‘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, ‘thatdelicacyis 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, Icannotrecall 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 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 thatthatresolution 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 God! 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 withhimself – 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 to 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 learnt 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 unfavourably 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 towards 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 all Sophy would say.
FOURTEEN
THE NOTION OFwriting a tragedy having taken strong possession of Mr Fawnhope’s mind, he appeared to banish 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 in his pocket the latest instalment of his play, which he read to Cecilia and to Sophy, and once even to Lady Ombersley, who complained afterwards 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 walkinto 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 parted, than Mr Rivenhall gave his cousin, without reserve, the benefit of his opinion of her behaviour in encouraging a notorious rake to practise 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 anincorrigibleflirt!’
