The Young Duke | Page 6

change which he
had observed in the character of the Duke by the remembrance of the
embrace with which his Grace had greeted Lady Caroline. Never
indeed did a process which has, through the lapse of so many ages,
occasioned so much delight, produce more lively satisfaction than the
kiss in question. Lord Fitz-pompey had given up his plan of managing

the Duke after the family dinner which his nephew had the pleasure to
join the first day of his first visit. The Duke and he were alone, and his
Lordship availed himself of the rare opportunity with that adroitness for
which he was celebrated. Nothing could be more polite, more affable,
more kind, than his Grace's manner! but the uncle cared little for
politeness, or affability, or kindness. The crafty courtier wanted
candour, and that was absent. That ingenuous openness of disposition,
that frank and affectionate demeanour, for which the Duke of St. James
had been so remarkable in his early youth, and with the aid of which
Lord Fitz-pompey had built so many Spanish castles, had quite
disappeared.
Nothing could be more artificial, more conventional, more studied, than
his whole deportment. In vain Lord Fitz-pompey pumped; the empty
bucket invariably reminded him of his lost labour. In vain his Lordship
laid his little diplomatic traps to catch a hint of the purposes or an
intimation of the inclinations of his nephew; the bait was never seized.
In vain the Earl affected unusual conviviality and boundless affection;
the Duke sipped his claret and admired his pictures. Nothing would do.
An air of habitual calm, a look of kind condescension, and an
inclination to a smile, which never burst into a beam, announced that
the Duke of St. James was perfectly satisfied with existence, and
conscious that he was himself, of that existence, the most distinguished
ornament. In fact, he was a sublime coxcomb; one of those rare
characters whose finished manner and shrewd sense combined prevent
their conceit from being contemptible. After many consultations it was
determined between the aunt and uncle that it would be most prudent to
affect a total non-interference with their nephew's affairs, and in the
meantime to trust to the goodness of Providence and the charms of
Caroline.
Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his
debut at once, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did
not despair of collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the
highest caste. Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and
therefore in town; others were only passing through; but no one caught
a flying-fish with more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was

short, the whole was unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and
twenty guests were assembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the
temple of fashion.
There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister,
but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated,
whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles of
mode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be
consoled for the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had
enjoyed it, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood.
There were the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a
first-rate diplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera; and
his consort, with a countenance like Cleopatra and a tiara like a
constellation, famed alike for her shawls and her snuff. There were
Lord and Lady Bloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my Lord
a sportsman, but soft withal, his talk the Jockey Club, filtered through
White's; my Lady a little blue, and very beautiful. Their daughter, Lady
Charlotte, rose by her mother's side like a tall bud by a full-blown
flower. There were the Viscountess Blaze, a peeress in her own right,
and her daughter, Miss Blaze Dash-away, who, besides the glory of the
future coronet, moved in all the confidence of independent thousands.
There was the Marquess of Macaroni, who was at the same time a
general, an ambassador, and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could
have worn twelve orders; but this day, being modest, only wore six.
There, too, was the Marchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants
extracted from the snuff-boxes presented to her husband at a Congress.
There were Lord Sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and his
lady, a Greek, who looked just finished by Phidias. There, too, was
Pococurante, the epicurean and triple millionaire, who in a political
country dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdoms
had refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours upon
its cultivators invested his whole fortune in