THIRTEEN
IT WAS NOTto be supposed that this incident would be pleasing to Miss Wraxton. A degree of understanding seemed to be existent between Mr Rivenhall and his cousin which was not at all to her taste, for although she was not in love with him, and, indeed, would have considered such an emotion very far beneath her station, she had made up her mind to marry him, and was feminine enough to resent his paying the least attention to any other female.
Fortune had not smiled upon Miss Wraxton. She had been contracted, in schoolroom days, to a nobleman of impeccable lineage, and respectable fortune, who had been carried off by an attack of small-pox before she was of an age to be formally affianced to him. Several eligible gentlemen had shown faint tendencies to dangle after her during her first two seasons upon the Marriage Mart, for she was a handsome girl with a handsome portion; but for unaccountable reasons none of them had come up to scratch, as her elder brother rather vulgarly phrased it. Mr Rivenhall’s offer had been made at a moment when she had begun to fear that she might be left upon the shelf, and had been thankfully received. Miss Wraxton, reared in the strictest propriety, had never taken any undesirably romantic notions into her head, and had had no hesitation informing her Papa that she was willing to receive Mr Rivenhall’s addresses. Lord Brinklow, who held Lord Ombersley in the greatest aversion, would certainly not have entertained Mr Rivenhall’s offer for as much as a minute had it not been for the providentialdeath of Matthew Rivenhall. But the old Nabob’s fortune was something not to be despised even by the most sanctimonious of peers. Lord Brinklow had informed his daughter that Charles Rivenhall’s suit carried his blessing with it; and Lady Brinklow, a sterner moralist even than her spouse, had clearly indicated to Eugenia where her duty lay, and by what means she might hope to detach Charles from his unregenerate family. An apt pupil, Miss Wraxton had thereafter lost no opportunity of pointing out to Charles, in the most tactful way, the delinquencies and general undesirability of his father, and his brothers and sisters. She was actuated by the purest of motives; she considered that the volatility of Lord Ombersley and Hubert was prejudicial to Charles’s interest; she heartily despised Lady Ombersley; and as heartily deprecated the excessive sentiment which made Cecilia contemplate marriage with a penniless younger son. It seemed to her that to detach Charles from his family must be her first object, but sometimes she was seduced into playing with the notion of reclaiming the Ombersley household from the abyss of impropriety into which it had fallen. Becoming engaged to Mr Rivenhall at a moment when he was exacerbated by his father’s excesses, her gentle words had fallen on fruitful soil. A naturally joyless nature, reared on bleak principles, could perceive only the most deplorable tendencies in a lively family’s desire for enjoyment. Charles, wrestling with mountainous piles of bills, was much inclined to think that she was right. It was only since Sophy’s arrival that his sentiments seemed to have undergone a change. Miss Wraxton could not deceive herself into underrating Sophy’s ruinous influence upon Charles’s character; and since she was not, in spite of her learning, very wise, she tried to counteract it in a variety of ways that served merely to set up his back. When she enquired whether Sophy had offered him an explanation of her visit to Rundell and Bridge, and, in justice to his cousin, he felt himself obliged to tell her some part of the truth, her evil genius had inspired her to point out to him the total unreliability of Hubert’s character, his resemblance to his father, and the ill-judged nature of Sophy’s admittedlygood-natured conduct in the affair. But Mr Rivenhall was already writhing under the lash of his own conscience, and since, with all his faults, he was not one to burk a clear issue, these remarks found no favour with him. He said: ‘I blame myself. That any hasty words of mine should have made Hubert feel that anything would be preferable to confiding his difficulties to me must be an everlasting reproach to me! I have to thank my cousin for showing me how much I have erred! I hope I may do better in the future. I had no intention – but I see now how unsympathetic I must have appeared to him! I’ll take good care poor little Theodore does not grow up in the belief that he must at all costs conceal his peccadilloes from me!’
‘My dear Charles, I assure you this is an excess of sensibility!’ Miss Wraxton said soothingly. ‘Youare not to be held accountable for the behaviour of your brothers!’
‘You are wrong, Eugenia: I am six years older than Hubert, and since I know – none better! – that my father would never concern himself with any one of us, it was my duty to take care of the younger ones! I do not scruple to say this to you, for you know how we are circumstanced!’
She replied without hesitation: ‘I am persuaded you have always done your duty! I have seen how you have tried to introduce into your father’s household more exact standards of conduct, a greater notion of discipline, and of management. Hubert can have been in no doubt of your sentiments upon this occasion, and tocondonehis behaviour – which I must think quite shocking! – would be most improper. Miss Stanton-Lacy’s intervention, which was, of course, meant in the kindest way, sprang from impulse, and cannot have been dictated by her conscience. Painful though it might have been to her, there can be no doubt that it was her duty to have told you the whole, and immediately! To have paid off Hubert’s debts in that fashion was merely to encourage him in his gaming propensities. I fancy that a moment’s reflection must have convinced her of this, but, alas, with all her good qualities I fear that Miss Stanton-Lacy is not much given to the indulgence of rational thought!’
