The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth CenturyHeyer, Georgette
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The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
Heyer, Georgette
Aristocracy (Social class) -- England -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Love stories; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Regency fiction
For a week she thought and dreamt of nothing but gilded French chairs,
and then abruptly, as all else, the fancy left her, and she forgot all
about it. Her mantua-maker's bills were enormous, and caused Richard
many a sleepless night, but she was always so charmingly penitent that
he could not find it in his heart to be angry; and, after all, he
reflected, he would rather have his money squandered on her adornment
than on that of her brothers. She was by turns passionate and cold to
him: one day enrapturing him by some pretty blandishment, the next
snapping peevishly when he spoke to her.
At the beginning of the season he dutifully conducted her to routs and
_bals masqués_, but soon she began to go always with either Andrew or
Robert, both of whom were in town, and whose casual chaperonage she much
preferred to Richard's solicitous care. Tracy was rarely in London for
more than a few days at a time, and the Carstares, greatly to Richard's
relief, saw but little of him. Carstares disliked Colonel Lord Robert
Belmanoir, but the Duke he detested, not only for his habitual sneer
towards him, but for the influence that he undoubtedly held over
Lavinia. Richard was intensely jealous of this, and could sometimes
hardly bring himself to be civil when his Grace visited my lady. Whether
justly or not, he inwardly blamed Tracy for all Lavinia's crazy whims
and periodical fits of ill-temper. It did not take his astute Grace long
to discover this, and with amused devilry he played upon it, encouraging
Lavinia in her extravagance, and making a point of calling on her
whenever he was in town.
Carstares never knew when not to expect to find him there; he came and
went to and from London with no warning whatsoever. No one ever knew
where he was for more than a day at a time, and no one was in the least
surprised if he happened to be seen in London when he should, according
to all accounts, have been in Paris. They merely shrugged their
shoulders, and exchanged glances, murmuring: "Devil Belmanoir!" and
wondering what fresh intrigue he was in.
So altogether Richard was not sorry when my lady grew suddenly sick of
town and was seized with a longing for Bath. He had secretly hoped that
she might return to Wyncham, but when she expressed no such wish, he
stifled his own longing for home, shut up the London house, and took her
and all her baggage to Bath, installing her in Queen Square in one of
the most elegantly furnished houses in the place.
Lady Lavinia was at first charmed to be there again; delighted with the
house, and transported over the excellencies of the new French milliner
she had discovered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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