At the beginning of the fourth week of the illness, Dr Baillie began to talk of the propriety of removing his patient into the country. But here he encountered an unexpected and obstinate opposition from Lady Ombersley. He had once mentioned to her the possibility of a relapse, and this had taken such strong possession of her mind that no inducement could serve to make her consent to Amabel’s going out of reach of his expert care. She represented to him the unwisdom of restoring Amabel to the society of her sisters and her noisy brother, soon to be enjoying his summer holiday at Ombersley. The little girl was still languid, disinclined for any exertion, and wincing at sudden sounds: she would do better in London, under his eye, and in the fond care of her Mama. Now that all danger was past, Lady Ombersley’s maternal instinct could assert itself. She, and she alone, should bear the charge of her youngest daughter’s convalescence. In the event, to lie upon the sofa in Mama’s dressing-room, to drive sedately out with her in the barouche, just suited Amabel’s present humour, and so it was settled, both Cecilia and Sophy disclaiming any desire to leave London for the country.
Town was very thin of company, but the weather was not so sultry as to make the streets disagreeable. The month was showery, and few were the days when even the most modish young lady cared to venture forth without a pelisse, or a shawl.
Others beside the Ombersley family had chosen to remain in town until August. Lord Charlbury was still to be found in Mount Street; Mr Fawnhope in his rooms off St James’s; Lord Bromford, deaf to the entreaties of his mother, refused to retire into Kent; and the Brinklows found several excellent excuses for remaining in Brook Street. As soon as all danger of infection was over, Miss Wraxton was once more to be seen in Berkeley Square, gracious to everyone, even caressing towards Lady Ombersley and Amabel, and very full of wedding-schemes. Mr Rivenhall found pressing business to attend to on his estates; and if Miss Wraxton chose to assume that his frequent absences from town were accounted for by his desire to set his house in order for her reception, she was quite at liberty to do so.
Cecilia, less robust than her cousin, did not recover so quickly from the anxiety and exertion of her four weeks’ incarceration. She was a good deal pulled-down, and had lost a little of her bloom. She was rather silent, too, a fact that did not escape her brother’s eye. He taxed her with it; and, when she returned an evasive answer, and would have left the room, detained her, saying: ‘Don’t go, Cilly!’
She waited, looking enquiringly at him. After a moment, he asked abruptly: ‘Are you unhappy?’
Her colour rose, and her lips trembled in spite of herself. She made a protesting gesture, turning away her face, for it was impossible to explain to him the turmoil raging in her own heart.
To her surprise, he took her hand, and pressed it, saying awkwardly, but in a softened tone: ‘I never meant you to be unhappy. I did not think – You are such a good girl, Cilly! I suppose, if your poet will but engage on some respectable profession, I must withdraw my opposition, and let you have your way.’
Amazement held her motionless, only her startled eyes flying to his face. She allowed her hand to lie in his, until he released it, and turned away, as though he did not choose to meet her wide gaze.
‘You thought me cruel – unfeeling! No doubt I must have seemed so, but I have never desired anything but your happiness! I cannot be glad of your choice, but if your mind is made up, God forbid I should have any hand in parting you from one whom you sincerely love, or in promoting your marriage to a man you cannot care for!’
‘Charles!’ she uttered faintly.
He said over his shoulder, and with some difficulty: ‘I have come to see that nothing but misery could result from such a union. You at least shall not be subjected to a lifetime of regret! I will speak to my father. You have resented my influence with him: this time it shall be exerted in your favour.’
At any other moment his words must have prompted her to have enquired into their unexpressed significance, but shock seemed to suspend her every faculty. She found not a word to say, and experienced the greatest difficulty in preventing herself from bursting into tears. He turned his head, and said, with a smile: ‘What an ogre I must appear to you, to have so taken your breath away, Cilly! Don’t stare at me so unbelievingly! You shall marry your poet: my hand on it!’
She put out her own mechanically, managed to speak two words: ‘Thank you!’ and ran out of the room, unable to say more, or to control her emotion.