He stared at her, an odd expression in his eyes which she was at a loss to interpret. ‘If Hubert had confided in you, Eugenia, would you have come to me with his story?’ he asked.
‘Undoubtedly,’ she replied. ‘I should not have known an instant’s hesitation.’
‘Not an instant’s hesitation!’ he repeated. ‘Although it was a confidence made in the belief that you would not betray it?’
She smiled at him. ‘That, my dear Charles, is a great piece of nonsense. To be boggling at such a thing as that when one’s duty is so plain is what I have no patience with! My concern for your brother’s future career must have convinced me that I had no other course open to me than to divulge his wrong-doing to you. Such ruinous tendencies must be checked, and since your father, as you have said, does not concern himself with –’
He interrupted her without apology. ‘These sentiments may do honour to your reason, but not to your heart, Eugenia! You are a female: perhaps you do not understand that a confidence reposed in you must –must!– be held sacred! I said that I wished she had told me, but it was untrue! I could not wish anyone to betray a confidence! Good God, would I do so myself?’
These rapidly uttered words brought a flush to her cheek; she said sharply: ‘I collect that Miss Stanton-Lacy – I presume she is also a female! – does understand this?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘She does. Perhaps that is one of the results of her upbringing! It is an excellent one! Perhaps she knew what must be the result of her action; perhaps she only went to Hubert’s rescue from motives of generosity: I don’t know that; I have not enquired of her! The outcome has been happy – far happier than would have been the case had she divulged all to me! Hubert is too much of a man to shelter behind his cousin: he confessed the whole to me!’
She smiled. ‘I am afraid your partiality makes you a trifle blind, Charles! Once you had discovered that Miss Stanton-Lacy had sold her jewelry you were bound to discover the rest! Had I not been in a position to apprise you of this circumstance, I wonder if Hubert would have confessed?’
He said sternly: ‘Such a speech does you no credit! I do not know why you should be so unjust to Hubert, or why you should so continually wish me to think ill of him! Ididthink ill of him, and I have been proved wrong! Mine has been the fault: I treated him as though he were still a child, and I his mentor. I should have done better to have taken him into my counsels. None of this would have happened had he and I been better friends. He said to me,Had we been better acquainted –!You may judge of my feelings upon hearingthatfrom my brother!’ He gave a short laugh. ‘A leveller indeed! Jackson himself could not have floored me more completely!’
‘I fear,’ said Miss Wraxton, at her sweetest, ‘that if you mean to use boxing-cant I can never hope to understand you, Charles. No doubt your cousin, with her superior knowledge, would appreciate such language!’
‘I should not be at all surprised!’ he retorted, nettled.
Not all her training could prevent her saying: ‘You seem to cherish an extraordinary regard for Miss Stanton-Lacy!’
‘I’! he ejaculated, thunderstruck. ‘For Sophy? Good God! I thought my sentiments towards her were sufficiently well-known! I wish to heaven we were rid of her, but I suppose I need not be so prejudiced as to be blind to her good qualities!’
She was mollified. ‘No, indeed, and I hope I am not either! What a pity it is that she will not entertain Lord Bromford’s suit! He is an excellent man, with a good understanding, and such sobriety of judgment as must, I fancy, exercise a beneficial effect upon any female.’ She saw that he was looking at her with a good deal of amusement, and added: ‘I had thought that you were inclined to encourage his suit?’
‘It is nothing to me whom Sophy marries!’ he said. ‘She would never take Bromford, though! Well for him!’
‘I am afraid Lady Bromford feels as you do,’ Miss Wraxton said. ‘She and Mama are acquainted, you know, and I have had some conversation with her on this subject. She is a most excellent woman! She has been telling me of the delicacy of Lord Bromford’s constitution, and of her fear for him. I could not butfeel for her! One cannot but agree with her that your cousin would never make him a good wife!’
‘The very worst!’ he said, laughing. ‘God knows why such a fellow should have taken it into his head to fall in love with Sophy! You may imagine how Cecilia and Hubert roast her over it! As for the tales they make up of his adventures in the West Indies, even my mother has been thrown into whoops! He is the most absurd oddity!’
‘I cannot agree with you,’ she said. ‘And even though I did, I could not listen with anything but pain to a man’s sensibility being made a mock of.’
This reproof had the effect of making Mr Rivenhall recollect an engagement in the neighbourhood which necessitated his instant departure. He had never before found himself so little in accord with his betrothed.
On the other hand, never before had he been in such charity with his cousin, a happy state of affairs which lasted for very nearly a week. It inspired him to gratify an expressed wish of hers to see Kemble act. While making no secret of the fact that he found the great player’s affections insupportable, his odd mispronunciations ruining his most brilliant histrionic flights, he took a box at Convent Garden, and escorted Sophy there, with Cecilia and Mr Wychbold. Sophy was a trifle disappointed in an actor of whom she had heard so much praise, but the evening passed very agreeably, ending at the fashionable hotel in Henrietta Street, known as the Star. Here, Mr Rivenhall, proving himself to be an excellent host, had ordered a private dining-room, and a most elegant supper. His mood was so amiable as even to preclude his making a slighting remark about Kemble’s acting. Mr Wychbold was chatty and obliging; Cecilia in her best looks; and Sophy lively enough to set the ball of conversation rolling gaily at the outset. In fact, Cecilia said, when she later bade her brother good-night, that she had not been so much diverted for months.
