could I imagine—” She broke off, and looked across the room at Mr. Brummell.
Their eyes met; he smiled; unmistakably he smiled.
“I declare I could positively embrace him!” said Mrs. Scattergood, avidly drinking in this exchange of glances. “You are made, my dear! What a set-down for John Mills! Brummell must have heard of what he said of you, daring to try to set people against you! Such impertinence!”
“He did,” said Miss Taverner dryly. “I told him.”
Chapter VI
Two days later Mr. Brummell came to call in Brook Street, and stayed for three-quarters of an hour. Miss Taverner offered him a frank apology for her unwitting rudeness, but he shook his head at her. “A great many people have heard me say rude things, ma’am, but no one has ever heard me commit the folly of apologizing for them,” he told her. “The only apology you should make me is for having mistaken Mr. Frensham for me. A blow, ma’am, I confess. I thought it had not been possible.”
“You see, sir, you came in behind him—and he was so very fine,” she excused herself.
“His tailor makes him,” said Mr. Brummell. “Now I, I make my tailor.”
Miss Taverner wished that Peregrine could have been present to hear this pronouncement.
By the time Mr. Brummell got up to go, all the favourable impressions he had made on her at Almack’s were confirmed. He was a charming companion, his deportment being particularly good, and his manners graceful and without affectation. He had a droll way of producing his sayings which amused her, and either because it entertained him to take an exactly opposite view to Mr. Mills, or because he desired to oblige his friend Worth, he was good enough to take an interest in her debut. He advised her not to abate the least jot of her disastrous frankness. She might be as outspoken as she chose.
Miss Taverner shot a triumphant glance at her chaperon. “And may I drive my own phaeton in the Park, sir?”
“By all means,” said Mr. Brummell. “Nothing could be better. Do everything in your power to be out of the way.”
Miss Taverner took his advice, and straightway commissioned her brother to procure her a perch-phaeton, and a pair of carriage-horses. Nothing in his stables would do for her; she only wished that she might have gone with him to Tattersall’s. She did not trust his ability to pick a horse.
Fortunately, the Earl of Worth took a hand in the affair before Peregrine had inspected more than half a dozen of the sweet-going, beautiful-stepping, forward-actioned bargains advertised in the columns of the Morning Post. He arrived in Brook Street one late afternoon, driving his own curricle, and found Miss Taverner on the point of setting out for the promenade in Hyde Park. “I shall not detain you long,” he said, laying down his hat and gloves on the table. “You have purchased, I believe, a perch-phaeton for your own use?”
“Certainly,” said Miss Taverner.
He looked her over. “Are you able to drive it?”
“I should not otherwise have purchased it, Lord Worth.”
“May I suggest that a plain phaeton would be a safer conveyance for a lady?”
“You may suggest what you please, sir. I am driving a perch-phaeton.”
“I am not so sure,” he said. “You have not yet convinced me that you are able to drive it.”
She glanced out of the window at his tiger, standing to the heads of the restless wheelers harnessed to the, curricle. The Earl was not driving his chestnuts to-day, but a team of greys. “Let me assure you, sir, that I am not only capable of handling a pair, but I could drive your team just as easily!” she declared.
“Very well,” said the Earl unexpectedly. “Drive it!”
She was quite taken aback. “Do you mean—now?”
“Why not? Are you afraid?”
“Afraid! I should like nothing better, but I am not dressed for driving.”
“You may have twenty minutes,” said the Earl, moving over to a chair by the table.
Miss Taverner was by no
Their eyes met; he smiled; unmistakably he smiled.
“I declare I could positively embrace him!” said Mrs. Scattergood, avidly drinking in this exchange of glances. “You are made, my dear! What a set-down for John Mills! Brummell must have heard of what he said of you, daring to try to set people against you! Such impertinence!”
“He did,” said Miss Taverner dryly. “I told him.”
Chapter VI
Two days later Mr. Brummell came to call in Brook Street, and stayed for three-quarters of an hour. Miss Taverner offered him a frank apology for her unwitting rudeness, but he shook his head at her. “A great many people have heard me say rude things, ma’am, but no one has ever heard me commit the folly of apologizing for them,” he told her. “The only apology you should make me is for having mistaken Mr. Frensham for me. A blow, ma’am, I confess. I thought it had not been possible.”
“You see, sir, you came in behind him—and he was so very fine,” she excused herself.
“His tailor makes him,” said Mr. Brummell. “Now I, I make my tailor.”
Miss Taverner wished that Peregrine could have been present to hear this pronouncement.
By the time Mr. Brummell got up to go, all the favourable impressions he had made on her at Almack’s were confirmed. He was a charming companion, his deportment being particularly good, and his manners graceful and without affectation. He had a droll way of producing his sayings which amused her, and either because it entertained him to take an exactly opposite view to Mr. Mills, or because he desired to oblige his friend Worth, he was good enough to take an interest in her debut. He advised her not to abate the least jot of her disastrous frankness. She might be as outspoken as she chose.
Miss Taverner shot a triumphant glance at her chaperon. “And may I drive my own phaeton in the Park, sir?”
“By all means,” said Mr. Brummell. “Nothing could be better. Do everything in your power to be out of the way.”
Miss Taverner took his advice, and straightway commissioned her brother to procure her a perch-phaeton, and a pair of carriage-horses. Nothing in his stables would do for her; she only wished that she might have gone with him to Tattersall’s. She did not trust his ability to pick a horse.
Fortunately, the Earl of Worth took a hand in the affair before Peregrine had inspected more than half a dozen of the sweet-going, beautiful-stepping, forward-actioned bargains advertised in the columns of the Morning Post. He arrived in Brook Street one late afternoon, driving his own curricle, and found Miss Taverner on the point of setting out for the promenade in Hyde Park. “I shall not detain you long,” he said, laying down his hat and gloves on the table. “You have purchased, I believe, a perch-phaeton for your own use?”
“Certainly,” said Miss Taverner.
He looked her over. “Are you able to drive it?”
“I should not otherwise have purchased it, Lord Worth.”
“May I suggest that a plain phaeton would be a safer conveyance for a lady?”
“You may suggest what you please, sir. I am driving a perch-phaeton.”
“I am not so sure,” he said. “You have not yet convinced me that you are able to drive it.”
She glanced out of the window at his tiger, standing to the heads of the restless wheelers harnessed to the, curricle. The Earl was not driving his chestnuts to-day, but a team of greys. “Let me assure you, sir, that I am not only capable of handling a pair, but I could drive your team just as easily!” she declared.
“Very well,” said the Earl unexpectedly. “Drive it!”
She was quite taken aback. “Do you mean—now?”
“Why not? Are you afraid?”
“Afraid! I should like nothing better, but I am not dressed for driving.”
“You may have twenty minutes,” said the Earl, moving over to a chair by the table.
Miss Taverner was by no
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