“And another thing is that it’s time we were thinking of a husband for her,” pursued Sir Horace, seating himself in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “I knew I could depend on you. Dash it, you’re her aunt! My only sister, too.”
“I should be only too happy to bring her out,” said Lady Ombersley wistfully. “But the thing is I don’t think — I am rather afraid — You see, what with the really dreadful expense of presenting Cecilia last year, and dearest Maria’s wedding only a little time before that, and Hubert’s going up to Oxford, not to mention the fees at Eton for poor Theodore — ”
“If it’s expense that bothers you, Lizzie, you needn’t give it a thought, for I’ll stand the nonsense. You won’t have to present her at Court — I’ll attend to all that when I come home, and if you don’t want to be put to the trouble of it then I can find some other lady to do it. What I want at this present is for her to go about with her cousins, meet the right set of people — you know the style of thing!”
“Of course I know, and as for trouble it would be no such thing! But I cannot help feeling that perhaps, perhaps it would not do! We do not entertain very much.”
“Well, with a pack of girls on your hands you ought to,” said Sir Horace bluntly.
“But, Horace, I have not got a pack of girls on my hands!” protested Lady Ombersley. “Selina is only sixteen, and Gertrude and Amabel are barely out of the nursery!”
“I see what it is,” said Sir Horace indulgently. “You’re afraid she may take the shine out of Cecilia. No, no, my dear! I daresay you’ll think she’s a very pretty girl. But Cecilia’s something quite out of the common way. Remember thinking so when I saw her last year. I was surprised, for you were never above the average yourself, Lizzie, while I always thought Ombersley a plain-looking fellow.”
His sister accepted these strictures meekly, but was quite distressed that he should suppose her capable of harboring such unhandsome thoughts about her niece. “And even if I was so odious, there is no longer the least need for such notions,” she added. “Nothing has as yet been announced, Horace, but I don’t scruple to tell you that Cecilia is about to contract a very eligible alliance.”
“That’s good,” said Sir Horace. “You’ll have leisure to look about you for a husband for Sophy. You won’t have any difficulty. She’s a taking little thing, and she’ll have a snug fortune one of these days, besides what her mother left her. No need to be afraid of her marrying to disoblige us, either. She’s a sensible girl, and she’s been about the world enough to be well up to snuff. Whom have you got for Cecilia?”
“Lord Charlbury has asked Ombersley’s permission to address her,” said his sister, swelling a little with pride.
“Charlbury, eh?” said Sir Horace. “Very well indeed, Elizabeth! I must say, I didn’t think you’d catch much of a prize, because looks aren’t everything, and from the way Ombersley was running through his fortune when I last saw him — ”
“Lord Charlbury,” said Lady Ombersley a little stiffly, “is an extremely wealthy man, and, I know, has no such vulgar consideration in mind. Indeed, he told me himself that it was a case of love at first sight with him!”
“Capital!” said Sir Horace. “I should suppose him to have been hanging out for a wife for some time — thirty at least, ain’t he? But if he has a veritable tendre for the girl, so much the better! It should fix his interest with her.”
“Yes,” agreed Lady Ombersley. “And I am persuaded they will suit very well. He is everything that is amiable and obliging, his manners most gentlemanlike, his understanding decidedly superior, and his person such as must please.”
Sir Horace, who was not much interested in his niece’s affairs, said, “Well, well, he is plainly a paragon, and we must allow Cecilia to think herself fortunate to be forming such a connection! I hope you may manage as prettily for Sophy!”
“Indeed, I wish I might!” she responded, sighing. “Only it is an awkward moment, because — the thing is, you see, that I am afraid Charles may not quite like it!”
Sir Horace frowned in an effort of memory. “I thought his name was Bernard. Why shouldn’t he like it?”
“I am not speaking of Ombersley, Horace. You must remember Charles!”
“If you’re talking about that eldest boy of yours, of course I remember him! But what right has he to say anything, and why the devil should he object to my Sophy?”
“Oh, no, not to her! I am sure he could not do so! But I fear he may not like it if we are to be plunged into gaiety just now! I daresay you may not have seen the announcement of his own approaching marriage, but I should tell you that he has contracted an engagement to Miss Wraxton.”
“What, not old Brinklow’s daughter? Upon my word, Lizzie, you have been busy to some purpose! Never knew you had so much sense! Eligible, indeed! You are to be congratulated!”
“Yes,” said Lady Ombersley. “Oh, yes! Miss Wraxton is a most superior girl. I am sure she has a thousand excellent qualities. A most well-informed mind, and principles such as must command respect.”
“She sounds to me like a dead bore,” said Sir Horace frankly.
“Charles,” said Lady Ombersley, staring mournfully into the fire, “does not care for very lively girls, or — or for any extravagant folly. I own, I could wish Miss Wraxton had rather more vivacity. But you are not to regard that, Horace, for I had never the least inclination toward being a bluestocking myself, and in these days, when so many young females are wild to a fault, it is gratifying to find one who — Charles thinks Miss Wraxton’s air of grave reflection very becoming!” she ended, in rather a hurry.
“You know, Lizzie, it’s a queer thing that any son of yours and Ombersley should have grown into such a dull stick,” remarked Sir Horace dispassionately. “I suppose you didn’t play Ombersley false, did you?”
“Horace!”
“No, I know you didn’t! No need to fly into a pucker! Not with your eldest; you know better than that! Still, it is an odd circumstance — often thought so! He can marry his bluestocking, and welcome, for anything I care, but none of this explains why you should be caring a fig for what he likes or don’t like!”
Lady Ombersley transferred her gaze from the glowing coals to his face. “You do not perfectly understand, Horace.”
“That’s what I said!” he retorted.
“Yes, but — Horace, Matthew Rivenhall left his whole fortune to Charles!”
Sir Horace was generally accounted an astute man, but he appeared to find it difficult correctly to assimilate this information. He stared fixedly at his sister for a moment or two, and then said, “You don’t mean that old uncle of Ombersley?”
“Yes, I do.”
“The nabob?”
Lady Ombersley nodded, but her brother was still not satisfied. “Fellow who made a fortune in India?”
“Yes, and we always thought — but he said Charles was the only Rivenhall other than himself who had the least grain of sense, and he left him everything, Horace! Everything!”
“Good God!”
This ejaculation seemed to appear to Lady Ombersley as fitting, for she nodded again, looking at her brother in a woe-begone fashion, and twisting the fringe of her shawl between her fingers.
“So it is Charles who calls the tune!” said Sir Horace.
“No one could have been more generous,” said Lady Ombersley unhappily. “We cannot but be sensible of it.”
“Damn his impudence!” said Sir Horace, himself a father. “What’s he done?”
“Well, Horace, you might not know it, because you are always abroad, but poor Ombersley had a great many debts.”
“Everyone knows that! Never knew him when he wasn’t under a cloud! You’re not going to tell me the boy was fool enough to settle ’em?”
“But, Horace, someone had to settle them!” she protested. “You can have no notion how difficult things were becoming! And with the younger boys to establish creditably, and the dear girls — It is no wonder that Charles should be so anxious that Cecilia should make a good match!”