‘Nor I,’ he responded. ‘I cannot think why we do not go out more often together, Cilly. Do you suppose our cousin wouldcare to see Kean? I believe he is appearing in a new play at the Lane.’
Cecilia could feel no doubts on this head, but before Mr Rivenhall had had time to put a half-formulated plan into execution he had been forestalled, and the better understanding set up between him and Sophy had begun noticeably to wane. Lord Charlbury, obedient to the commands of his instructress, begged Lady Ombersley to honour him by bringing her daughter and her niece to a little theatre-party of his making. Mr Rivenhall bore up perfectly well under this, but when it leaked out, later, that Mr Fawnhope had made one of the party, his equanimity suffered a severe set-back. Nothing, it seemed, could have excelled the evening’s delights! Even Lady Ombersley, who had been decidedly disturbed by the unexpected presence of Mr Fawnhope, succumbed to the combined attentions of her host, and of her old friend, General Retford, who had certainly been invited to entertain her. The play,Bertram, was pronounced to have been most affecting; Kean’s acting was beyond praise; and quite the most delightful supper-party at the Piazza had wound up the evening. Much of this Mr Rivenhall gathered from his mother, but some of it he had from Cecilia, who was at immense pains to tell him how much she had enjoyed herself. She said that Sophy had been in high spirits, but failed to mention that Sophy’s spirits had taken the form of flirtation with her host. Cecilia was naturally glad to find that her rejected suitor was not nursing a broken heart, and almost equally glad to think that she herself had no turn for a form of amusement that showed her otherwise charming cousin in a very poor light. As for Lord Charlbury’s volunteering to show Sophy how his father, a sad rake, had been used to take snuff from a lady’s wrist, and Sophy’s instantly holding out her hand, that, thought Cecilia, was the outside of enough! She was happy to reflect that Augustus would never behave in such an audacious fashion. He had certainly no notion of doing so that evening. The tragedy he had witnessed had fired him with an ambition to write a lyrical drama, and although it would have been impossible to have found fault withhis manners as a guest, Cecilia had a strong suspicion that his thoughts were otherwhere.
Bad as this evening had been, there was worse, in Mr Rivenhall’s estimation, to follow. Until Lord Charlbury’s emergence from a sick-room, Sophy’s most frequent cavalier (or, as Mr Rivenhall preferred savagely to dub him, hercicisbeo) had been Sir Vincent Talgarth. But Lord Charlbury was soon seen to have supplanted Sir Vincent. He met her on horseback in the Park in the mornings; he was to be observed seated in her phaeton at the hour of the promenade; he stood up with her for two dances at Almack’s; took her in his own curricle to a military review; and even acted as her escort on a visit to Merton. His lordship made no secret of the fact that he had enjoyed his expedition enormously, his sense of humour being much tickled by the Marquesa’s rich and languorous personality. He told Sophy that he would have been happy to have remained for twice as long in her company. Any lady, he declared, who, overcome by the fatigue of entertaining morning-callers, closed her eyes, and went to sleep under their startled gaze, was something quite out of the ordinary, and worthy of being cultivated. She smiled, and agreed to it, but she was secretly a little dismayed. It had been a shock to her to find Sir Vincent seated with the Marquesa. He had not been her only visitor: the Marquesa’s brief sojourn at the Pulteney had drawn to her several gentlemen who had enjoyed her hospitality in Madrid: but he was all too plainly her most assiduous visitor. Major Quinton had been there too, as well as Lord Francis Wolvey, and Mr Fawnhope. Mr Fawnhope’s presence was easily explained: he rather thought of writing a tragedy about Don John of Austria, whose brief but glorious career seemed to him eminently suited to lyric drama. He had already composed some moving lines for his hero to utter upon his fevered deathbed, and he thought that the Marquesa might reasonably be expected to be in a position to divulge to him many details of Spanish life and customs that would prove invaluable to him in the writing of his masterpiece. In the event, the Marquesa’s knowledge of the customs obtaining in hercountry in the sixteenth century was considerably less than his own, but she was not to discourage a handsome young man from visiting her, so she smiled sleepily upon him, and invited him to come again, when she had no other company to engage her attention.
Sophy, who had never connected Mr Fawnhope with any manly attribute, was quite surprised to discover that he had ridden out to visit the Marquesa on a pure-bred mare she would not herself have disdained to possess. He rode back to London, behind her phaeton, and handled the pretty, playful creature well, she noticed. She confided to Lord Charlbury that she thought it would be to his advantage if Cecilia were never to see her poet upon a horse.
