The Grand Sophy (20 page)

Sophy, who felt sorry for her being discovered in so ridiculous a situation, replied soothingly, “No, it was a foolish servant, who thought we had all gone back to the house. Never mind! Come and drink some of Sancia’s excellent tea!”

“I don’t believe you! You are unprincipled and vulgar and—”

“Eugenia!” said Mr. Rivenhall sharply. She gave an angry sob, but said no more. Sophy went into the wood to rouse Mr. Fawnhope from his abstraction, and Mr. Rivenhall said: “It was nothing but an accident, and there is no need to be so put out.”

“I am persuaded your cousin did it to make me a laughing stock,” she said in a low voice.

“Nonsense!” he replied coldly.

She saw that he was by no means in sympathy with her, and said, “I need hardly tell you that my aim was to prevent your sister spending the whole afternoon in that odious young man’s company.”

“With the result that she spent it in Talgarth’s company,” he retorted. “There was no reason for you to be so busy, Eugenia. My mother’s presence, not to mention my own, made your action—I shall say unnecessary!”

It might have been supposed that these words of censure filled Miss Wraxton’s cup to the brim, but upon entering the drawing room she found that she had still to endure the Marquesa’s comments. The Marquesa favored the company with a disquisition on the license allowed to young English ladies, contrasting it with the strict chaperonage of Spanish damsels, and everyone with the exception of Mr. Rivenhall, who was markedly silent, felt for Miss Wraxton in her chagrin and made great efforts to placate her, Sophy going so far as to give up her place in the curricle to her on the homeward journey. She was insensibly mollified, but when, later, she tried to justify her actions to her betrothed, he cut her short, saying too much noise had been made already over a trivial occurrence.

“I cannot believe that any of the servants were responsible,” she insisted.

“You would do better to pretend to believe it, however.”

“Then you do not think so either!” she exclaimed.

“No, I think Hubert did it,” he replied coolly. “And if I am right, you have my cousin to thank for speedily releasing you.”

“Hubert!” she cried. “Why should he do such an un-gentlemanly thing, pray?”

He shrugged. “Possibly for a jest, possibly because he resented your interference in Cecilia’s affairs, my dear Eugenia. He is much attached to his sister.”

She said in a deeply mortified tone, “If that is so, I hope you mean to take him to task!”

“I shall do nothing so ill judged,” responded Mr. Rivenhall, at his most blighting.

IX

SHORTLY AFTER this not entirely successful day in country, Mr. Rivenhall announced his intention of going down to Ombersley for a spell. His mother had no objection to advance, but realizing that the dread moment of disclosure had now come, said, with an assumption of calm she was far from feeling, that she hoped he would come back to London in time to attend Sophy’s party.

“Is it so important?” he asked. “I have no turn for dancing, Mama, and such an evening as you will no doubt pass is of all things the most insipid!”

“Well, it is rather important,” she confessed. “It would be thought strange if you were absent, dear Charles!”

“Good heavens, Mama, I have been absent from all such affairs in this house!”

“As a matter of fact, this party is to be a little larger than we first thought it would be!” she said desperately.

He bent one of his disconcerting stares upon her. “Indeed! I had collected that some twenty persons were to be invited?”

“There—there will be a few more than that!” she said.

“How many more?”

She became intent on disentangling the fringe of her shawl from the arm of her chair. “Well, we thought perhaps it would be best—since it is our first party for your cousin, and your uncle particularly desired me to launch her upon society—to give a set ball, Charles! And your father promises to bring the Duke of York to it, if only for half an hour! It seems he is well acquainted with Horace. I am sure it is most gratifying!”

“How many persons, ma’am, have you invited to this precious ball?” demanded Mr. Rivenhall, ungratified.

“Not—not above four hundred!” faltered his guilty parent. “And they will not all of them come, dear Charles!”

“Four hundred!” he ejaculated. “I need not ask whose doing this is! And who, ma’am, is to foot the bill for this entertainment?”

“Sophy—that is to say, your uncle, of course! I assure you the cost is not to come upon you!”

