The Grand Sophy (32 page)

“You may like him,” returned Mr. Rivenhall disagreeably, “but you are not going to ride him!”

She cast him a sidelong look, brimful of mischief. “No, dear Charles?”

“Sophy,” said Mr. Rivenhall, descending rapidly from the autocratic to the merely threatening, “if you dare to have your saddle put upon my Thunderer, I will strangle you, and throw your body into the Serpentine!”

She gave the gurgle of laughter that never failed to bring’ his twisted grin into being. “Oh, no, Charles, would you indeed? Well, I do not blame you! If ever I find you astride Salamanca, I shall certainly shoot you—and
I
can make allowance for a gun that throws a little left!”

“Yes?” said Mr. Rivenhall. “Well, my dear cousin, when we go down to Ombersley, I shall derive much satisfaction from watching your marksmanship! You shall show me what you can do with my dueling pistols. They do not throw left, or even right. I am rather nice in the choice of my weapons!”

“Dueling pistols!” said Sophy, much impressed. “I had not thought it of you, Charles! How many times have you been out? Do you always kill your man?”

“Rarely!” he retorted. “Dueling has gone sadly out of fashion, dear Sophy! I am so sorry to be obliged to disappoint you!”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I had no
real
expectation of hearing that you had done anything so dashing!”

That made him laugh. He flung up a hand, in the gesture of a swordsman acknowledging a hit. “Very well, Sophy!
Touché
!”

“Do you fence?”

“Indifferently. Why?”

“Oh, merely that it is something I have never learnt!”

“Good God, how is this? I had thought Sir Horace
must
have taught you how to handle a small sword!”

“No,” said Sophy, making her mouth prim. “And he has not taught me how to box either, so there are two things, Charles, which you must be able to do better than I can!”

“You quite outstrip me,” he agreed suavely. “Particularly in the art of dalliance!”

She instantly disconcerted him by making an attack direct. “Dalliance, Charles? You do not, I hope, accuse me of
flirting
?”

“Do I not?” he said grimly. “Enlighten me, I beg, on the nature of your dealings with Charlbury!”

She showed him an innocent face. “But, Charles, how is this? Surely I could not be mistaken! All is at an end between him and Cecilia! You cannot suppose it possible that I would encourage his advances if that were not so!”

The bay horse broke into a canter and was checked. Mr. Rivenhall said furiously, “Foolery! Don’t try to humbug me, Sophy! Charlbury and you! Why, what a gull you must think me!”

“Oh, no!” Sophy assured him soulfully. “But there is nothing I would not do to oblige Sir Horace, and I would far rather marry Charlbury than Bromford!”

“It sometimes seems to me,” said Mr. Rivenhall, “that delicacy is a virtue utterly unknown to you!”

“Yes, tell me about it!” she said, with immense cordiality.

He did not avail himself of this invitation, but said in a biting tone, “I should warn you, perhaps, that Charlbury’s determined pursuit is fast making you the talk of the town.

Whether you care a button for that I know not, but since my mother is responsible for you I must own that I should be grateful to you if you would behave with a little more discretion!”

“You told me once before of something else I could do if ever I should wish to please you,” remarked Sophy thoughtfully. “I must say, I hope I never shall wish to, for, try as I may, I
cannot
recall what it was!”

“You have been determined, have you not, to make me dislike you from the very day we met?” he shot at her.

“Not at all. You did so without the least encouragement!”

He rode beside her in silence for some moments, saying at last, in a stiff voice, “You are mistaken. I do not dislike you. That is to say, there have been many times when I have liked you very well. Nor need you imagine that I forget how much I stand in your debt.”

She interrupted him. “You do not! Let me hear no more of that, if you please! Tell me about Hubert! I heard you tell my aunt that you had received a letter from him. Is he well?”

