“A ball!” exclaimed Lady Martin. “What do you say to it, Susan? It will be quite as handsome as if she had been presented, James, for I know you do nothing by halves. But much of London still believes that she is your object. To have young deCourcy engage her interest under your very roof would make you a laughingstock!”
“But that ridicule would not extend to you, Mother, nor to you, Susan—and I think that neither of you would mind very much if I were made to look foolish.”
“How could we mind anything to which we are so well accustomed?” Lady Vernon replied with a grave smile.
“And when the proposals are made and the wedding date is fixed, I mean to settle Vernon Castle on Freddie as a wedding present, what do you think? Nobody else will take it off my hands and I cannot see them installed in Parklands Cottage.”
“Such a gesture may injure Mr. deCourcy’s pride.”
“Yes, but when he is made to understand Freddie’s affection for the place, his pride will be overcome by his love for her and that will be the end of it. I will write to Freddie at once and allow her to name the date for the ball, so that she and Miss Manwaring may begin to engage in that frenzy of decision over what each will wear, and whether they ought to dress their hair alike or in contrasting styles, and if artificial flowers are now more à la mode than fresh ones.”
He made several more remarks in this lighthearted tone, but when he took his leave, he made some excuse to get his mother to accompany him to the hallway and said in a low voice, “Do not trifle with me, ma’am, I beg you. Is my cousin well?”
“She is only a little pale, which comes from having no opportunity to get a good airing.”
“There is talk of influenza.”
“There is always talk of influenza—a spell of dirty weather will always bring about talk of influenza. Indeed, Miss Sophia Millbanke had almost decided upon taking it when Miss Elliot invited her to pass a fortnight at Kellynch. Miss Elliot’s father has a dread of anything like contagion, and Miss Elliot began to think that Miss Claudia Hamilton would suit her better, and that brought Miss Sophia around to health once more.”
chapter forty-nine
Lady deCourcy and her daughter had got very fond of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring. The young ladies were never idle; they were always teaching and playing with the children, or making up a table for whist in the evening, or writing the letters and lists according to Lady deCourcy’s dictation, or reading aloud, or playing on the pianoforte. Before the first week of their visit had concluded, Lady deCourcy declared her guests to be very good, pretty girls. “If Miss Vernon should marry Sir James,” she said to her daughter, “I think Miss Manwaring would do as well for my sister Hamilton’s clergyman. And if she will not have him, you might do well to engage her as governess. She is a clever, patient sort of person, her manners are good, and she reads aloud very nicely. But there is no need to hurry anything along, as I am not imposed upon in the least by having them here.”
Lady deCourcy was particularly pleased with Miss Vernon for taking Sir Reginald off her hands. She had never had very much to say to him and that had all been said in the early years of their marriage—afterward, her remarks were confined to “How tall our Reginald has got!” or “Catherine must have some new gowns for the winter,” to which Sir Reginald would reply, “I daresay you are right.”
His infirmity relieved her of even these inconvenient attentions, as they often had him confined to his own apartments, and Lady deCourcy had got into the habit of doing as she liked without consulting her husband’s opinion or making any accommodation for his wishes, while at the same time enjoying the expediency of Sir Reginald’s ill health when she did not like to do anything at all. She had settled into the comfortable conviction that she would not be troubled by him at all until his demise compelled her to order her mourning—and, indeed, she had already laid aside one or two things to have ready so as not to be caught up short.
Much to his wife’s dismay, Sir Reginald had improved so far as to spend much of his day with his family and young guests, and to join in their interests and conversation. Miss Vernon prevented Lady deCourcy from being imposed upon by taking Sir Reginald out of their way. They often breakfasted before the family had come down and then went out to examine the grounds and succession houses, calculating how many more pineapples might be got with just a little change in the soil and enumerating what remedies for poor digestion and sleeplessness and ill health might be cultivated in the kitchen garden. They sat down to dinner full of conversation, and if Lady deCourcy did not think that the table was a suitable place for terms such as mulching and bile, at least she was not troubled for her opinion of either.
Sir Reginald found Miss Vernon very different from the wretch edly educated young woman described in his daughter’s letters to his wife. It was only Miss Vernon’s natural diffidence and a disinclination toward show that prevented her accomplishments from being more generally known. Her nature was not so inscrutable, however, as to conceal a certain look of pensive admiration whenever Reginald’s name was spoken, and Sir Reginald began to think that it would be no hardship at all to regard her as a daughter.
He began to want to know more of her history, and as a means of encouraging her to speak, he would direct her attention to some feature of the grounds and inquire whether there was any similarity to Churchill Manor.
“It is more like Vernon Castle than Churchill Manor,” Miss Vernon would reply, and by inviting her to describe the similarities of the two estates, he obtained a description of the Staffordshire property and her own understanding (related with gentle candor that was careful to lay no blame upon her father) of how it had been lost.
“I am very sorry, for your own sake,” said he, “as the property might have been settled on you and the loss of your home in Sussex would have been less.”
“There are some losses that can never be lessened—and there is no advantage to myself that can compensate me for the loss of a most beloved parent.”
He was touched by the sincerity of expression; he did not believe that his own passing would produce such a response from Catherine. “I do not speak of the grief that the death of an excellent husband and father, friend and landlord, must produce, but of the material alteration in your circumstances.”
“Very few of my sex are so independent that they will never experience a material alteration in their fortunes. We are often impoverished when we lose a parent and sometimes enriched when we acquire a husband. One plight is certain to bring misery and the other is no assurance of happiness.”
“An advantageous match does not ensure happiness, it is true,” observed Sir Reginald, “and yet happiness must have something to live upon.”
“Yes, sir, but I am of the opinion that only women who are left with nothing to live upon can be so desperate as to put that something before all other considerations.”
“Then it is fortunate that you are not left desperate,” said he with a smile. “Sir Frederick was always spoken of as the most affectionate and generous of fathers, and Catherine has often written to us of Charles’s generosity toward your mother and yourself. I confess that I have not always had confidence in my son-in-law’s better nature, but perhaps it is that he has never had occasion to put it into practice.”