chapter 3.

the duke apologises

as sir lucius hurried off his colleague advanced towards the upper end of the room, and, taking up a position, made his observations, through the shooting figures of the dancers, on the dreaded mr. dacre. the late guardian of the duke of st. james was in the perfection of manhood; perhaps five-and-forty by age; but his youth had lingered long. he was tall, thin, and elegant, with a mild and benevolent expression of countenance, not unmixed, however, with a little reserve, the ghost of youthly pride. listening with polished and courtly bearing to the pretty mrs. dallington vere, assenting occasionally to her piquant observations by a slight bow, or expressing his dissent by a still slighter smile, seldom himself speaking, yet always with that unembarrassed manner which makes a saying listened to, mr. dacre was altogether, in appearance, one of the most distinguished personages in this distinguished assembly. the young duke fell into an attitude worthy of hamlet: ‘this, then, is old dacre! o deceitful fitz-pompey! o silly st. james! could i ever forget that tall, mild man, who now is perfectly fresh in my memory? ah! that memory of mine; it has been greatly developed to-night. would that i had cultivated that faculty with a little more zeal! but what am i to do? the case is urgent. what must the dacres think of me? what must may dacre think? on the course the whole day, and i the steward, and not conscious of the presence of the first family in the riding! fool, fool! why, why did i accept an office for which i was totally unfitted? why, why must i flirt away a whole morning with that silly sophy wrekin? an agreeable predicament, truly, this! what would i give now once more to be in st. james’s street! confound my yorkshire estates! how they must dislike, how they must despise me! and now, truly, i am to be introduced to him! the duke of st. james, mr. dacre! mr. dacre, the duke of st. james! what an insult to all parties! how supremely ludicrous! what a mode of offering my gratitude to the man to whom i am under solemn and inconceivable obligations! a choice way, truly, to salute the bosom-friend of my sire, the guardian of my interests, the creator of my property, the fosterer of my orphan infancy! it is useless to conceal it; i am placed in the most disagreeable, the most inextricable situation. ‘inextricable! am i, then, the duke of st. james? am i that being who, two hours ago, thought that the world was formed alone for my enjoyment, and i quiver and shrink here like a common hind? out, out on such craven cowardice! i am no hauteville! i am bastard! never! i will not be crushed. i will struggle with this emergency; i will conquer it. now aid me, ye heroes of my house! on the sands of palestine, on the plains of france, ye were not in a more difficult situation than is your descendant in a ball-room in his own county. my mind elevates itself to the occasion, my courage expands with the enterprise; i will right myself with these dacres with honour, and without humiliation.’

the dancing ceased, the dancers disappeared. there was a blank between the duke of st. james on one side of the broad room, and mr. dacre and those with whom he was conversing on the other. many eyes were on his grace, and he seized the opportunity to execute his purpose. he advanced across the chamber with the air of a young monarch greeting a victorious general. it seemed that, for a moment, his majesty wished to destroy all difference of rank between himself and the man that he honoured. so studied and so inexpressibly graceful were his movements that the gaze of all around involuntarily fixed upon him. mrs. dallington vere unconsciously refrained from speaking as he approached; and one or two, without actually knowing his purpose, made way. they seemed awed by his dignity, and shuffled behind mr. dacre, as if he were the only person who was the duke’s match.

‘mr. dacre,’ said his grace, in the softest but still audible tones, and he extended, at the same time, his hand; ‘mr. dacre, our first meeting should have been neither here nor thus; but you, who have excused so much, will pardon also this!’

mr. dacre, though a calm personage, was surprised by this sudden address. he could not doubt who was the speaker. he had left his ward a mere child. he saw before him the exact and breathing image of the heart-friend of his ancient days. he forgot all but the memory of a cherished friendship.

he was greatly affected; he pressed the offered hand; he advanced; he moved aside. the young duke followed up his advantage, and, with an air of the greatest affection, placed mr. dacre’s arm in his own, and then bore off his prize in triumph.

right skilfully did our hero avail himself of his advantage. he spoke, and he spoke with emotion. there is something inexpressibly captivating in the contrition of a youthful and a generous mind. mr. dacre and his late ward soon understood each other; for it was one of those meetings which sentiment makes sweet.

