The Grand Sophy (24 page)

She ran up the stairs and without waiting to change her riding habit, sat down by the window to repair the rent caused by Jacko’s fury. She was a deft needlewoman and had mended half the tear with her tiny stitches when Cecilia came to her room. Cecilia was strongly of the opinion that Hubert might have found someone else to do his mending and begged her to put it aside. This, however, Sophy refused to do, merely saying, “I can listen to you while I work, you know. What a goose you were last night, Cecy!”

This brought Cecilia’s chin up. She enunciated with great clarity, “I am betrothed to Augustus, and if I may not marry him I will marry no one!”

“I daresay, but to make such an announcement in the middle of a ball!”

“Sophy, I thought
you
would feel for me!”

It occurred to Sophy suddenly that the fewer people to sympathize with Cecilia the better it would be, so she kept her head bent over her work, and said lightly, “Well, and so I do, but I still think it was a ridiculous moment to choose for making such an announcement!”

Cecilia began to tell her again what provocation had been supplied by Charles; she agreed, but absently, and appeared to be more exercised with the set of Hubert’s coat than with Cecilia’s wrongs. She shook it out, smoothed the darn she had made, and, when Hubert came knocking at the door, cut Cecilia short to jump up and restore the garment to him. The end of all this was that when, at four o’clock, Lord Charlbury sent up his card, with a request to see Miss Rivenhall, Cecilia, almost forced to accede to his wishes, found in him her only sympathizer. One glance at her pale face and tragic mien banished from his mind all notion of duplicity. He stepped quickly forward, took the hand so shrinkingly held out to I and said in a deeply concerned voice. “Do not look so happy! Indeed, I have not come to distress you!”

Her eyes filled with tears; her hand slightly returned the pressure of his before it was withdrawn; and she managed to say something, in a suffocated voice, about his kindness,’ and her own regret. He obliged her to be seated, himself took a chair near to hers, and said, “My sentiments have undergone no change; indeed, I believe it to be impossible that they should! But I have been told—I have understood—that yours were never engaged. Believe me, if you cannot return my regard, I honor you for having the courage to say so. That; you should be constrained to accept my suit, when your heart is given to another, is a thought wholly repugnant to me! Forgive me! I think you have had to bear a great deal on
this
head which I never intended, or indeed, dreamed— But I have said enough! Only let me assure you that I will do all that lies in my power to put an end to such intolerable promptings!”

“You are all consideration—all goodness!” Cecilia uttered. “I am so sorry that—that expectations which it is not in my power to fulfill should have been raised! If my gratitude for a sensibility which permits you to feel for me in my present predicament, for a chivalry which—” Her voice became wholly suspended by tears; she could only turn away her face and make a gesture imploring his understanding.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Say no more! I always thought the prize beyond my reach. Though you deny me that nearer relationship which I so ardently desire, we may continue friends? If there is any way in which I can serve you, will you tell me of it? That would be a happiness indeed!”

“Oh, do not say so! You are too good!”

The door opened; Mr. Rivenhall came into the room, checked an instant on the threshold, when he saw Charlbury, and looked as though he would have retired again. Charlbury rose, however, and said, “I am glad you are at home, Charles, for I believe I can settle this business better with you than with anyone. You sister and I have agreed that we shall not suit.”

“I see,” said Mr. Rivenhall dryly. “There seems to be .nothing I can profitably say, except that I am sorry. I conclude you wish me to inform my father that there is to be no engagement?”

“Lord Charlbury has been everything that is most kind—most magnanimous!” whispered Cecilia.

“That I can believe,” responded Mr. Rivenhall.

“Nonsense!” Charlbury said, taking her hand. “I shall leave you now, but I hope I may still visit this house, on terms of friendship. You friendship I must always value, you know. Perhaps I may not dance at your wedding, but I shall wish you very happy, upon my honor!”

He pressed her hand, released it, and went out of the room, followed by Mr. Rivenhall, who escorted him downstairs to the hall, saying, “This is a damnable business, Everard. She is out of her senses! But as for marrying that ippy—no, by God!”

