Mrs. Vernon was dismayed at her young cousin’s boldness, but Manwaring and Smith and even Sir James seemed to favor the proposal, and Vernon welcomed anything that might take the place of conversation.
The furniture was pushed away and the carpets rolled up so quickly that all was made ready before the musician was thought of. Lady Vernon immediately proceeded to the instrument, with more thought of escaping the attentions of Sir James and Manwaring than accommodating the company. Her powers were well suited to the occasion, as she could perform any number of country dances with spirit.
Reginald walked up to Frederica and made his petition, and to everyone’s surprise, Lewis deCourcy claimed Miss Manwaring, who seemed not at all discomfited by the request. Smith would have nobody but his wife, and Manwaring, left to sit with the dull Mrs. Vernon or dance with the equally dull Claudia Hamilton, chose the latter.
Sir James put a chair beside the pianoforte and Lady Vernon attacked him at once, while her fingers danced over the keys. “You are a fine relation! What possessed you to write such a note! ‘To work for my bread’! What would Mrs. Vernon think if it had fallen into her hands?”
“She would put poison in my teacup.”
Lady Vernon replied to this with a toss of her head and fixed her eyes upon the keyboard once more.
“How pretty she looks! And young deCourcy is the picture of triumph. He knows that he has cut me out.”
“Perhaps he only rejoices because he has got to your teacup.”
Sir James laughed. “No, he will revenge himself upon me by marrying Freddie—that is as far as his imagination can take him. It will be an excellent match for them both—he will give her consequence and she will give him sense.”
“I do not think that Mr. deCourcy is wanting in sense.”
“Say rather that he does not want natural abilities. His education and understanding are good, but sense will always be vulnerable when those closest to us are weak-minded or prone to idleness or resentment or vice. In the company of a father who was too frail to exert his authority, a mother possessing neither education nor talents, and a sister whose fondness took the form of flattering his vanity, his understanding became susceptible, and he was encouraged to form opinions too hastily and express them with too little restraint. That is precisely what a prudent wife will guard against.”
“You must not be severe upon him, James. All gentlemen do not possess your high degree of gravity and restraint.”
“If I am to be grave, do not provoke me to laugh. I must look like one who has had his hopes dashed.”
Lady Vernon made no reply, and after completing a reel, she complained of fatigue and withdrew from the instrument.
There was a pause as the ladies all considered whether one of them ought to take a turn at the instrument and each waited for another to surrender her enjoyment and her partner for the sake of the others. Vernon took advantage of this lull to observe how very cloudy a day it had been, and whether it boded rain or snow, and whether the drive back to Billingshurst was above an hour.
Mr. Lewis deCourcy immediately made the civil observation that the comfort of the ladies must be considered and that there were horses and servants who had been called out at very short notice for the sake of everyone’s pleasure—they must be thought of as well. Another round of dancing was therefore forfeited in favor of a collation of fruit and cakes and tarts, which had been sent by Mrs. Chapman.
While the Vernons were bidding adieu to their guests, Sir James took the opportunity to walk up to Reginald. “I have played a mean trick on you—you must forgive it, for my cousins’ sake. It will ease Lady Vernon’s mind considerably if we attempt something like friendship. You cannot refuse to pardon one who asks for it so readily.”
“I can only conclude that the readiness with which you ask for pardon comes from the number of occasions that have afforded you practice,” Reginald replied.
“Far too many! Fortunately, my relations and friends are an exceptionally forgiving lot.”
Mr. and Mrs. Vernon were both very surprised to walk back into the room to see Reginald and Sir James shaking hands. “Mrs. Vernon!” cried Sir James. “What an excellent party! I am delighted that my own taste for the impromptu did not inconvenience you—so excellent a dinner! I did not have one half so good at Lord Millbanke’s last week, and he keeps three French cooks just for his large parties.”
Before Mrs. Vernon could decide whether or not she ought to be mollified, Sir James continued. “I fear that I must end my visit prematurely and must leave for London very early tomorrow. You will none of you be down for breakfast, save for Mr. deCourcy—and I invite you, sir, to share my chaise, as it will be more suited to the weather and the state of the roads than your curricle. I will say good-bye to you, Vernon,” he added, “and ask you to indulge me so far as to allow me to make my adieux to my fair cousins tonight so that they will not feel obliged to see me off tomorrow.”
Mr. and Mrs. Vernon supposed that Sir James meant to make his offer for Miss Vernon and withdrew, she resolving never again to be caught without provisions for a dozen guests and he wondering how long it would be before the fishmonger had another such fine supply of whitebait.
Reginald bade them all a good night and expressed a wish that they might all meet in London very soon, then left them alone, his state of mind far more sanguine at the end of the day than at its beginning.
When he had gone, Frederica gave her cousin a kiss and advised him to depart from Churchill a better man than when he arrived, then allowed her mother and cousin to say their farewells in private.
“I hope that I shall be able to take Freddie’s excellent advice,” Sir James declared when the door had closed upon her. “I hope that I shall leave here a happier man, at least.”
“You have never been unhappy, James.”
“You are quite right. But I anticipate the particular satisfaction of taking my mother’s advice. There is no triumph so complete as seeing the surprise of a parent who has got past expecting anything like compliance.”
“I think that you can no more be compliant than my aunt can be surprised, unless her advice is of some consequence.”
“It is. Mother has urged me to marry for so long that I am certain she has quite given up on the prospect.”
Lady Vernon experienced something like sadness at his pronouncement. As the husband of another, the playfellow of her youth and her foil and confidant would be lost to her forever. “And who is the lady?” She affected something like her old playfulness of tone. “Not Miss Claudia Hamilton, surely. Or one of the Misses Millbanke?”
“Oh, no! I can allow for some shortcoming in my companions, but never in a wife—there, nothing less than perfection will do. I am such a good-for-nothing that I must have a wife who is exceptional in everything.”
“I confess I am very curious, cousin. I can think of nobody in our range of acquaintance who is anywhere near perfection—save Freddie, perhaps, and you have resigned your role as her admirer.”
“Yes, but there is someone very near Freddie who will suit me even better.” To Lady Vernon’s astonishment, her cousin became very grave. “My dear cousin—my dear Susan—I valued and esteemed Sir Frederick, you know that I did. I am acutely aware of what is due to his memory and I would never address you if to do so would be to trespass upon his wishes for your future happiness. I know that Freddie would approve, and Mother would be truly indebted to you for the very great honor you would confer upon her by taking me off her hands.”
Here he paused and looked at her expression before deciding whether he should continue.
Lady Vernon was dumbfounded. She had always liked her cousin—nay, she loved him—with all of the warmth and affection of two people who have known each other since childhood. No match could suit either of them better, for she was inured to all of his faults and he was so in love as to be persuaded that she had almost none at all.