He began to laugh loudly, pointing at Ned and choking out, ‘Got it wrong again, Ned, didn’t you? No funny clothes.’
Charles, sitting quiet and obedient by Mr Dudley, plainly did not know whether to laugh or to cry at this exhibition. Almeria Stanton shuddered. His mother said weakly, ‘Oh, Beverley, do try to be more polite.’
Beverley, who made a point of never listening to a word his mother said, opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could do so Alan said gravely, ‘Ned kindly introduced me to his tailor. Sorry to disappoint you.’
For once his already famous charm did not work. Beverley gave a shriek of laughter in order to demonstrate that nothing would be allowed to put him down.
‘Oh, I’m not disappointed. I never expect anything from convicts.’
At this Almeria Stanton said in her most severe voice, ‘Behave yourself, Master Beverley Hatton.’
Beverley’s response was to put his tongue out at her and shout, ‘Shan’t,’ before retreating behind his mother.
She said nervously, ‘Beverley always behaves well—unless, of course, someone provokes him.’
Presumably I provoked him when I came in fashionable clothing, thought Alan wryly.
Rational conversation proved impossible in Beverley’s presence, until Almeria said to Mrs Hatton in her coolest voice, ‘I think that, after all, it would be best, Henrietta dear, if you took Beverley to his room before our other guests arrive.’
This was only accomplished after a great deal of screaming and crying, and some reproaches from Mrs Hatton to her aunt concerning her disregard for poor Beverley’s feelings.
The sense of relief at his departure was immense. The only sad thing was that in response to Hetta Hatton’s demands for fairness, Charles and his tutor were asked to leave also. This was particularly hard on poor Mr Dudley, who had been looking forward to a good dinner and would now be reduced to dining on schoolroom fare again.
Sanity ruled at last. The Loring party and Sir Richard and his wife arrived to find a composed family ready to introduce them to the young Australian who was the subject of society’s latest gossip.
‘Yes,’ Sir Richard said, shaking Alan’s hand, ‘you are like Ned—but there is an odd difference between you. I hear from my brother George that you have been enjoying yourself in the City.’
‘Work to be done there,’ agreed Alan. ‘I like a challenge.’
‘Apparently. I wish more of our young men did. We grow soft.’
‘An old head on young shoulders,’ Sir Richard told his wife later.
Introduced to his Loring relatives en masse, as it were, Alan told them collectively, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet my English cousins whom I did not know that I possessed.’
Victor frowned. Caroline, wearing a pink gauze frock which did her no favours, smiled admiringly at him.
Clara Loring said gently, ‘We never knew your mama. She left England with her father after Fred’s bankruptcy. I hardly knew him, either. I believe that he quarrelled with his family before he lost everything.’
Well, they certainly quarrelled with him after he was ruined, thought Alan, but being a polite young man he bowed and smiled at her. Both Loring women appeared to be faded and cowed, and the reason was obvious: the dominant and personable Victor, who stood over them full of himself. He was a bullying Beastly Beverley grown up.
‘Must say that your arrival, as well as the news of Cousin Hester’s family, was a great shock to us all,’ was his grudging contribution to the conversation.
Alan nodded. ‘Must have been,’ he agreed: a statement which was laconic and cryptic enough to have pleased his father. ‘My mother left England when she was so young that she scarcely knew what family she had. It was a great shock to her, too.’
This was something of a gloss on the truth, but it seemed the thing to say. Nothing ever shocked his strong-minded little mother—‘surprised’ would have been a better word.
Victor made a great effort to be civil to the sandy-haired barbarian who had diddled him out of a fortune. Yes, the wretch had Ned Hatton’s face, but there the resemblance ended. It was as plain to him as it was to everyone else that he shared no other attribute with Ned. Side by side they were of a height, and a similar shape, but examined closely Alan’s athleticism and his hard determination shone out of him.
A friend had told Victor earlier that day, ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if that new cousin of yours was having it off with Marguerite Bencolin. I should be wary of him if I were you, old boy. Anyone who can have La Bencolin under him not long after meeting her bears watching.’
‘Stuff,’ Victor had said rudely. ‘I can’t see his attraction myself. Fools say anything about a new face.’
‘He hasn’t got a new face,’ his friend had guffawed. ‘Only Ned Hatton’s old one.’
Now, meeting him at last, Victor thought glumly that it was bad enough to have an unknown cousin disinherit him, but even worse to discover him to be so formidable despite his lack of years. Victor, at over thirty, felt himself to be juvenile beside him. Were all Australians so indecently mature? On the other hand, perhaps Caroline could be persuaded to charm the swine and get the money back that way. Now, there was a thought worth having!
As the evening wore on, however, it became apparent to Victor that, La Bencolin or no La Bencolin, Alan’s attention was fixed on Eleanor, and that Eleanor sparkled when he spoke to her. This added to the dislike he already felt for his supplanter.
He also feared that Eleanor was not so attracted to himself as she had once been.
He was not wrong. Eleanor was beginning to feel an even stronger disgust for Victor’s unkind remarks. Alan was shrewd, but he tempered his knowledge of the world with a half self-deprecating, half-teasing humour.
Drinking their port after dinner, the gentlemen indulged in male gossip.
‘Hear you spar a little,’ said Victor, who was indulging himself with the Stantons’ good port.
‘A little,’ said Alan.
‘More than a little,’ drawled Ned, determined to keep up with Victor. ‘Shouldn’t fancy going a round with him myself.’
Victor refrained from making the cutting remark about Ned’s condition which trembled on his lips. Disappointment had made his speech reckless lately. If he wanted to retain some favour with Eleanor, however, then Ned had to be placated. He decided to turn on Alan.
‘Hear you are a little épris with La Bencolin.’
‘La Bencolin?’ said Alan blandly. ‘Now, which was she? The blonde at Lady Ailesbury’s, or the brunette at Lady Palmerston’s? I don’t remember a Miss Bencolin.’
Both Sir Richard and Ned gazed sharply at him, but his manner was as easy and cool as he could make it. Alan had no intention of allowing two strenuous afternoons with Lady Bencolin to queer his pitch with Eleanor, to whom he was becoming increasingly attracted.
La Bencolin was all very well, but her practised charms were boring, and Alan was beginning to recognise that he was one of those men who needed more than an easily available body to attract him—and then to rouse him. He also needed some genuine rapport. So far he had only come across it once, and, sadly, that had been with someone who was married and wished to remain chaste.
His imperturbability annoyed Victor. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean,’ he said savagely. ‘Marguerite, Lady Bencolin, or are you so involved with the ladies that you can’t tell one from another?’
‘Steady on, Victor,’ said Ned indignantly. ‘Alan here’s such a busy man, what with sparring with Gurney, ruining his eyesight in the City and