“Perfectly, I imagine. He only wrote to desire me to send him a book he had left behind.” He grinned suddenly. “And to tell me of his determination to attend all his lectures! If I did not think that that resolution must fail, I would post up to Oxford immediately! Such virtue could only end in his seeking relief in the most shocking excesses. Let me say one thing to you, Sophy! I have never said it. We were interrupted before I could do so, and I have never found the opportunity since! I must always be grateful to you for showing me, as you did, how much at fault I had been in my dealings with Hubert.”

“That is nonsense, but I could show you, if you would permit me, how much at fault you are in your dealings with Cecilia!” she said.

His face hardened. “Thank you! On that subject we are not likely to agree!”

She said no more, but allowed Salamanca to break into a canter and to overtake Lord Charlbury and Cecilia.

She found them conversing comfortably, the constraint Cecilia had felt upon finding herself obliged to ride alone in his company having been speedily banished by the friendly ease of his manners. Neither by word nor by look did he remind her of what lay between them but began to talk to her at once on some unexceptionable subject that he knew would interest her. This made a pleasant change for her, Mr. Fawnhope’s conversation being, at present, almost wholly confined to the scope and structure of his great tragedy.

To listen to a poet arguing with himself—for she could scarcely have been said to have borne any part in the discussion—on the merits of blank verse as a dramatic medium was naturally a privilege of which any young lady must be proud, but there could be no denying that talk for half an hour to a man who listened with interest to anything she said was, if not precisely a relief, certainly a welcome variation in her life. Not for nothing had his lordship endured the world for ten more years than his youthful rival. Mr. Fawnhope’s handsome face, and engaging smile might dazzle the female eye, but Mr. Fawnhope had not yet learned the art of conveying to a lady the gratifying impression that he considered her a fragile creature, to be cherished and in every way considered. Lord Charlbury might be constitutionally incapable of addressing her as Nymph, or of comparing bluebells unfavorably with her eyes, but Lord Charlbury would infallibly provide a cloak for her if the weather were inclement, lift her over obstacles she could well climb without assistance, and in every way convince her that in his eyes she was a precious being whom it was impossible to guard too carefully.

It would have been too much to have said that Cecilia was regretting her rejection of his lordship’s suit, but when Sophy and Charles joined her she was certainly conscious of a faint feeling of dissatisfaction at having her tête-à-tête interrupted.

She tried to discuss the matter in a dispassionate way with Sophy, later, but found it curiously hard to utter any of the sentiments she had persuaded herself she felt. Finally, she bent her head over a piece of embroidery, and asked her cousin whether Lord Charlbury had yet offered for her.

Sophy laughed at this. “Good God, no, you goose! Charlbury has no serious intentions toward me.”

Cecilia kept her eyes lowered. “Indeed? I should have said that he showed the most decided partiality for you.”

“My dear Cecy, I would not tease you by adverting to this subject, but I am persuaded that what Charlbury wears on his sleeve is not his heart. I should not wonder at it if he were to end his days a bachelor.”

“I do not think it,” said Cecilia, snipping her silk. “And nor, I fancy, do you, Sophy. He will offer for you, and—and I hope you will accept him, because if one were not in love with another I cannot imagine any gentleman one would prefer to him.”

“Well, we shall see,” was ah Sophy would say.

XIV

THE NOTION of writing a tragedy having taken possession of Mr. Fawnhope’s mind, he appeared to remove from it any immediate plan for seeking remunerative employment. On several occasions he arrived in Berkeley Square quite impervious to Mr. Rivenhall’s brutal snubs, carrying his pocket the latest installment of his play, which he read to Cecilia and to Sophy, and once even to Lady Ombersley who complained afterward that she had not understood a word of it. He seemed to spend a good many afternoons at Merton as well, but when Sophy questioned him about Sancia’s other guests he could never remember with any clarity who had been present. But Sir Vincent, when he came to call in Berkeley Square, made no secret of the fact that he was very often at Merton. Sophy, a blunt creature, told him roundly that she mistrusted him and would thank him to remember that Sancia was betrothed to Sir Horace.

