The Grand Sophy (4 page)

Lady Ombersley leaned forward to take one of Cecilia’s hands in hers, and to squeeze it compassionately. “Well, you know, my dearest love, that is quite true!” she said. “Indeed, I thought you liked him excessively! You must not imagine that Papa or I have the least notion of compelling you to marry anyone whom you hold in aversion, for I am sure that such a thing would be quite shocking! And Charles would not do so either, would you, dear Charles?”

“No, certainly not. But neither would I consent to her marriage with any such frippery fellow as Augustus Fawnhope!”

“Augustus,” announced Cecilia, putting up her chin, “will be remembered long after you have sunk into oblivion!”

“By his creditors? I don’t doubt it. Will that compensate you for a lifetime spent in dodging duns?”

Lady Ombersley could not repress a shudder. “Alas, my love, it is too true! You cannot know the mortification—but we will not speak of that!”

“It is useless to speak to my sister of anything outside the covers of a novel from the lending library!” said Charles. “I might have supposed that she would be thankful, in the state to which this family has been reduced, to have been on the point of contracting even a respectable alliance! But no! She is offered not a respectable but a brilliant match, and she chooses to behave like any Bath miss, swooning and languishing over a poet! A poet! Good God, Mama, if the specimen of his talent which you were so ill advised as to read me—But I have no patience to argue further on that head! If you cannot prevail upon her to conduct herself in a manner worthy of her breeding she had better be sent down to Ombersley, to rusticate for a while, and see if that will bring her to her senses!”

With this terrible threat he strode out of the room, leaving his sister to dissolve into tears, and his mother to recruit her strength through the medium of her vinaigrette.

Between sobs Cecilia animadverted for some moments on the cruelty of fate, which had saddled her with a brother who was as heartless as he was tyrannical, and parents who were totally unable to enter into her feelings. Lady Ombersley, though sympathetic in the main, could not allow this to pass. Without taking it upon herself to answer for her husband’s sensibilities, she assured Cecilia that her own were extremely nice, making it perfectly possible for her to appreciate the anguish of a forbidden love.

“When I was a girl, dearest, something of the same nature happened to me,” she said, sighing. “He was not a poet, of course, but I fancied myself very much in love with him. But it would not do, and in the end I was married to your papa, which was thought to be a splendid match, for in those days he had scarcely begun to run through his fortune, and—” She broke off, realizing that these reminiscences were infelicitous. “In short, Cecilia—and I should not be obliged to say this to you—persons of our order do not marry only to please themselves.”

Cecilia was silenced, and could only hang down her head, dabbing at her eyes with an already damp handkerchief. She knew herself to have been a good deal indulged through the fondness of one parent and the cheerful indifference of the other, and was well aware that in discovering her inclination before permitting Lord Charlbury to address his suit to her Lady Ombersley had shown more consideration for her than would have been approved of by the greater part of her contemporaries. Cecilia might read novels, but she knew that the spirited behavior of her favorite heroines was not for her to imitate. She foresaw that she was doomed to spinster-hood; and this reflection was so melancholy that she drooped more than ever, and once more applied her handkerchief to her eyes.

“Only think how happy your sister is!” said Lady Ombersley, in a heartening tone. “I am sure nothing could be more gratifying than to see her in her own home, with her dear baby, and James so attentive and obliging, and—and everything just what one would wish! I declare I do not believe that any love match could have turned out better, not that I mean to say that Maria is not sincerely attached to James! But she had not met him above half-a-dozen times when he asked Papa’s leave to speak to her, and her affections were not engaged. Naturally, she felt a strong degree of liking, or I should never— But Maria was such a good, pretty-behaved girl! She told me herself that she felt it to be her duty to accept such a respectable offer, with Papa in such difficulties, and four more of you to be provided for!”

“Mama, I hope I am not an unnatural daughter, but I had rather be dead than married to James!” declared Cecilia, raising her head. “He thinks of nothing but hunting, and when they do not have company in the evening, he goes to sleep, and snores!”