“Your cousin tells me it is all my fault for having willfully contracted mumps!” Charlbury said ruefully.

“Sophy!” Mr. Rivenhall ejaculated in anything but loving accents. “I do not think we have had a day’s peace since that girl entered the house!”

“I shouldn’t think you would,” said his lordship reflectively. “She is the oddest female I ever met, but I own I like her. Do you not?”

“No, I do not!” said Mr. Rivenhall.

He saw Charlbury off the premises and turned back into the house just as Hubert came down the stairs, in long bounds. “Hallo, where are you off to in such haste?” he inquired.

“Oh, nowhere!” Hubert answered. “Just out!”

“When do you go up to Oxford again?”

“Next week. Why?”

“Do you care to go with me to Thorpe Grange tomorrow? I must go down and shall stay a night, I daresay.”

Hubert shook his head. “No, I can’t. I’m off to stay with Harpenden for a couple of nights, you know.”

“I didn’t. Newmarket?”

Hubert flushed. “Dash it, why shouldn’t I go to Newmarket, if I choose?”

“There is no reason why you should not, but I could wish that you would choose your company more wisely. Are you set on it? We could ride over from Thorpe, if you liked.”

“Very good of you, Charles, but I’m promised to Harpenden and can’t fail now!” Hubert said gruffly. “Very well. Don’t draw the bustle too much!” Hubert hunched his shoulder. “I knew you would say that!”

“I’ll say something else, and you may believe it! I can’t and I won’t be saddled with your racing bets, so don’t bet beyond your means!”

He waited for no answer, but went upstairs again to the drawing room, where he found his sister still seated where he had left her, weeping softly into a shred of a handkerchief. He tossed his own into her lap. “If you must be a watering pot, take mine!” he recommended. “Are satisfied? You should be! It is not every girl who can boa of having rejected a man like Charlbury!”

“I do not boast of it!” she retorted, firing up. “But I nothing for wealth and position! Where my affections not engaged—”

“You might care for worth of character, however! You , could search England without finding a better fellow, Cecilia., Don’t flatter yourself you have found one in your poet! I wish you may not live to regret this day’s work.”

“I am aware that Lord Charlbury has every amiable quality,” she said, in, a subdued voice, and mopping her wet cheeks with his handkerchief. “Indeed, I believe him to be the finest gentleman of my acquaintance, and if I am crying it is from sorrow at having been obliged to wound him!”

He walked over to the window and stood looking out into the square. “It is useless now to remonstrate with you. After your announcement last night it is not very likely that Charlbury would desire to marry you. What do you mean to do? I may tell you now that my father will not consent to your marriage with Fawnhope.”

“Because you will not let him consent! Can you not be content, Charles, with making a marriage of convenience yourself, without wishing me to do the same?” she cried hotly.

He stiffened. “It is not difficult to perceive my cousin’s influence at work!” he said. “Before her arrival in London, you would not have spoken so to me! My regard for Eugenia—”

“If you
loved
, Charles, you would not talk of your
regard
for Eugenia!”

It was at this inappropriate moment that Dassett ushered Miss Wraxton into the room. Cecilia whisked her brother’s handkerchief out of sight, a tide of crimson flooding her cheeks; Mr. Rivenhall turned away from the window, and said with a palpable effort, “Eugenia! We did not expect this pleasure! How do you do?”

She gave him her hand, but turned her gaze upon Cecilia, saying, “Tell me it is not so! I was never more shocked in my life than when Alfred told me what had occurred last night!”

Almost insensibly the brother and sister drew closer together. “Alfred?” repeated Mr. Rivenhall.

“He told me, when we drove home after the ball, that he could not choose but overhear what Cecilia had said to you, Charles. And Lord Charlbury! I could not believe it to have been possible!”

Loyalty, as much as the ties of affection, kept Mr. Rivenhall ranged on the side of his sister, but he looked to be very much annoyed, which indeed he was, for he thought it inexcusable of Cecilia to have placed him in such a situation. He said repressively, “If you mean that Cecilia and Lord Charlbury ; have made up their minds to it they would not suit, you are I quite correct. I do not know what business it is of Alfred’s, or why he must run to you with what he overhears!”

