Sophy, cupping her chin in her hands, sat weaving her toils, undismayed by a situation which would certainly have daunted a less ruthless female than herself. Those who knew her best would have taken instant alarm, knowing that, her determination once taken, no consideration of propriety would deter her from embarking on schemes that might well prove to be as outrageous as they were original.
“Surprise is the essence of attack.”
The phrase, once uttered by a general in her presence, came into her head. She pondered it and found it good. Nothing short of surprise would wrench Charles or Cecilia from the paths of convention, so surprise they should have, in full measure..
The immediate outcome of all this cogitation was an interview with Lord Ombersley, caught on his return to Berkeley Square from a day at the races. His lordship, firmly led into his own sanctum, scented danger, and made haste to inform his niece that he was pressed for time, having a dinner engagement that must be kept within the hour.
“Never mind that!” said Sophy. “Have you seen Charles this day, sir?”
“Of course I have seen Charles!” replied his lordship testily. “I saw him this morning!”
“But not since then? He has not spoken to you of Cecilia’s affairs?”
“No, he has not! And I’ll tell you this, Sophy! I want to hear no more of Cecilia’s affairs! My mind’s made up. I won’t have her marrying this poet fellow!”
“My dear sir,” said Sophy, warmly clasping his hand, “do not budge from that stand! I must tell you that Charles is about to counsel you to sanction the engagement, and you must not!”
“What?” ejaculated his lordship. “You’re certainly out there, Sophy! Charles won’t hear of it and for once he’s right! What should get into the silly chit to make her reject as good a man as you may find — I was never more incensed! To whistle Charlbury, with all his fortune, down the wind — ”
His niece firmly drew him to the sofa and obliged him to sit down on it beside her. “Dear Uncle Bernard, if you will only do precisely as I bid you she will marry Charlbury!” she assured him. “But you must promise me most faithfully not to permit Charles to overbear your judgment!”
“But, Sophy, I keep telling you — ”
“Charles has told Cecilia that he will no longer withhold his consent.”
“Good God, has he taken leave of his senses, too? You must be mistaken, girl!”
“Upon my honor, I am not! It is the stupidest thing and will very likely wreck everything, unless you can be trusted to remain firm. Now, my dear Uncle, never mind why Charles has taken this start! Only attend to me! When Charles speaks to you about this, you must refuse to entertain the notion of Cecy’s marrying Augustus Fawnhope. In fact, it would be an excellent stratagem if you were to say that you are of the same mind as ever and mean her to marry Charlbury!”
Lord Ombersley, slightly bewildered, entered on a feeble expostulation. “Much good would that do, when Charlbury has withdrawn his offer!”
“It is of no consequence at all. Charlbury is still extremely desirous of marrying Cecilia, and, if you choose, you may tell her so. She will say that she means to marry her tiresome Augustus, because she is in honor bound to do so. You may rave at her as much as you please — as much as you did when she first made her resolve known to you! But the most important thing, dear sir, is that you should remain adamant! I will do the rest.”
He looked suspiciously at her. “Now, Sophy, this won’t do! It was you who helped her to live in that damned poet’s pocket, for Charles told me so!”
“Yes, and only see with what splendid results! She no longer has any real desire to wed him and has come to see how superior Charlbury is! If Charles had not meddled, all would have gone just as you would have wished!”
“I don’t understand a word of this!” complained his lordship.
“Very likely not. It has in great measure been due to poor little Amabel’s illness.”
“But,” persisted her uncle, painstakingly attempting to follow the thread of her argument, “if she is now willing to listen to Charlbury, why the devil don’t he renew his suit?”
“I daresay he would, if I would let him. It would be useless. Only consider, sir, in what a fix poor Cecy finds herself! She has kept Augustus dangling after her for months, has sworn she will wed him or none! You have only to consent to the alliance, and she must feel herself bound to marry him! At all costs, any formal announcement must be stopped! You may do this, and I beg you will! Do not listen to anything Charles may say to you!” Her expressive eyes laughed at him. “Be as disagreeable to Cecilia as you were before! Nothing could serve the purpose better!”
He pinched her cheek. “You rogue! But if Charles has changed his mind — You know, Sophy, I am no hand at argument!”
“Then do not argue with him! You have only to fly into a towering passion, and that, know, you are well able to do!”
He chuckled, seeing in this pronouncement a compliment. “Yes, but if they give me no peace — ”
“My dear sir” you may seek refuge at White’s! Leave the rest to me! If you will but do your part, I fancy I cannot fail to do mine. I have only this to add! On no account must you divulge that I have been speaking to you on this matter! Promise!”
“Oh, very well!” said his lordship. “But I’ll tell you what, Sophy! I’d as lief take young Fawnhope into my family as that sour creature Charles must needs bring into it!”
“Oh, certainly!” she responded coolly. “That could never answer! I have known it since first I came to London, and I now entertain a reasonable hope of terminating that entanglement. Only do your part, and we may all come about!”
“Sophy!” exclaimed her uncle explosively. “What the devil do you mean to be about now?”
But she would only laugh and whisk herself out of the room.
The upshot of this interview staggered the household. For once Mr. Rivenhall failed to bend his parent to his will. His representations to Lord Ombersley of the enduring nature of Cecilia’s passion fell quite wide of the mark and were only productive of an outburst of rage that surprised him. Knowing that his heir would speedily out argue him, and dreading nothing so much as a struggle against a will far stronger than his own, Lord Ombersley scarcely allowed him an opportunity to open his mouth. He said that however highhanded Charles might be in the management of the estates, he was still not his sisters’ guardian. He added that he had always considered Cecilia more than half promised to Charlbury and would not consent to her marriage with another.
“Unfortunately, sir,” said Charles dryly, “Charlbury no longer affects my sister. His eyes are turned in quite another direction.”
“Pooh! Nonsense! The fellow haunts the place!”
“Exactly so, sir! Encouraged by my cousin!”
“Don’t believe a word of it!” said his lordship. “Sophy wouldn’t have him.” Charles gave a short laugh. “And if he did offer for her, I still wouldn’t permit Cecilia to marry that nincompoop of hers, and so you may tell her!”
Mr. Rivenhall did tell her, but as he added consolingly that he had little doubt of being able to talk his father round to his way of thinking, he was not surprised at her calm manner of receiving the news. Not even a tirade from Lord Ombersley, delivered over the dinner table, quite shattered her composure, although she had the greatest dislike of angry voices and could not help wincing a little and changing color.
The person to be least affected by the parental dictate was Mr. Fawnhope. When informed that it would not be possible immediately to send the notice of the betrothal to the society journals, he blinked, and said vaguely, “Were we about to do so? Did you tell me? I might not have been attending. I am in a great worry about Lepanto, you know. It is useless to deny that battle scenes upon the stage are never felicitous, yet how to avoid it? I have been pacing the floor the better part of the night and am no nearer to solving the problem.”