‘and now,’ said his grace, ‘i have one more favour to ask, and that is the greatest: i wish to be recalled to the recollection of my oldest friend.’

mr. dacre led the duke to his daughter; and the earl of st. jerome, who was still laughing at her side, rose.

‘the duke of st. james, may, wishes to renew his acquaintance with you.’

she bowed in silence. lord st. jerome, who was the great oracle of the yorkshire school, and who had betted desperately against the favourite, took mr. dacre aside to consult him about the rain, and the duke of st. james dropped into his chair. that tongue, however, which had never failed him, for once was wanting. there was a momentary silence, which the lady would not break; and at last her companion broke it, and not felicitously.

‘i think there is nothing more delightful than meeting with old friends.’

‘yes! that is the usual sentiment; but i half suspect that it is a commonplace, invented to cover our embarrassment under such circumstances; for, after all, “an old friend” so situated is a person whom we have not seen for many years, and most probably not cared to see.’

‘you are indeed severe.’

‘oh! no. i think there is nothing more painful than parting with old friends; but when we have parted with them, i am half afraid they are lost.’

‘absence, then, with you is fatal?’

‘really, i never did part with any one i greatly loved; but i suppose it is with me as with most persons.’

‘yet you have resided abroad, and for many years?’

‘yes; but i was too young then to have many friends; and, in fact, i accompanied perhaps all that i possessed.’

‘how i regret that it was not in my power to accept your kind invitation to dacre in the spring!’

‘oh! my father would have been very glad to see you; but we really are dull kind of people, not at all in your way, and i really do not think that you lost much amusement.’

‘what better amusement, what more interesting occupation, could i have had than to visit the place where i passed my earliest and my happiest hours? ’tis nearly fifteen years since i was at dacre.’

‘except when you visited us at easter. we regretted our loss.’

‘ah! yes! except that,’ exclaimed the duke, remembering his j?ger’s call; ‘but that goes for nothing. i of course saw very little.’

‘yet, i assure you, you made a great impression. so eminent a personage, of course, observes less than he himself is observed. we had a graphical description of you on our return, and a very accurate one, too; for i recognised your grace to-night merely from the report of your visit.’

the duke shot a shrewd glance at his companion’s face, but it betrayed no indication of badinage, and so, rather puzzled, he thought it best to put up with the parallel between himself and his servant. but miss dacre did not quit this agreeable subject with all that promptitude which he fondly anticipated.

‘poor lord st. jerome,’ said she, ‘who is really the most unaffected person i know, has been complaining most bitterly of his deficiency in the air noble. he is mistaken for a groom perpetually; and once, he says, had a douceur presented to him in his character of an ostler. your grace must be proud of your advantage over him. you would have been gratified by the universal panegyric of our household. they, of course, you know, are proud of their young duke, a real yorkshire duke, and they love to dwell upon your truly imposing appearance. as for myself, who am true yorkshire also, i take the most honest pride in hearing them describe your elegant attitude, leaning back in your britzska, with your feet on the opposite cushions, your hat arranged aside with that air of undefinable grace characteristic of the grand seigneur, and, which is the last remnant of the feudal system, your reiterated orders to drive over an old woman. you did not even condescend to speak english, which made them quite enthusiastic —’

‘oh, miss dacre, spare me!’

‘spare you! i have heard of your grace’s modesty; but this excessive sensibility, under well-earned praise, surprises me!’

‘but, miss dacre, you cannot indeed really believe that this vulgar ruffian, this grim scarecrow, this guy faux, was — was — myself.’

‘not yourself! really, i am a simple personage. i believe in my eyes and trust to my ears. i am at a loss for your meaning.’

‘i mean, then,’ said the duke, who had gained time to rally, ‘that this monster was some impostor, who must have stolen my carriage, picked my pocket, and robbed me of my card, which, next to his reputation, is a man’s most delicate possession.’

‘then you never called upon us?’

‘i blush to confess it, never; but i will call, in future, every day.’

‘your ingenuousness really rivals your modesty.’

‘now, after these confessions and compliments, may i suggest a waltz?’

‘no one is waltzing now.’

‘when the quadrille, then, is finished?’

‘then i am engaged.’

‘after your engagement?’

‘that is indeed making a business of pleasure. i have just refused a similar request of your fellow-steward. we damsels shall soon be obliged to carry a book to enrol our engagements as well as our bets, if this system of reversionary dancing be any longer encouraged.’

‘but you must dance with me!’ said the duke, imploringly.

‘oh! you will stumble upon me in the course of the evening, and i shall probably be more fortunate.

i suppose you feel nervous about tomorrow?’

‘not at all.’

‘ah! i forgot. your grace’s horse is the favourite. favourites always win.’

‘have i a horse?’

‘why, lord st. jerome says he doubts whether it be one.’

‘lord st. jerome seems a vastly amusing personage; and, as he is so often taken for an ostler, i have no doubt is an exceedingly good judge of horse-flesh.’

miss dacre smiled. it was that wild, but rather wicked, gleam which sometimes accompanies the indulgence of innocent malice. it seemed to insinuate, ‘i know you are piqued, and i enjoy it’ but here her hand was claimed for the waltz.

the young duke remained musing.

‘there she swims away! by heavens! unrivalled! and there is lady afy and burlington; grand, too. yet there is something in this little dacre which touches my fancy more. what is it? i think it is her impudence. that confounded scrape of carlstein! i will cashier him tomorrow. confound his airs! i think i got out of it pretty well. to-night, on the whole, has been a night of triumph; but if i do not waltz with the little dacre i will only vote myself an ovation. but see, here comes sir lucius. well! how fares my brother consul?’

‘i do not like this rain. i have been hedging with hounslow, having previously set bag at his worthy sire with a little information. we shall have a perfect swamp, and then it will be strength against speed; the old story. damn the st. leger. i am sick of it.’

‘pooh! pooh! think of the little dacre!’

‘think of her, my dear fellow! i think of her too much. i should absolutely have diddled hounslow, if it had not been for her confounded pretty face flitting about my stupid brain. i saw you speaking to guardy. you managed that business well.’

‘why, as i do all things, i flatter myself, lucy. do you know lord st. jerome?’

‘verbally. we have exchanged monosyllables; but he is of the other set.’

‘he is cursedly familiar with the little dacre. as the friend of her father, i think i shall interfere. is there anything in it, think you?’

‘oh! no; she is engaged to another.’

‘engaged!’ said the duke, absolutely turning pale.

‘do you remember a dacre at eton?’

‘a dacre at eton!’ mused the duke. at another time it would not have been in his power to have recalled the stranger to his memory; but this evening the train of association had been laid, and after struggling a moment with his mind he had the man. ‘to be sure i do: arundel dacre, an odd sort of a fellow; but he was my senior.’

‘well, that is the man; a nephew of guardy, and cousin, of course, to la bellissima. he inherits, you know, all the property. she will not have a sou; but old dacre, as you call him, has managed pretty well, and monsieur arundel is to compensate for the entail by presenting him with a grandson.’

‘the deuce!’

‘the deuce, indeed! often have i broken his head. would that i had to a little more purpose!’

‘let us do it now!’

‘he is not here, otherwise —— one dislikes a spooney to be successful.’

‘where are our friends?’

‘annesley with the duchess, and squib with the duke at écarté.’

‘success attend them both!’

‘amen!’