you love him almost as much as I do?”
“No, that I do not!” was the grim retort. “I am not like to want to marry him!”
There was another watery giggle at this, and Diana went over to the dressing-table to tidy her hair.
“I doubt I shall never see him again,” she said wretchedly. “Oh, auntie, if you could but have seen his dear, unhappy eyes!”
“Stuff and nonsense! Not see him again, forsooth! He will call upon us in town. ‘Tis but common politeness.”
“You forget he is a highwayman, and not like to come nigh us again.”
“Well, my dear, if he cares for you as you say he does, he will see to it that he takes up some decent occupation. Mayhap, he will go into the army, or what not. Then wait and see if he does not come to you.”
“Do you think so?” doubtfully.
“Of course I do, sweetheart! And if he does not try to mend his ways, and you see him no more—why then, snap your fingers at him, my love, for he will not be worth one tear!”
Diana sighed and poured out some water to bathe her face with.
“Is not that sensible?” coaxed her aunt.
She raised her head and looked unutterable scorn.
“I think ‘tis remarkable silly,” she answered. Then her dignity fell from her. “Oh, are all men such big stupids?” she cried.
“Most of ‘em,” nodded her aunt.
“But can’t he tell that I shall be—oh, so miserable, and that I should not ruin my life if I married him?”
“My dear, once a man gets an idea into his head, ‘tis the very devil to get it out of him! Not but what I think Master Jack is right, mind you. And your dear papa and I had looked higher for you. After all—what is Mr. Carr?”
“He is the only man I will ever marry! So you may cease looking higher for me! I suppose you want me to marry that great gaby, Sir Denis Fabian, you are for ever inviting to the house? Or, perhaps, this gallant Mr. Bettison? Or Mr. Everard? How can you be so unkind?”
“I am not. But I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a highwayman, my dear.”
Diana ran to her, putting her arms round her neck.
“Dearest auntie, forgive my rudeness! I know you did not mean to be unkind! But you do not understand—I love him.”
“I always said you’d take it badly,” nodded Miss Betty gloomily.
“Take what badly?”
“Love. And no man is worth one tear-drop, sweet.”
The confident, tender little laugh that answered this statement made her look at her suddenly changed niece in surprise.
“You don’t know,” said Diana. Her eyes were soft and luminous. “You just do not know.”
Before Miss Betty could think of a suitable retort, a knock fell on the door. It was opened, and Thomas was found to be without.
“My Lady O’Hara is below, madam.”
For an instant the two ladies stared at one another. Then:
“La and drat!” said Miss Betty. “With the drawing-room in a muddle after cleaning!”
Diana nodded to the man.
“We will come, Thomas.” Then as soon as he had withdrawn, she stared again at her aunt. “Lady O’Hara! But why?”
“I suppose she felt she must call after Sir Miles had been here so often. But why, for goodness’ sake, must she choose the one day that the drawing-room is all untidy? Drat again, I say!”
Diana was powdering her little nose, and anxiously looking to see if the tear-stains had quite vanished.
“‘Tis not untidy, Aunt Betty. Oh, I am quite eager to see her—I think she must be charming, from all Sir Miles said. Do hurry, aunt!”
Miss Betty stuck a pin into her hair and smoothed out her dress.
“And me in this old taffeta!” she grumbled.
Diana swirled round, her own peach-coloured silk rustling fashionably.
“Never mind, dear—you look very sweet. But do be quick!”
Miss Betty suffered herself to be led to the door.
“‘Tis all very fine for you, my love, with a new gown fresh on to-day! Will you just take a look at my petticoat, though?”
“Nonsense, you are beautiful! Come!”
Together they descended the stairs, and went into the drawing-room.
A dainty, very diminutive little lady arose from a chair at their entry, and came forward with outstretched hands, and such a fascinating smile that Miss Betty’s ill-humour vanished, and she responded to her visitor’s deep curtsy with one of her best jerky dips.
“I am vastly delighted to welcome you, madam,” she said primly. “‘Tis good in you to come this long way to see us.”
She drew a chair forward for my lady, and presented her niece. Lady O’Hara gave the girl a swift, scrutinising glance, and curtsied again.
“‘Tis a great pleasure to me to meet you at last, Miss Beauleigh,” she smiled. “My husband has told me so much of you, I declare I was all agog to meet you!”
Diana warmed instantly to the little lady’s charm.
“Indeed, madam, we, too, have heard much of you from Sir Miles. We have wanted to meet you!”
Lady O’Hara seated herself and nodded briskly.