Daunted by this disclosure, Lady Ombersley could find nothing to say for a minute or two. Cecilia blew her nose, and added, “And Lord Charlbury is even older than James!”

“Yes, but we do not know that he snores, my love,” Lady Ombersley pointed out. “Indeed, we may be almost certain that he does hot, for his manners are so very gentlemanlike!”

“A man who would contract the mumps,” declared Cecilia, “would do anything!”

Lady Ombersley saw nothing unreasonable in this pronouncement, nor was she surprised that his lordship’s un-romantic behavior had given Cecilia a distaste for him. She had herself been sadly disappointed, for she had thought him a man of sense, certainly not one to be succumbing to childish ailments at inopportune moments. She could think of nothing to say to palliate his offense, and as Cecilia had apparently no further observations to make, silence reigned uneasily for a time. Cecilia presently broke it, asking rather listlessly whether it was true that her uncle had been in the house that afternoon. Glad of an excuse to talk of more cheerful matters, Lady Ombersley at once told her of the treat in store for her, and had the satisfaction of seeing the cloud lift a little from her daughter’s brow. It was not difficult to enlist Cecilia’s sympathies on behalf of her cousin. She could scarcely envisage a more horrid fate than to be sent to stay for an indefinite period amongst relatives who were almost strangers, and warmly promised to do all that lay in her power to make Sophia feel herself at home in Berkeley Square. She could conjure up no very clear recollection of her cousin, for it had been some years since they had met; and although she had sometimes thought that to travel about Europe must be exciting, she had also suspected that it might also be extremely uncomfortable, and readily agreed with Lady Ombersley that such an unconventional existence was scarcely an ideal preparation for a London debut. The reflection that Sophia’s arrival in Berkeley Square must mean some relaxation of the almost conventual life imposed upon the family by Charles’s determination to economize sent her away to change her dress for dinner in a far happier frame of mind.

Four of the family sat down at the huge table in the dining room that evening, his lordship having decided to gratify his wife with one of his rare appearances at his own board. He was the only unconstrained member of the party, for he had a happy disposition which made it possible for him to remain oblivious to the most blatant signs of discontent in his companions. In the same spirit he contrived with amazing ease to be cheerful under the humiliation of being little more than his son’s pensioner. He had the greatest dread of being obliged to face unpleasantness, so he never allowed himself to think about unpleasant things, which answered very well, and could be supported in times of really inescapable stress by his genius for persuading himself that any disagreeable necessity forced upon him by his own folly, or by his son’s overriding will, was the outcome of his own choice and wise decision. While Charles continued to render him the observances of filial respect he was able to forget that the reins of government had been wrenched out of his hands; and when, as sometimes happened, filial respect wore a little thin, at least these regrettable lapses did not last for long, and were not difficult for a man of his sanguine temperament to forget. He bore his son no malice, though he thought him a dull dog; and provided that the luck was running his way, and he was not expected to bear any distasteful part in the management of his young family, he was very well satisfied with his lot.

He could hardly have been unaware of the dissension at present raging in his household, for a request from his wife that he should exercise parental authority over Cecilia had driven him posthaste to Newmarket not a fortnight before. But neither his son’s heavy frown nor his daughter’s reddened eyelids occasioned the slightest comment from him. He appeared to derive no small satisfaction from partaking of a lengthy meal in the company of an anxious wife, an injured daughter, and a glowering son. He said: “Well, upon my soul, this is very pleasant, to be dining
en famille
in this cozy way! You may tell your cook, Lady Ombersley, that I like this way of serving a duck. I declare I don’t get as good at White’s!” After that he recounted the latest piece of society gossip, and inquired affably how his children had spent the day.

“If you mean me, Papa,” said Cecilia, “I have spent the day just as I spend every day. I shopped with Mama; I walked in the Park with my sisters and Miss Adderbury; and I practiced my music.”