She sought the seclusion of her own bedchamber, her thoughts in such disorder that it was long before her agitation had at all subsided.
Never had opposition been withdrawn at so inopportune a moment; never had a victory seemed more empty! Almost without her knowledge, her sentiments, during the past weeks, had been undergoing a change. Now that her brother had accorded her his permission to marry the man of her choice she discovered that her feeling for Augustus had been no more than the infatuation Charles had always thought it. Opposition had fostered it, leading her into the fatal error of almost publicly announcing her unalterable determination to marry Augustus or no one. Lord Charlbury, so superior to Augustus in every way, had accepted her rejection of his suit, and had turned his attention elsewhere; and whatever unacknowledged hope she might have cherished of seeing his affections reanimate towards her must now be quite at an end. To confess to Charles that he had been right from the start, and she most miserably mistaken, was impossible. She had gone too far; nothing now remained to her but to accept the fate she had insisted on bringing on herself; and, for pride’s sake, to show a smiling face to the world.
She showed it first to Sophy, resolutely begging her to felicitate her upon her happiness. Sophy was thunderstruck. ‘Good God!’ She exclaimed, stupefied. ‘Charles will promote this match?’
‘He does not wish me to be unhappy. He never wished it. Now that he is convinced that I am in earnest he will place no bar in my way. Indeed, he was so good as to promise that he would speak to Papa for me! That must decide it: Papa always does what Charles desires him to.’ She saw that her cousin was regarding her fixedly, and continued quickly: ‘I have never known Charles kinder! He spoke of the misery of being forced into a marriage against one’s inclination. He said I should not spend a lifetime of regret. Oh, Sophy, can it be that he no longer cares for Eugenia? The suspicion cannot but obtrude!’
‘Good gracious, he never did care for her!’ replied Sophy scornfully. ‘And if he has but just discovered it, that is no reason for –’ She broke off, darting a swift glance at Cecilia, and perceiving much more than her cousin would have wished. ‘Well! This is a day of miracles indeed!’ she said. ‘Of course I felicitate you with all my heart, dearest Cecy! When is your betrothal to be announced?’
‘Oh, not until Augustus is settled in – in some respectable occupation!’ Cecilia answered. ‘But that will not be long, I am persuaded! Or his tragedy may take, you know.’
Sophy agreed to this without a blink, and listened with an assumption of interest to Cecilia’s various schemes for the future. That these were couched in somewhat melancholy terms she allowed to pass without comment, merely repeating her congratulations, and wishing her cousin every happiness. But behind these mendacities her brain was working swiftly. She perfectly understood the fix Cecilia was in, and never for an instant thought of wasting her breath in expostulation. Something far more drastic than expostulation was needed in this case, for no lady who had entered into an engagement in the teeth of parental opposition could be expected to cry off from it the instant she had gained the sanction she had so insistently demanded. Willingly could Sophy have boxed Mr Rivenhall’s ears. To remain adamant when opposition could only strengthen his sister’s resolve had been bad enough; to withdraw his opposition at a moment when Charlbury was in a fair way to ousting the poet from her affections was an act of such insanity that it put Sophy out of all patience with him. Thanks to Alfred Wraxton’s predilection for gossip, Cecilia’s secret engagement to Mr Fawnhope was widely kno
wn. She had, moreover, been at some pains to display to Society her determination to wed him. It would need something very drastic indeed to induce so gently-bred a girl to fly in the face of all convention. If Mr Rivenhall had agreed to the match Sophy could not suppose that the official announcement would be long delayed; once this had appeared in the Gazette nothing, she thought, would prevail upon Cecilia to brand herself a jilt. It was even doubtful if she could be induced to cry off before the announcement had been made, for she presumably had a greater dependence on the strength of Mr Fawnhope’s attachment than her shrewder cousin could share; and her tender heart would shrink from giving such pain to one who had been so faithful a lover.