He was not in the least soothed by this, but, on the contrary, rapped out: “Do you imagine I will permit that wretched girl to pay for parties in this house? If you have been mad enough, ma’am, to consent to this scheme—” Lady Ombersley prudently sought refuge in tears, and began to grope for her smelling salts. Her son eyed her in a baffled way, and said with painstaking restraint, “Pray do not cry, Mama! I am well aware whom I have to thank for this.”

An interruption, welcome to Lady Ombersley, occurred in the shape of Selina, who bounced into the room, exclaiming: “Oh, Mama! When we gave the ball for Cecilia, did we—” She then perceived her eldest brother, and broke off short, looking extremely conscious.

“Go on!” said Mr. Rivenhall grimly.

Selina gave her head a slight toss. “I suppose you know all about Sophy’s ball. Well, I am sure I don’t care, for you cannot stop it now that all the cards of invitation have gone out, and three hundred and eighty-seven persons have accepted! Mama, Sophy says that when she and Sir Horace held a great reception in Vienna, Sir Horace warned the police officers of it, so that they were able to keep the street clear, and tell the coachmen where to go, and so on. Did we not do the same for Cecilia’s ball?”

“Yes, and the link boys as well,” replied Lady Ombersley, emerging briefly from her handkerchief, but retiring into its protection again immediately.

“Yes, Mama, and the champagne!” said Selina, determined to discharge the whole of her errand. “Should it be ordered from Gunter’s, with all the rest?”

“You may inform our cousin,” interrupted Mr. Rivenhall, “that the champagne will be provided from our own cellars!” He then turned his shoulder on his young sister, and demanded of his parent, “How does it come about that Eugenia has not mentioned this affair to me? Has she not been invited to your ball?”

One desperately inquiring eye emerged from the handkerchief wildly seeking enlightenment of Selina.

“Good gracious, Charles!” said that damsel, shocked. “Can you have forgotten the bereavement in Miss Wraxton’s family? I am sure if she has told us once she has told us a dozen times that propriety forbids her to attend any but the most quiet parties!”

“This, too, is my cousin’s work, I collect!” he said, his lips tightening. “I must say, ma’am, I might have expected, if you were bent on this folly, that you would have sent a card to my promised wife!”

“Of course, Charles, of course!” said Lady Ombersley. “If it has not been done, it is a foolish oversight! Thought it is perfectly true that Eugenia has told us that while she is in black gloves—”

“Oh, Mama, don’t!” cried Selina impetuously. “You know she will cast a damper over everything, with that long face of hers, just like a horse—”

“How dare you?” interrupted Mr. Rivenhall furiously.

Selina looked a little frightened, but muttered, “Well, she
does
, whatever you may choose to think, Charles!”

“More of my cousin’s work, no doubt!”

Selina flushed, and cast down her eyes. Mr. Rivenhall turned to his mother. “Be so good as to tell me, ma’am, in what manner this affair is arranged between you and Sophy! Does she give you a draft on my uncle’s bank, or what?”

“I—I don’t precisely know!” said Lady Ombersley. “I mean, it has not been discussed yet! Indeed, Charles, I did not know myself until just the other day that so many people had been invited!”

“Well,
I
know, Mama!” said Selina. “The bills are all sent to Sophy, and you will not be troubled with them at all.”

“I thank you!” Charles said, and walked abruptly out of the room.

He found his cousin in the small salon at the back of the house which was generally known as the Young Ladies’ Room. She was engaged in compiling some kind of a list, but she looked up at the opening of the door and smiled at Charles. “Are you looking for Cecilia? She has gone out to do some shopping in Bond Street with Miss Adderbury.”

“No, I am not looking for Cecilia!” he answered. “My business is with you, Cousin, and will not take me long. I am informed that my mother is giving a ball in your honor on Tuesday, and by some extraordinary piece of mismanagement the bills for this have been sent to you. Will you be so obliging as to find them and give them to me?”

“On your high ropes again, Charles?” she said, lifting her brows. “This is Sir Horace’s ball, not my aunt’s. There is no mismanagement.”

“Sir Horace may be master in his own house—though that I doubt—but he is not master in this one! If my mother chooses to hold a ball, she may do so, but in no circumstances will the charge fall upon my uncle. It is intolerable that you should have persuaded my mother to consent to such a scheme! Give me what bills you have, it you please!”

