The Unknown Ajax by Georgette Heyer Page B

it is hardly feasible to suppose you will be taking a look-in at Almack’s.” He ventured to point this pleasantry with a titter, but it did not answer; and upon Claud’s demanding peevishly how the devil he could take a look-in at Almack’s in September, and from Darracott Place, he at once banished the smile from his face, and said: “No, sir. Very true. But it might be wise to consider his lordship’s prejudice. Not that I would presume to dictate. I did venture to enquire of his lordship’s man if the custom of wearing knee-breeches every evening still obtains at Darracott Place. He assured me that it does, sir.”
    The sinister nature of this warning was not lost on Claud, and he said no more. It vexed him very much to be obliged to present himself to his family in a costume so out-dated as to amount to a sartorial solecism, but he had his reward in that he incurred no censure from his grandfather other than the comprehensive disapproval contained in that gentleman’s greeting. “Twiddle-poop!” said his lordship, as Claud minced up to him to make his bow, and thereafter paid no heed to him.
    Dinner, in Mrs. Darracott’s view (for her expectations had not been high), passed off very well. No lobsters had been obtainable, but Godney had procured some partridges, which, with some dried salmon, cleverly dressed in a case, quite made up this deficiency, and drew praise from Matthew, who was known to be a gourmet; and although the family reunion could hardly have been described as convivial it was not rendered hideous by any explosion of wrath from Lord Darracott.
    When the gentlemen rose from the table, my lord, recommending his son, and his younger grandsons, to join the ladies, bore Vincent off to the library, saying, as soon as they had reached this sanctuary: “Your father’s as sick as a horse over this business,” “And who shall blame him?” returned Vincent. “I’m not chirping merry about it myself, you know, sir, and I should suppose that you are not thrown into transports precisely.” “No, by God!” His lordship poured brandy into two glasses, tossed off the contents of his own, and refilled it. “I did my best to keep the fellow out, but the trap’s down. Got to lick him into shape.”
    “I feel sure you’ll manage to do so, sir. How old is he?” “Much your own age: seven-and-twenty.”
    “If he is as old as that, he’s irreclaimable,” said Vincent cynically.
    “We’ll see that!” snapped his lordship. After a moment he added grudgingly: “He won’t eat with his knife, at all events. He’s a military man: one of these new regiments, but still—!” “A military man! Oh, I was expecting a yokel in homespuns! Er—commissioned, sir?” “Major,” replied Lord Darracott shortly.
    Vincent’s eyes opened wide at that. “The devil he is!” For a moment his expression was inscrutable; then he gave a short laugh, and said: “Well it’s to be devoutly hoped that he’s up to the rig, for you can scarcely send a Major back to school, sir!”
    “Can’t I?” said my lord, looking grimmer than ever. “This whipstraw is my grandson, I’ll have you remember! He’ll dance to my piping, or I’ll send him packing!”
    “Am I to understand, sir, that you have the intention of keeping him here?” demanded Vincent.
    “Yes, if he behaves himself. I want him under my eye. The thing turns out not as badly as I feared, but there are plenty of rum ’uns with military titles these days, and this fellow was reared the Lord knows how—in a weaver’s hovel, I daresay! If I’d known—if I’d ever dreamt—!”
    He broke off, his hands clenching and unclenching as they always did when his rage threatened to master him. He glanced under his craggy brows at Vincent. “Well! Between us we should be able to give him a new touch!”
    “Between us?” repeated Vincent. “My dear sir, I would do much to oblige you, but bear-leading a cousin I heartily wish at the devil is a feat quite