It might have been supposed that the appearance on the scene of the Marquesa would have filled Miss Wraxton’s Christian soul with relief, but no such emotion was visible in her countenance, which, on the contrary, froze into an expression of such chagrin as to be almost ludicrous. She could find not a word to say and was unable to command herself enough even to shake hands with the Marquesa.
Lord Bromford, always punctilious, rose from his chair and bowed. Sophy presented him, and he begged pardon for having contracted what he feared would prove to be a dangerous cold. The Marquesa held him off with the ladle, saying, “If you have a cold, do not approach me! Now I see that it is Miss Rivenhall whose beauty is entirely English, and that other one, also in the English estilo, but less beautiful. I do not think two chickens will be enough, so that man with the cold must eat the pig’s cheek. But eggs I must have!”
Having delivered herself of this ultimatum, she withdrew, paying not the smallest heed to Lord Bromford’s agitated protest that all forms of pork were poison to him, and that a bowl of thin gruel was all that he felt himself able to swallow. He seemed to feel that Miss Wraxton was the only person among those present who was likely to sympathize with him, for he looked piteously at her. She responded at once, assuring him that he should not be asked to eat the pig’s cheek. “If it were possible to remove you from this draughty hall!” she said, casting an angry glance at Sophy. “Had I known that I was coming to an establishment which appears to be something between a fowlyard and bedlam, I would never have set forth from town!”
“Well, I must say I wish you had known it, then,” said Sophy candidly. “We could have been comfortable enough, if only you and Lord Bromford had minded your own business, and now I suppose we must make gruel, and mustard foot baths!”
“A mustard foot bath,” said Lord Bromford eagerly, “would be the very thing! I do not say that it will entirely arrest the chill; we must not raise our hopes too high! But if we can prevent its descending upon the lungs it will be a great thing! Thank you! I am very much obliged to you!”
“Good gracious, you absurd creature, I did not mean it!” Sophy cried, breaking into laughter.
“No!” said Miss Wraxton. “We may readily believe you have not a grain of womanly compassion, Miss Stanton-Lacy! Do not be uneasy, Lord Bromford! If any efforts of mine can save you from illness they shall not be spared!”
He pressed her hand in a speaking way and allowed her to press him gently down again into his chair.
“Meanwhile,” said Charlbury, “let us not forget that eggs the Marquesa must have! I had better try to find Talgarth and the hen house.”
Sophy, who was looking thoughtful, said slowly, “Yes. And I think — Charlbury, bring a candle into the breakfast parlor, and let us see if it is warm enough yet for Lord Bromford to sit in!”
He went with her into this apartment and had no sooner passed the doorway than she clasped his wrist, and said in an urgent undervoice, “Never mind the eggs! Go to the stables, and direct the Ombersley servants to pole up the horses again! You may change them at the inn in the village, or, if not there, at Epsom! Take Cecilia back to London! Only think how embarrassing for her to be obliged to meet Augustus now! She would dislike it excessively! Besides, it is quite ridiculous for so many people to be crowded into the house, and not at all what I bargained for!”
He grimaced, but said, “If I do it, will you go with us?”
“What, to sit bodkin between you! No, I thank you!”
“But I cannot leave you here!”
“Nonsense! It would not suit me at all to be going to London yet!”
He set the candlestick down, and took her hands in his, and held them firmly. “Sophy, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you, my dear! You may command me in anything. Shall I remove Miss Wraxton?”
“No, for I have had a capital notion about her. She shall stay to nurse Bromford, and very likely they will make a match of it!”
His shoulders shook. “Oh, Sophy, Sophy!”
“No, do not laugh! I do feel that I ought to make some provision for her, poor girl! I cannot permit her to marry Charles, and make them all unhappy at Ombersley house, but I am persuaded she and Bromford would deal extremely. Do not make me any more pretty speeches, but go down to the stables at once! I’ll tell Cecy!”
She then thrust him back into the hall, and, while he let himself out of the house, went back to the group about the fire, and said, “It is tolerably cozy in the parlor, and if you choose to sit there for a little while, Lord Bromford, one of the bedchambers shall be prepared for you, and I will send Clavering to pull off your boots. Do you take him in, Miss Wraxton, and see him comfortably bestowed!”
“I trust the chimney may not smoke as badly as this one!” said Miss Wraxton acidly. “Nothing could be worse! Lord Bromford has coughed twice already!”
“How shocking! You should take him away at once.”
His lordship, who was sitting in a miserable huddle, shivering and sneezing, thanked her in a feeble voice and rose from his chair with Miss Wraxton’s kindly help. Hardly had they gone into the parlor, than Mr. Fawnhope came into the hall, saying severely, “The drawing of hens is revolting! No one should be called upon to witness such an operation! The Marquesa must have eggs.”
Cecilia, who had given a violent start, and perceptibly changed color, exclaimed, “Augustus!”
“Cecilia!” said Mr. Fawnhope, staring at her in astonishment. “You were not here before, were you?”
“No,” she said, blushing furiously. “Oh, no! I — I came with Miss Wraxton!”
“Oh, was that how it was?” he said, rather relieved. “I did not think I had seen you.”
She said resolutely, but in some little agitation, “Augustus, I will not trifle with you! I must tell you that I find I have made a great mistake. I cannot marry you!”
“Noble, noble girl!” Mr. Fawnhope said, much moved. “I honor you for this frankness and must ever deem myself fortunate to have been permitted to adore you. The experience has purified and strengthened me. You have inspired me with a poetic fervor for which the world may yet thank you, as I do! But marriage is not for such as I am. I must put aside the thought. I do put it aside! You should marry Charlbury, but my play you must allow me to dedicate to you!”
“Th-thank you!” faltered Cecilia, a good deal taken aback.
“Well, she is going to marry Charlbury,” said Sophy bracingly. “And now that that is settled, Augustus, pray will you go and find the eggs for Sancia?”
“I know nothing of eggs,” he said. “I fetched Talgarth from the cellar, and he has gone in search of them. I am going to write a poem that has been taking shape in my brain this past hour. Should you object to my entitling it ‘To Sophia, Holding a Lamp?’”
“Not in the least,” said Sophy affably. “Take this candle, and go into the library. Shall I tell Clavering to light a fire there for you?”
“It is of no consequence, thank you,” he replied absently, receiving the candlestick from her and wandering off in the direction of the library.
No sooner had the door closed behind him than Cecilia: said, in some confusion, “Has he understood me? Why did you not tell me he was here, Sophy? I do not know how to look him in the face!”
“No, and you shall not be called upon to do so, dearest? Cecy! Charlbury has gone to order the chaise. You must back to Berkeley Square immediately! Only conceive of your aunt’s anxiety!”
Cecilia, who had been about to demur, wavered perceptibly at this. She was still wavering when Lord Charlbury can back to the house, cheerfully announcing that the chaise would be at the door in five minutes’ time. Sophy up her cousin’s hat and fitted it becomingly over sunny locks. Between her efforts and those of Lord Charlbury she was presently escorted, resistless, out of the house, handed up into the chaise. His lordship, pausing only bestow upon his benefactress a hearty embrace, jumped after her; the steps were let up, the door slammed upon the happy couple, and the equipage was driven away.