“But I do not please,” replied Sophy. “Neither Sir Horace nor you, dear Cousin, is the master in this house. I have my Uncle Ombersley’s consent to what I have done.” She saw with satisfaction that she had utterly taken him aback, and added, “If I were you, Charles, I would go for a nice walk in the Park. I have always found that there is nothing so beneficial to the temper as exercise in the fresh air.”

He controlled himself with a strong effort. “Cousin, I am in earnest! I cannot and I will not tolerate such a situation as this!”

“But no one has asked you to tolerate anything at all,” she pointed out. “If my uncle and aunt are satisfied with my arrangements, pray what have you to say to them?”

He said through shut teeth, “I think I told you once before, Cousin, that we did very well here before you came to upset all our comfort!”

“Yes, you did, and what you meant, Charles, was that until I came no one dared to flout you. You should be grateful to me—or at any rate, Miss Wraxton should, for I am sure you would have made an odious husband before I came to stay with your mama.”

This put him in mind of a complaint he could with justice make. He said stiffly. “Since you have brought up Miss Wraxton’s name, I shall be much obliged to you, Cousin, if you will refrain from telling my sisters that she has a face like a horse!”

“But, Charles, no blame attaches to Miss Wraxton! She cannot help it, and that, I
assure
you, I have always pointed out to your sisters!”

“I consider Miss Wraxton’s countenance particularly well bred!”

“Yes, indeed, but you have quite misunderstood the matter! I
meant
a particularly well-bred horse!”

“You meant, as I am perfectly aware, to belittle Miss Wraxton!”

“No, no! I am very fond of horses!” Sophy said earnestly.

Before he could stop himself he found that he was replying to this. “Selina, who repeated the remark to me, is not fond of horses, however, and she—” He broke off, seeing how absurd it was to argue on such a head.

“I expect she will be, when she has lived in the same house with Miss Wraxton for a month or two,” said Sophy encouragingly.

Mr. Rivenhall, restraining an impulse to box his cousin’s ears, flung out of the room, slamming the door behind him. At the foot of the stairs he encountered Lord Bromford, who was handing his hat and overcoat to a footman. Mr. Rivenhall, seeing how he might, in some measure, be revenged on Sophy, greeted him with great affability, asked him if meant to attend Tuesday’s ball, and, upon hearing that lordship was much looking forward to the engagement, said “Have you come to bespeak my cousin’s hand for the cotillion? You are wise! She will certainly be besieged with solicitations! Dassett, you will find Miss Stanton-Lacy in the Yellow Saloon! Take his lordship up to her!”

“Do you think I should?” said Lord Bromford anxiously. “It was not danced in Jamaica, you know, but I have been taking lessons, and two of the steps I know tolerably well. Will there be waltzing? I do not waltz. I do not think it seemly. I hope Miss Stanton-Lacy does not waltz. I do not like to see a lady doing so.”

“Everyone waltzes nowadays,” said Mr. Rivenhall, bent on his fell intent. “You should take lessons in that too, Bromford, or you will be quite cut out!”

“I do not think,” said Lord Bromford, having considered the matter gravely, “that one should sacrifice one’s principles to gratify a female’s whim. I do not think the cotillion objectionable, although I am aware that there are many who do not permit it to be danced in their houses. In the country dance I am prepared to take my part. There is authority for the exercise of dancing, by which I mean to signify the round, or country dance, in the works of the ancients. Plato, you know, recommended that children should be taught to dance; and several classic writers deemed it an excellent recreation after serious study.”

But at this point Mr. Rivenhall bethought him of a pressing engagement and fled the house. Lord Bromford followed the butler upstairs to the drawing room, Dassett having his own ideas on the impropriety of ushering single gentlemen into the Young Ladies’ Room. When Sophy, duly chaperoned by Selina, joined him there, he lost no time in begging her to dance the cotillion with him. Sophy, trusting that one of her Peninsular friends would come to her rescue, said how sorry she was to be obliged to refuse him. She was, she said, already engaged. His face fell, and he looked even a little offended, exclaiming, “How can this be, when your cousin told me to make haste to be first with you?”