“My dear Charles, he knows that what concerns your family must be also my concern!”

“I am much obliged to you, but I have no wish to discuss the matter.”

“Excuse me! I must go to my mother!” Cecilia said. She escaped from the room; Miss Wraxton looked significantly at Mr. Rivenhall, and said, “I do not wonder you are vexed. It has been a sadly mismanaged business, and I fancy we have not far to seek for the influence that prompted dear Cecilia to behave in a way so unlike herself!”

“I have not the smallest conjecture as to your meaning.”

His tone, which was forbidding, warned her that she would be wise to turn the subject, but her dislike of Sophy had become such an obsession with her that she was impelled to continue.

“You must have noticed, dear Charles, that our sweet sister has fallen quite under the sway of her cousin. I cannot think it will lead to anything but disaster. Miss Stanton-Lacy doubtless has many excellent qualities, but I have always thought that you were right in saying she had too little delicacy of mind.”

Mr. Rivenhall, who had decided that Sophy was to blame for his sister’s conduct, said without an instant’s hesitation, “You are mistaken. I never made any such remark!”

“Did you not? Something of that nature I think you once said to me, but it hardly signifies! It is a thousand pities that dear Lady Ombersley was forced to receive her as a guest at this precise time. Every time I enter the house I am conscious of a change in it! Even the children—”

“It is certainly by far more lively,” he interrupted.

She gave vent to rather an artificial laugh. “It is certainly less peaceful!” She began to smooth the wrinkles from her gloves. “Do you know, Charles, I have always so much admired the tone of this house? Your doing, I know well! I cannot but feel a little melancholy when I see that ordered calm—a certain dignity, I should say—shattered by wild spirits. Poor little Amabel, I thought the other day, is growing quite out of hand. Of course, Miss Stanton-Lacy encourages her unthinkingly. One must remember that she herself has had a strangely irregular upbringing!”

“My cousin,” said Mr. Rivenhall, with finality, “has been extremely kind to the children, and is a great favorite with my mother. I must add that it is a pleasure to me to see my mother’s spirits so much improved by Sophy’s presence. Have you any errands in this part of town? May I escort you? I must be in Bond Street in twenty minutes’ time.”

In face of so comprehensive a snub as this it was impossible for Miss Wraxton to say more. Her color rose, and her lips tightened, but she managed to suppress an acid retort, and to say with the appearance at least of complaisance, “Thank you, I have to call at the library for Mama. I came in the barouche and shall be glad to take you up as far as to your destination.”

Since this was Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, she could hardly have been expected to have been pleased, for she did not care for sport of any kind and considered boxing a peculiarly low form of it. But apart from quizzing Mr. Rivenhall archly on his obvious preference for a horrid prizefighter’s society rather than for her own, she made no comment.

Cecilia, meanwhile, had fled, not to Lady Ombersley but to her cousin, whom she discovered seated before her dressing table, scanning a slip of paper. Jane Storridge was putting away her habit, but when Cecilia came into the room she seemed to feel that she was not wanted, for she gave an audible sniff, picked up Sophy’s riding boots, and went away with them under her arm.

“What do you suppose this can be, Cecy?” asked Sophy, still studying with knit brows the paper in her hand. “Jane says she found it by the window and thought it must be mine. What a funny name!
Goldhanger, Bear Alley, Fleet Lane
. I do not know the writing, and cannot conceive how— Oh, how stupid! it must have fallen out of the pocket of Hubert’s coat!”

“Sophy!” said Cecilia, “I have had the most dreadful interview with Charlbury!”

Sophy laid the paper down. “Good gracious, how is this?”

“I find my spirits utterly overborne!” declared Cecilia, sinking into a chair. “No one—no one!—could have behaved with more exquisite sensibility! I wish you had not persuaded me to see him! Nothing could have been more painful!”