Her tone did not suggest that she had found these amusements exhilarating, but Lord Ombersley said, “Capital!” and turned his attention to his wife. She told him of her brother’s visit, and of his proposal that she should assume the charge of Sophia; and Lord Ombersley gave his gracious consent to the scheme, saying that nothing could be better, and congratulating his daughter upon her good luck in so unexpectedly acquiring a charming companion. Charles, who was irritated enough by all this bland insensibility to sympathize with his sister, said dampingly that they had as yet no reason to suppose that Sophia would be in the least charming. But Lord Ombersley said that he entertained no doubts on that head, and added that they must all do their best to make their cousin’s stay agreeable. After that he asked Charles whether he intended to go to the races next day. Charles, who knew that the races referred to were run under the patronage of the Duke of York, and would entail, for that jovial personage’s cronies, several evenings spent at Oatlands, playing whist for pound points, looked more forbidding than ever, and said that he was going down to Ombersley Park for a few days.

“To be sure you are!” agreed his father cheerfully. “I was forgetting that business about the South Hanger. Yes, yes, I wish you would attend to that, my boy!”

“I will, sir,” responded Mr. Rivenhall politely. He then glanced across the table at his sister, and asked, “Do you care to accompany me, Cecilia? I am very willing to take you, if you should like it.”

She hesitated. This might be an olive branch; on the other hand it might be a singularly futile attempt to wean her mind from thoughts of Mr. Fawnhope. The reflection that Charles’s absence from town might, with a little contrivance, make it possible for her to meet Mr. Fawnhope decided the matter. She shrugged, and said, “No, I thank you. I do not know what I should do in the country at this season.”

“Ride with me,” suggested Charles.

“I prefer to ride in the Park. If you desire company, I wonder you do not invite the children to go with you. I am sure they would be delighted to oblige you.”

“As you please,” he replied indifferently. Dinner at an end, Lord Ombersley withdrew from the family circle. Charles, who had no evening engagement, accompanied his mother and sister to the drawing room, and, while Cecilia strummed idly at the piano, sat talking to his mother about Sophia’s visit. Much to her relief, he seemed to be resigned to the necessity of holding at least one moderate party in Sophia’s honor, but he strongly advised her against charging herself with the office of finding a suitable husband for her niece.

“Why my uncle, having allowed her to reach the age of— twenty, is it?—without bestirring himself in the matter,” he said, “must suddenly take it into his head to persuade you to undertake the business, is a matter beyond my comprehension.”

“It does seem odd,” agreed Lady Ombersley. “I daresay he might not have realized how time flies, you know. Twenty! Why, she is almost upon the shelf! I must say, Horace has been most remiss! There could be no difficulty, I am sure, for she must be quite an heiress! Even if she were a very plain girl, which I do not for a moment suppose she can be, for you will allow Horace to be a handsome man, while poor dear Marianne was excessively pretty, though I don’t expect that you can remember her—well, even if she were plain, it should be the easiest thing in the world to arrange a respectable match for her!”

“Very easy, but you would do well to leave it to my uncle, ma’am” was all he would say.

At this moment, the schoolroom party came into the room, escorted by Miss Adderbury, a little gray mouse of a woman, who had originally been hired to take charge of Lady Ombersley’s numerous offspring when Charles and Maria had been adjudged old enough to leave Nurse’s jealous care. It might have been supposed that a twenty-year residence in the household, under the aegis of a kindhearted mistress, and the encouragement of her pupils’ affection, would long since have allayed Miss Adderbury’s nervousness, but this had endured with the years. Not all her accomplishments—and these included, besides a sufficient knowledge of Latin to enable her to prepare little boys for school, the expert use of the globes, a thorough grounding in the theory of music, enough proficiency upon the pianoforte and the harp to satisfy all but the most exacting, and considerable talent in the correct use of water colors—made it possible for her to enter the drawing room without an inward shrinking, or to converse with her employer on terms of equality. Those of her pupils who had outgrown her care found her shyness and her anxiety to please tiresome, but they could never forget her kindness to them in their schoolroom days, and always treated her with something more than civility. So Cecilia smiled at her, and Charles said, “Well, Addy, and how are you today?” which slight attentions made her grow pink with pleasure, and stammer a good deal in her replies.