The Grand Sophy (21 page)

“My cousin Charles? Did he indeed?” said Sophy appreciatively. “Well, no doubt he did not know that my hand has been claimed these past three days. Perhaps we may stand up together for one of the country dances.”

He bowed, and said, “I have been telling your cousin that we have good authority for indulging in country dances. They cannot, I believe, be considered harmful. The waltz, on the other hand, I cannot approve of.”

“Oh, do you not waltz? I am so glad—I mean, one does not think of you indulging in anything so frivolous, Lord Bromford!”

He appeared to be pleased by this; he settled himself deeper in his chair, and said, “You raise an interesting thesis, ma’am. One is familiar with the phrase,
A man may be known by the company he keeps
; can it be that he may also be known by the dances he permits himself to indulge in?”

Since neither lady had any views to advance on this subject, it was fortunate that his question was purely rhetorical. He began to expand the topic and was only interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Wychbold, who came first to offer to escort Sophy and her cousins to witness a wild beast show, and second to beg the honor of partnering her in the cotillion. She was obliged to deny him, but with regret, for Mr. Wychbold was a notable dancer, performing every step in the cotillion with grace and elegance.

However, when Tuesday dawned she had acquired a far from contemptible partner in Lord Francis Wolvey. The fact that he had first applied for Miss Rivenhall’s hand she bore with great fortitude, saying that in Christian charity to all other young females Cecilia should lose no time in disposing of herself in wedlock.

It was plain from the outset that the ball was to be one of the season’s successes. Even the weather favored it. From dawn till dinnertime Ombersley House was the scene of restless activity, and the road outside noisy with the wheels of tradesmen’s carts and the whistling of innumerable errand boys.

Mr. Rivenhall arrived from the country just as two men in shirt sleeves and leather breeches were erecting an awning across the flagway to the road and another, wearing a baize apron, laying a red carpet down the steps, under Dassett’s lofty supervision. Inside the house, Mr. Rivenhall almost collided with a footman, staggering in the direction of the ballroom with a gigantic potted palm clasped to his bosom, and avoided him only to be faintly screamed at by the housekeeper, who was carrying a pile of the best table damask to the dining room. