“Between us we have achieved a nonpareil!”
He was referring to his employer’s cravat which, after several perilous minutes, he had managed to tie in one of the latest modes. Adrian, not sure that he was totally satisfied with Hemmings’s masterpiece, swung round to show it off to his cousin, Nick Cameron, who was seated in an armchair, watching the pantomime which Adrian made of preparing himself for the day.
“What do you think, Nick?” he asked anxiously. “Will it do?”
If Adrian was tricked out almost beyond current fashion in his desire to be recognised as one of London society’s greatest pinks, Nick showed his contempt for such frivolities by dressing as casually as though he were back at home in the Highlands of Scotland—a country which Adrian had not visited for many years.
“Who,” Adrian always declaimed theatrically when asked why he had never returned to his family’s place of origin since he had left it when little more than a boy, “would wish to be stranded in such a wilderness?”
Now Nick put his head on one side and said in a voice as considered as though he were being asked a serious question about the current state of the war in Europe, “Do you really want my honest opinion, Adrian?”
“Indeed, Nick. I would value it.”
“Then I wonder why you spend so much of your time worrying about the exact way in which a large piece of cloth is arranged around your neck. Would not a simple bow suffice? And also save you a great deal of heartache.”
Adrian said stiffly, for once reminding Nick of the difference in their social standing, “It is all very well for you to ignore the dictates of society, but I have a position to keep up. It would not do for me to go around dressed like a game-keeper.”
“I scarcely look like one,” murmured Nick, examining his perfectly respectable, if somewhat dull, navy-blue breeches, coat, simple cravat and shining boots from Lobbs. “But I do take your point. The Earl of Kinloch must present himself as the very maypole of fashion.”
There had been a time when the two young men had been boys together when such a set-down from Nick would have had them rolling on the ground in an impromptu battle: Adrian struggling to make Nick take back the implied insult and Nick striving to justify it. Afterwards they would rise, shake hands and remain friends. Nick had a bottom of good sense which Adrian always, if dimly, respected and on many occasions had saved the pair of them from the wrath of their seniors.
Hemmings said helpfully, “I think, m’lord, that a little tweak to the left would improve what might already be seen as satisfactory, but which would make it superb. Allow me.”
Adrian turned round; Hemmings duly tweaked. Adrian, admiring the result in the mirror, said to Nick, “There, that is exactly the sort of adjustment which I was asking you to supply. A fellow cannot really see it for himself—he takes his own appearance for granted.”
“True,” said Nick lazily. “May I ask why you are so bent on displaying yourself to your best advantage today?”
“I’m driving us to Hyde Park, of course. There, one must be seen to be caring of one’s appearance, as you would allow, I am sure.”
“We have been to the park before, but seldom after such a brouhaha. May one know why?”
Adrian signalled to Hemmings that, his work over, he might leave, and came and sat opposite his cousin. This was a somewhat difficult feat since he chose to wear his breeches so tightly cut that sitting down became almost perilous. On the other hand the breeches showed off a pair of splendid legs—the whole point of the exercise.
“The truth is,” he said, “that my mother has been besieging me again about marriage. She is becoming so wearisome on the subject that I fear that I must give way and oblige her. She does have a point in that I am the last of the Kinlochs and when I pop off there will be no one left to assume the title if I don’t oblige. I intend to look over all the available heiresses who possess some sort of beauty. I couldn’t marry an ugly woman, however rich, because if I did I shouldn’t be able to oblige Mama over the business of offspring. My wife must be as attractive as my dear Kitty. A pity that I can’t marry her—no difficulty about offspring, then.”
“My dear Kitty’ was Adrian’s ladybird, whom he had set up in rooms in the fashionable end of Chelsea and to whom he was as loyal as though she were his wife. A great deal more loyal, in fact, than many members of the aristocracy were to their legitimate wives.
“Mmm,” said Nick gravely, suppressing a desire to laugh at this artless confession. “I do see your point. Very well, I will come with you and help you to make a list of all those young ladies whom you might consider eligible.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Adrian. “I knew that you would be able to assist me if you put your mind to it.”
He rose. “Tallyho and taratantara! Let’s make a start, then. The sooner I find a wife the sooner Mama will cease to badger me.”
“I would point out,” offered Nick, slipping an arm through his cousin’s, “that the Season has barely started and all the new beauties who will be on offer have not yet arrived. I shouldn’t be too hasty, if I were you.”
“There is that,” agreed Adrian happily. “Besides, what about you, Nick? Shall you join me in this exercise? I know that your parents never badger you about providing Strathdene Castle with an heir, but you really should, you know. After all, it’s years since that wretched business with Flora Campbell—time to forget it. Perhaps I could badger you. It’s time I badgered you about something. You have had your own way with me for far too long.”
“Badger away,” said Nick easily, refusing to rise to Adrian’s comment about Flora. “I am quite happy to remain single. I’ve never yet met the woman I would care to live with—or whom I could trust—but who knows, this Season might be different.”
He didn’t really believe what he was saying. “That wretched business with Flora Campbell’ had inevitably, and permanently, coloured all his feelings about women of every class, but it would not do to tell Adrian that. What he would do was look after Adrian now that the inevitable fortune-hunters were circling round to secure him as a husband for their daughters.
All in all they were as unalike as two men could be. Nick was dark, dour, clever and cynical; Adrian was bright, fair, trusting and relatively simple-minded. Their only resemblance lay in their height: they were both tall. Adrian had once said in a rare fit of understanding, “If I were King, I’d appoint you Prime Minister, Nick. We’d make a rare team.”
So they would, Nick had thought. They were closer than brothers and nothing had yet come between them. Now, he slipped an arm through Adrian’s and they walked to the stables where Adrian’s new and splendid two-horse curricle was waiting.
Chapter One
“For goodness sake, Emma, do stand up straight,” hissed Mrs Tenison at her daughter. “Do not hang your head. Take Athene as your model. She at least is aware of the proper carriage of a gentlewoman.”
“I’ll try, Mama,” faltered Emma, “but you know how much I dislike crowds.”
“Enough of such whim-whams,” commanded Mrs Tenison severely. “Be ready to curtsey to your hostess when you reach the top of the stairs. And you, Athene, remember to stand a little to our rear and refrain from drawing attention