As for Mr Rivenhall’s extraordinary change of face, this was not perhaps so inexplicable to Sophy as to his sister; but although the sentiments which had prompted it could not but gratify her she was unable to deceive herself into thinking that he had any intention of terminating his engagement to Miss Wraxton. It was not to be expected of him: careless of appearances he might be, but no man of his breeding could offer such an affront to a lady. Nor could Sophy suppose that Miss Wraxton, surely aware of the tepid nature of his regard for her, would herself put an end to an alliance that held so little prospect of future happiness for either of the contracting parties. Miss Wraxton’s talk was all of her approaching nuptials, and it was quite evident that marriage to a man with whom she scarcely shared a thought was preferable to her than a continued existence as a spinster.
Sophy, cupping her chin in her hands, sat weaving her toils undismayed by a situation which would certainly have daunted a less ruthless female than herself. Those who knew her best would have taken instant alarm, knowing that, her determination once taken, no consideration of propriety would deter her from embarking on schemes which might well prove to be as outrageous as they were original.
‘Surprise is the essence of attack.’
The phrase, once uttered by a General in her presence, came into her head. She pondered it, and found it good. Nothing short of surprise would wrench Charles or Cecilia from the paths of convention, so surprise they should have in full measure.
The immediate outcome of all this cogitation was an interview with Lord Ombersley, caught on his return to Berkeley Square from a day at the races. His lordship, firmly led into his own sanctum, scented danger, and made haste to inform his niece that he was pressed for time, having a dinner-engagement that must be kept within the hour.
‘Never mind that!’ said Sophy. ‘Have you seen Charles this day, sir?’
‘Of course I have seen Charles!’ replied his lordship testily. ‘I saw him this morning!’
‘But not since then? He has not spoken to you of Cecilia’s affairs?’
‘No, he has not! And I’ll tell you this, Sophy! I want to hear no more of Cecilia’s affairs! My mind’s made up: I won’t have her marrying this poet-fellow!’
‘My dear sir,’ said Sophy, warmly clasping his hand, ‘do not budge from that stand! I must tell you that Charles is about to counsel you to sanction the engagement, and you must not!’
‘What?’ ejaculated his lordship. ‘You’re certainly out there, Sophy! Charles won’t hear of it, and for once he’s right! What should get into the silly chit to make her reject as good as man as you may find – I was never more incensed! To whistle Charlbury, with all his fortune, down the wind – !’
His niece firmly drew him to the sofa, and obliged him to sit down on it beside her. ‘Dear Uncle Bernard, if you will only do precisely as I bid you she will marry Charlbury!’ she assured him. ‘But you must promise me most faithfully not to permit Charles to overbear your judgement!’
‘But, Sophy, I keep telling you –’
‘Charles has told Cecilia that he will no longer withhold his consent.’
‘Good God, has he taken leave of his senses too? You must be mistaken, girl!’
‘Upon my honour, I am not! It is the stupidest thing, and will very likely wreck everything, unless you can be trusted to remain firm. Now, my dear uncle, never mind why Charles has taken this start! Only attend to me! When Charles speaks to you about this, you must refuse to entertain the notion of Cecy’s marrying Augustus Fawnhope. In fact, it would be an excellent stratagem if you were to say that you are of the same mind as ever, and mean her to marry Charlbury!’
Lord Ombersley, slightly bewildered, entered on a feeble expostulation. ‘Much good that would do, when Charlbury has withdrawn his offer!’
‘It is of no consequence at all. Charlbury is still extremely desirous of marrying Cecilia, and, if you choose, you may tell her so. She will say that she means to marry her tiresome Augustus, because she is in honour bound to do so. You may rave at her as much as you please – as much as you did when she first made her resolve known to you! But the important thing, dear sir, is that you should remain adamant! I will do the rest.’
He looked suspiciously at her. ‘Now, Sophy, this won’t do! It was you who helped her to live in that damned poet’s pocket, for Charles told me so!’
‘Yes, and only see with what splendid results! She no longer has any real desire to wed him, and has come to see how superior Charlbury is! If Charles had not meddled, all would have gone just as you would have wished!’
