The Life and Legacy of Harriette Wilson. Harriette Wilson
"but Julia is so very dull, and my paying half her rent will also be of service to her."
"And some of your beaux may perhaps be brought to flirt with her, poor thing!" added I, "for really their neglect is very hard upon her."
Much more beauty, it should seem, is required to please without virtue than with it, since, it is said, that Julia at her mamma's made conquests every where and every hour. Even the Regent himself once said he would travel a hundred miles to have the pleasure of seeing her dance.
Her dancing, we both agreed, was perfection: speaking of what was most truly graceful, effeminate and ladylike.
"Brummell has been with her, making strong love lately," said Fanny.
"Oh, the shocking deceiver! Tell Julia not to believe one word he says."
I inquired how Amy and Sydenham went on.
"Pretty well," answered Fanny. "Sydenham is not only a very good-natured, but a remarkably clever, and well-bred man. Amy tries his patience too, a little, with his passion for books; she is always taking them out of his hand, and making him look at her attitudes before the glass, or her attempts at the shawl-dance."
"What does Sydenham do for the Marquis of Wellesley?" I asked.
"Everything, I believe," Fanny replied. "He appears to write all his letters and papers, in the shape of business; and so I believe he did in India; but I know that Wellesley does nothing except by his advice."
"Pray does Lord Wellesley make his love too, as well as his reputation, by proxy?"
"I do not know," answered Fanny, laughing, "although, I believe he passed a good deal of his time formerly with the lady they call Mrs. Moll Raffles," as Fanny designated her in her zeal to be civil.
"I never saw anybody in such spirits as you to-day," Fanny remarked to me, when we got into the carriage. "I am afraid there is some mischief in the wind. What has become of Lord Ponsonby?"
I was too happy to talk about it, so I contrived to change the subject. "Where shall I take you to?" I inquired.
"To Julia's, where I am now settled. I went there yesterday," was Fanny's answer.
"This world is really made to be laughed at," said Fanny, suddenly leaning her head out of the carriage window.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"That man," said Fanny, "with his grave face and his large board, hoisted up, standing there, challenging the world, as if he were Don Quixote come to life again."
"What for?" said I.
"Bayley's Blacking. Can one conceive anything so absurd?"
I set her down as desired, and begged her to make my excuse to Julia, who was at her window with Horace Beckford, the handsome nephew of Lord Rivers. He appeared inclined to pay her attention, if one might judge by the soft smile which was playing about his features: but then he was eternally smiling.
I found my very constant and steady admirer, Lord Frederick Bentinck, waiting for me, prepared, as usual, to give me a world of advice. He told me that I was going on in a very bad way, and asked me whither I expected to go?
"Where are you going to?" said I, as he walked into my dressing-room, and seemed to admire himself in my large glass.
"I am going to see the Duchess of York," said Fred Bentinck.
"What of that!" I returned. "Where are your gloves?"
"I never wear them, unless at court; but I have got on a new pair of leather breeches to-day, and I want to see now they fit by your glass."
Brummell at this moment was announced.
"How very apropos you are arrived," I remarked. "Lord Frederick wants your opinion on his new leather breeches."
"Come here, Fred Bentinck!" said Brummell. "But there is only one man on earth who can make leather breeches!"
"Mine were made by a man in the Haymarket," Bentinck observed, looking down at them with much pride; for he very seldom sported anything new.
"My dear fellow, take them off directly!" said Brummell.
"I beg I may hear of no such thing," said I, hastily—"else, where would he go to, I wonder, without his small-clothes?"
"You will drive me out of the house, Harriette," said Fred Bentinck; and then put himself into attitudes, looking anxiously and very innocently, from George Brummell to his leather breeches, and from his leather breeches to the looking-glass.
"They only came home this morning," proceeded Fred, "and I thought they were rather neat."
"Bad knees, my good fellow! bad knees!" said Brummell, shrugging up his shoulders.
"They will do very well," I remarked. "Fred Bentinck do start a new subject, for first with my latter end and then with your own, this is quite worn out."
"I am sorry," said Fred Bentinck, "very sorry to say that I am afraid you will turn out bad."
"What do you call bad?"
"Why profligate! and wicked."
"Oh! you don't say so? what do you mean by wicked?"
"Why—why, in short," continued Frederick—"in short, shall I drive you down to Greenwich to dinner?"
"And suppose I should grow wicked on the road?" said I.
"Do you know what the Duke of York says of you Fred?" said Brummell.
"The Duke of York talks in a very nasty way," said Fred Bentinck, "I—I, for my part, hate all immodest conversation."
"And that is the reason why I save up all the odd stories I can learn, for you and for you only," I observed. "And yet you come here every day?"
"As to you," said Fred, "you are a beautiful creature, and I come to try to reform you, or else what will become of you when you grow old?"
"Age cannot wither me, nor custom stale my infinite variety:" was my reply.
"You are mad!" said Fred Bentinck.
"And you are monstrous top-heavy! and madness being often light-headedness, I wish you would go mad too."
"Apropos, Mr. Brummell," said I turning to him. "I have never yet had time to acknowledge your effusion; and I have the less regret on that score, because I learned from Fanny to-day that you are false-hearted."
"Julia and I," said Brummell, "are very old friends, you know."
"True," said I, "which, I suppose, accounts for her preference of Horace Beckford."
Brummell's pride appeared to take alarm as he inquired if Julia really admired Horace.
"I know nothing whatever about it," answered I, "except that I saw them both at the window together to-day."
Brummell seized his hat.
"Take Fred Bentinck with you," said I.
"Come Fred," said Brummell; "but you have not heard what the Duke of York says of you."
"I can guess," replied Fred, trying to make his goodnatured face severe and cross.
"Oh! he has accused you to your face, I see," reiterated Brummell.
"So much the better," said Fred Bentinck, "a man cannot be too virtuous."
"Talking of virtue," I remarked to Fred, "really that brother Charles of yours made himself rather too ridiculous by writing those letters to Lady Abdy about his intention to die, in case she continued cruel."
"I have no more patience with Charles Bentinck than you have," said Frederick, "particularly with his bringing Lady Abdy to my brother's house. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself."
"I do not know anything about that, I only allude to the folly of a strong young man like Charles Bentinck, sitting down to his muffins and eggs in a state of perfect health, and,