“I expect he told you some dreadful tales of me,” she said happily. “I must ask your pardon for not having visited you before, but, as I daresay you know, I have been away, and, gracious me, when I returned everything seemed topsy-turvy!” She laughed across at Miss Betty. “I promise you I have had my hands full putting things to rights, Miss Beauleigh!”
Miss Betty drew her chair closer, and in a minute they were deep in truly feminine conversation: the prodigious extravagance of the servants; the helplessness of men-folk when left to themselves, and then London, its shops, its parks, the newest play.
Lady O’Hara was begged to take a dish of Miss Betty’s precious Bohea—a very high honour indeed—and when Mr. Beauleigh came into the room he found his sister and daughter seated on either side of a pretty, animated little lady whom he had never before seen, talking hard, and partaking of tay and angel cakes. Whereupon he retired hastily and shut himself up in his library.
LADY O’HARA looked across at her sleeping husband with no little severity in her glance. He was stretched in a chair beneath a giant oak, and she was busied with some needlework a few paces from him. O’Hara’s eyes were shut and his mouth open. My lady frowned and coughed. She rasped her throat quite considerably, but it was not without effect; her spouse shut his mouth and opened one lazy eyelid. Immediately my lady assumed an air of gentle mournfulness, and the eye regarding her twinkled a little, threatening to close. Molly looked reproachful, and began to speak in an aggrieved tone:
“Indeed, and I do not think it at all kind in you to go to sleep when I want to talk, sir.”
O’Hara hastily opened the other eye.
“Why, my love, I was not asleep! I was—er—thinking!”
“Do you say so, sir? And do you usually think with your mouth open—_snoring?_”
O’Hara started up.
“I’ll swear I did not snore!” he cried. “Molly, ‘tis a wicked tease ye are!”
“Miles, ‘tis a big baby you are!” she mimicked. “There is a caterpillar on your wig, and ‘tis on crooked.”
“The caterpillar?” asked O’Hara, bewildered.
“No, stupid, the wig. I had best straighten it for you, I suppose.” She rose and stooped over him, settling the wig and removing the caterpillar by means of two leaves, judiciously wielded. Then she dropped a kiss on her husband’s brow and sat down at his feet.
“First, you have never asked me where I was gone to all yesterday afternoon.”
O’Hara had been carefully broken in, and he now knew what was expected of him, and put on an expression of great interest.
“Where did ye go, my lady?”
“I went to call on Miss Beauleigh and her niece, sir!”
She looked up at him triumphantly and a little challengingly.
“The devil ye did!”
“Certainly, sir. I knew that there was something in the air, and I remembered your letter to me saying that Jack was in love with Diana. So I thought I would go and see her for myself.”
Miles looked down at her half indulgently, half vexedly.
“Did you, puss?”
“I did. And I found that she was in love with him as well as he with her—of course.”
“Of course?”
“Who could help falling in love with him? He’s so monstrous captivating, I would like to marry him myself.”
She bent her head to hide the roguish smile that had sprung to her lips.
“I beg your pardon?” asked O’Hara, startled.
My lady traced patterns on his knee.
“Provided, of course, that I had not already married you, Miles.”
But O’Hara had seen the smile. He heaved a great sigh, and said in lugubrious tones:
“There is always the river, madam.”
My lady’s finger wavered and stopped, and her hand tucked itself away into his.
“That is not a nice joke, Miles.”
He laughed, and tweaked one of her curls.
“Sure, and did ye not ask for it, asthore?”
“Of course I did not. But about Jack, dear—”
“I thought it was about Jack?”
“Miles, will you be quiet and attend?”
“Yes, m’dear.”
“Very well, then. As I have told you, I drove over to Littledean yesterday afternoon, and made the acquaintance of the Miss Beauleighs.”
“And what did ye think of them?”
“I thought Diana was wonderfully beautiful—such eyes, Miles!—and such hair! Miss Beauleigh is very amiable, and so droll! I drank a dish of tay with them, and I spoke of Jack—”
“Madcap, never tell me ye called him Carstares?”
“No, you great gaby! Of course I did not. As it chanced, Miss Beauleigh mentioned him first, and she called him Mr. Carr. So I did, too. And I noticed that Diana said scarce a word about him, and when she did ‘twas of the coolest. That, of course, made me all the more certain that she loved him.”
O’Hara was plainly puzzled.
“But why should you be certain if she did not speak of him, alanna?”
“‘Tis what you’ll never understand, my dear, because you are
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