‘I don’t understand a word of this!’ complained his lordship.
‘Very likely not: it has in great measure been due to poor little Amabel’s illness.’
‘But,’ persisted her uncle, painstakingly attempting to follow the thread of her argument, ‘if she is now willing to listen to Charlbury, why the devil don’t he renew his suit?’
‘I daresay he would, if I would let him. It would be useless. Only consider it, sir, in what a fix poor Cecy finds herself ! She has kept Augustus dangling after her for months, has sworn she will wed him or none! You have only to consent to the alliance and she must feel herself bound to marry him! At all costs any formal announcement must be stopped! You may do this, and I beg you will! Do not listen to anything Charles may say to you!’ Her expressive eyes laughed at him. ‘Be as disagreeable to Cecilia as you were before! Nothing could serve the purpose better!’
He pinched her cheek, ‘You rogue! But if Charles has changed his mind – You know, Sophy, I am no hand at argument!’
‘Then do not argue with him! You have only to fly into a towering passion, and that, I know, you are well able to do!’
He chuckled, seeing in this pronouncement a compliment. ‘Yes, but if they give me no peace –’
‘My dear sir, you may seek refuge at White’s! Leave the rest to me! If you will but do your part, I fancy I cannot fail to do mine. I have only this to add! – On no account must you divulge that I have been speaking to you on this matter! Promise!’
‘Oh, very well!’ said his lordship. ‘But I’ll tell you what, Sophy! I’d as lief take young Fawnhope into my family as that sour creature Charles must needs bring into it!’
‘Oh, certainly!’ she responded coolly. ‘That could never answer! I have known it since first I came to London, and I now entertain a reasonable hope of terminating that entanglement. Only do your part, and we may all come about!’
‘Sophy!’ exclaimed her uncle explosively. ‘What the devil do you mean to be about now?’
But she would only laugh, and whisk herself out of the room.
The upshot of this interview staggered the household. For once Mr Rivenhall failed to bend his parent to his will. His representations to Lord Ombersley of the enduring nature of Cecilia’s passion fell quite wide of the mark, and were only productive of an outburst of rage that surprised him. Knowing that his heir would speedily out-argue him, and dreading nothing so much as a struggle against a will far stronger than his own, Lord Ombersley scarcely allowed him an opportunity to open his mouth. He said that however high-handed Charles might be in the management of the estates, he was still not his sisters’ guardian. He added that he had always considered Cecilia more than half-promised to Charlbury, and would not consent to
her marriage with another.
‘Unfortunately, sir,’ said Charles dryly, ‘Charlbury no longer affects my sister. His eyes are turned in quite another direction.’
‘Pooh! Nonsense! The fellow haunts the place!’
‘Exactly so, sir! Encouraged by my cousin!’
‘Don’t believe a word of it!’ said his lordship. ‘Sophy wouldn’t have him.’ Charles gave a short laugh. ‘And if he did offer for her, I still wouldn’t permit Cecilia to marry that nincompoop of hers, and so you may tell her!’
Mr Rivenhall did tell her, but as he added consolingly that he had little doubt of being able to talk his father round to his way of thinking, he was not surprised at her calm manner of receiving the news. Not even a tirade from Lord Ombersley, delivered over the dinner-table, quite shattered her composure, although she had the greatest dislike of angry voices, and could not help wincing a little, and changing colour.
The person to be least affected by the parental dictate was Mr Fawnhope. When informed that it would not be possible immediately to send the notice of the betrothal to the society journals, he blinked, and said vaguely: ‘Were we about to do so? Did you tell me? I might not have been attending. I am in a great worry about Lepanto, you know. It is useless to deny that battle-scenes upon the stage are never felicitous, yet how to avoid it? I have been pacing the floor the better part of the night, and am no nearer to solving the problem.’
‘I must tell you, Augustus, that it is unlikely that we shall be married this year,’ said Cecilia.
‘Oh, yes, very unlikely!’ he agreed. ‘I don’t think I should think of marriage until the play is off my hands.’