Sir Vincent laughed gently, and pinched her chin, holding it an instant too long and tilting up her face. “Will you, Sophy?” he said, quizzing her. “But when I offered to run in your harness you would have none of me! Be reasonable, Juno! If you reject me, you cannot expect me to respond docilely to your hand on my rein!”

She put up her hand to grasp his wrist. “Sir Vincent, you shall not serve Sir Horace a backhanded turn!” she said.

“Why not?” he asked coolly. “Do you think he would not do the same to me? You are such a splendid innocent, adorable Juno!”

Since Mr. Rivenhall chose this inauspicious moment to come into the drawing room, Sophy was unable to say more. Without embarrassment, Sir Vincent released her and moved forward to greet his host. His reception was frosty; he was given no encouragement to prolong his visit; and no sooner had he taken leave and departed than Mr. Rivenhall gave his cousin, without reserve, the benefit of his opinion of her behavior in encouraging a notorious rake to practice familiarities with her.

Sophy listened to him with an air of great interest, but if he had hoped to abash her he was disappointed, for all she said in reply was, “I think your scolds are capital, Charles, for you are never at a loss for a word! But would you call me an
incorrigible
flirt?”

“Yes, I would! You encourage every scarlet coat you have ever met to haunt the house! You set the town talking with your shameless conduct in keeping Charlbury dangling after you, and not content with that, you allow a fellow like Talgarth to behave to you as though you had been an inn servant!”

She opened her eyes at him. “Charles! Is that what you do? Pinch their chins? Well, I was never more astonished! I don’t think you should!”

“Don’t try my temper too far, Sophy!” he said dangerously. “If you knew how my hands itch to box your ears, you would take care!”

“Oh, I am sure you never would!” she said, smiling. “You know Sir Horace did not teach me how to box and how unfair it would be! Besides, why should you care a button what I do? I am not one of your sisters!”

“Thank God for it!”

“Yes, indeed, for you are the horridest brother, you know! Do stop making a cake of yourself! Sir Vincent is a sad case, but he would never do me any harm, I assure you. That would be quite against his code, for he knew me when I ‘ was a little girl, and he is a friend of Sir Horace’s. I must say, he is the oddest creature! Sancia, it is perfectly plain, he does not hold to be in the least sacred.” Her brow creased. “I am much afraid of what he may do in that direction. I wonder if I ought to say I will marry him after all?”

“What?” exclaimed Mr. Rivenhall. “Marry that fellow? Not while you are under this roof!”

“Yes, but I cannot help thinking that perhaps I owe it to Sir Horace,” she explained. “I own, it would be a sacrifice, but I am sure he trusts me to take care of Sancia while he is away, and I don’t at all perceive how I am to prevent Vincent from stealing her affections, unless I marry him self. He has so much address, you know!”

“You appear to me,” said Mr. Rivenhall scathingly, have taken leave of your senses! You will scarcely expect to believe that you would entertain the thought of m with that man!”

“But, Charles, I find you most unreasonable!” she pointed out. “Not a week ago you said that the sooner I was ma: and out of this house the better pleased you would but when I said perhaps I might marry Charlbury you flew into a passion, and now you will not hear of poor Sir Vincent; either!”

Mr. Rivenhall made no attempt to answer this. He merely cast a darkling glance at his cousin, and said, “Only one thing could surprise me, and that would be to learn that Talgarth had offered for you!”

“Well, you must be surprised,” said Sophy placidly, “because he has done so a score of times. It is become a habit with him, I think. But I know what you mean, and you are right; he would be very much disconcerted if I took him at his word. I might, of course, become engaged to him, and cry off when Sir Horace returns, but it seems rather a shabby thing to do, don’t you think?”

“Extremely so!”

She sighed. “Yes, and he is so clever that I daresay he would guess what I was about. I might, I suppose, remove to Merton, and that would certainly make it awkward for Sir Vincent. But Sancia would not like that at all, I fear.”

“She has my sympathy!”

Sophy looked at him. Under his amazed and horrified gaze, large tears slowly welled over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. She did not sniff, or gulp, or even sob; merely she allowed her tears to gather and fall.