His disappointment was offset, to some degree, by the satisfying news that Sir Reginald had come to town. Charles rehearsed a proposal to relinquish his rooms in order to reside with his father-in-law, an offer that began with an earnest desire to be of use to Sir Reginald and concluded with a list of residences that were suitably quiet, convenient, and grand. He determined that the arrangement would entail no more than occasionally writing letters of business or performing some commission in the city, a small sacrifice for securing a handsome address in town.
Charles received word of his father-in-law’s arrival and immediately waited upon him at Reginald’s address in very sanguine spirits, which supported him until he was ushered into the gentleman’s presence. Then his confidence weakened, for Sir Reginald’s appearance and demeanor were no longer fragile and retiring; instead of losing ground since they had last parted, Sir Reginald now appeared to be in very good health—his complexion was ruddy, his eye sharp, and his voice clear and resolute.
Charles stammered out a greeting and could not help adding, “I am surprised to see you looking so well, sir.”
“I am well, which I must attribute to the advantage of good company—of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring I cannot speak too highly, and I am always happy to see Catherine and the children. But you appear more surprised to see me in health than pleased about it.”
Charles’s protests were cut short by Sir Reginald, who added, “You can, however, be no more displeased than I, as I hear accounts of your conduct that disappoint me exceedingly.”
“I cannot imagine. What can you allude to?”
“Churchill. Churchill—that word should be sufficient.”
Charles first went white and then colored deeply. “Churchill?” he stammered. “How can the single word ‘Churchill’ be interpreted to my discredit?”
Sir Reginald needed nothing more than the look of guilty apprehension upon his son-in-law’s countenance to confirm that his suspicions, which he hoped had imputed too much to Charles, had instead assigned too little. “Do you require particulars?”
“Sir, to simply utter the name of my family home—and the home of your daughter and grandchildren—conveys nothing that supersedes the necessity for more.”
“Then, however much it pains me to speak so to the husband of my daughter and the father of my grandchildren, I must be frank. If even I, living in seclusion, with so little company and correspondence, have come to hear accounts of your misconduct during the life and since the death of your brother, can you think that the world in general is ignorant of it?”
“‘Misconduct’?”
“To have abused the trust of your brother and robbed Lady Vernon and her daughter of all peace and security.”
“I have acted in no way that contradicted the directions laid down in my brother’s will. You may apply to his attorney in Sussex, Mr. Barrett, if you have any doubt.”
“I have no doubt as to Sir Frederick’s instructions, nor do I doubt that they were faithfully carried out by Mr. Barrett, but that does not excuse your want of regard. To be so often at Sir Frederick’s side during his infirmity left him susceptible to your persuasion, which might have been employed in encouraging your brother to better provide for his wife and daughter.”
“If I did not exert as much as I ought, it was only to spare my brother the anxiety and activity that might have sent him into a decline—and if the worst did come to pass, would you have me argue in favor of Lady Vernon and her daughter, who will always have the protection of the Martins, at the expense of Catherine and your grandchildren? My brother’s fortune must substantially benefit them.”
“Nobody can benefit from a legacy if it is squandered in high living,” replied Sir Reginald coldly.
“Sir, I have lived in town more modestly than most gentlemen of my station—indeed, much lower than I ought, as Lady Vernon’s settlement entitled her to the house on Portland Place.”
Sir Reginald endeavored to conceal his disgust at the self-interest that could not even comprehend a sense of wrongdoing—yet he could not accuse his son-in-law without feeling the full measure of his own neglect. He ought not to have allowed the marriage. Catherine’s sentiments had been guided only by the belief that at three and twenty she ought to have a husband, and Lady deCourcy had promoted the match as one that would allow her daughter the distinction of being married while placing her in a situation that would (as Charles Vernon had no property, nor the immediate means of securing any) support their settling where the relationship of mother and daughter might continue uninterrupted. Governed by expedience and ease, and his brother’s efforts to secure Charles Vernon some respectable means of employment, Sir Reginald had given his consent to the match. The ability to have his daughter and son take up residence on the property gave Sir Reginald some measure of satisfaction as he might—if he wished to exert it—oversee his son-in-law’s conduct. That he did not exert to correct in Charles the want of principle that might have spared Miss Vernon and her mother such misery made him now sensible of something like responsibility—refusing his consent to a marriage with Catherine would likely not have reversed the course Charles had taken, but had Sir Reginald been more conscientious, it might have instilled in Charles something like conscience.
“You have no immediate need of a house in town,” replied Sir Reginald. “Colonel Beresford’s house on Berkeley Square is put up to let and I have taken it for two months—you may give up your quarters and take up residence there. You cannot want to be away from Churchill Manor beyond two months, as I understand it is in need of the sort of supervision that cannot be done from town. As for your decision to give up your position at the banking house, I support it. You must devote yourself to putting your own house in order. Churchill Manor cannot be properly managed if your interests are divided by an occupation that draws you so often to town.”
The arrangement that Charles had hoped for was beginning to lose some of its luster. He was persuaded that he was over the worst of it, but there was a parting shot, which was very hard upon him. “You will give up your clubs. They will no longer be necessary to keep up business associations and are a poor place to be idle, for they will draw one into debts of honor, which may erase many years’ independence. I will excuse you now, as you will have some arrangements to make in quitting your rooms.”
Charles took leave of his father-in-law with as much poise as he could summon. He was relieved that the subject of how much of his brother’s legacy was left at his disposal had been avoided, and decided that a respite from his clubs and associates (until the next quarter came due and Catherine was persuaded to cajole something from her father) would not be a great inconvenience.
chapter fifty-seven
Sir Reginald did not wait until he was installed at Berkeley Square to call upon Miss Manwaring’s brother. Manwaring received him with informality and giddy spirits, which caused Sir Reginald to wonder that anyone could think that Lady Vernon had invited the attentions of such a frivolous creature. Manwaring’s congratulations were directed toward himself as often as toward the engaged couple. He expressed his relief that Lewis deCourcy would take Maria for nothing—“for our father provided her with little, and I am sure that it was costly enough for me to keep a roof over her head and buy her three or four new gowns every winter.” In working his way around the subject of money (in order that his sister’s future relations clearly understood how little he could do for her), Manwaring lapsed into several anecdotes of those speculations that accounted for his having nothing at all to give Maria. Sir Frederick Vernon was a minor player in one of his tales, and Sir Reginald asked just enough, and deduced just enough, to think that rather than being too harsh with his son-in-law, he had been too liberal.