The Grand Sophy Read Free Page B

only—that is to say, of course I would not, if I thought she held him in aversion! And you must see, Horace, that it is quite out of my power to do anything of the sort when he is in bed with the mumps!”
    Sir Horace shook his head. “She will marry the poet.”
    “Do not say so! But Charles thinks that I should do wisely not to take her where she is bound to meet the young man, which is another reason why we are living in a quiet style for the present. It is of all things the most awkward! Indeed, sometimes I feel that it would be much easier if the wretched creature were quite ineligible—a fortune hunter, or a merchant’s son, or something of that nature! One could then forbid him the house, and forbid Cecilia to stand up with him at balls, only it would not be in the least necessary, for we should never meet him in society. But naturally one meets the Fawnhopes everywhere! Nothing could be more provoking! And although I am sure Charles’s manner towards him is most repellent, even he acknowledges the impropriety of being so repulsive to him as to offend his family. Almeria Lutterworth is one of my oldest friends!”
    Sir Horace, who was already bored with the subject, yawned, and said lazily, “I daresay there is no occasion for you to be on the fidgets. The Fawnhopes are all as poor as church mice, and very likely Lady Lutterworth desires the match as little as you do.”
    “Nothing of the sort!” she replied, quite crossly. “She is foolish beyond permission, Horace! Whatever Augustus wants he must have! She has given me the most unmistakable hints, so that I scarcely knew where to look, much less what to say, except that Lord Charlbury had requested our leave to address Cecilia, and I believed her to be—well, not indifferent to him! It never entered my head that Augustus was so lost to all sense of propriety as to apply to Cecilia without first approaching Ombersley, yet that is precisely what he has done!”
    “Oh, well!” said Sir Horace. “If she has such a fancy for him, you had better let her take him. It’s not as though she would be marrying beneath her, and if she chooses to be the wife of a penniless younger son it is quite her own affair.”
    “You would not say so if it were Sophia!” said his sister.
    “Sophy’s not such a fool.”
    “Cecilia is not a fool either!” declared Lady Ombersley, affronted. “If you have seen Augustus you cannot wonder at her! No one could help feeling a decided partiality for him! I own, I did myself. But Charles is quite right, as I was soon brought to acknowledge; it would not answer!”
    “Ah, well, when she has her cousin to keep her company it will divert her, and very likely give her thoughts another direction,” said Sir Horace consolingly.
    Lady Ombersley appeared to be much struck by this suggestion. Her face brightened; she said: “I wonder if it might be so? She is a little shy, you must know, and does not make friends easily, and since her dear friend, Miss Friston, was married, and has gone to live in the Midlands, there is really no young female with whom she is upon terms of intimacy. Now, if we had dear Sophia to stay with us ...” She broke off, obviously turning plans over in her mind. She was still engaged on this exercise when the door opened, and her eldest son entered the salon.
    The Honorable Charles Rivenhall was twenty-six years old, but a rather harsh-featured countenance, coupled with a manner that combined assurance with a good deal of reserve, made him give the impression of being some years older. He was a tall, powerfully built young man, who looked as though he would have been better pleased to have been striding over his father’s acres than exchanging civilities in his mother’s sitting room. He nearly always wore riding dress in preference to the more fashionable pantaloons and Hessians, tied his cravat in the plainest of styles, would permit only a modicum of starch to stiffen his very moderate shirt points,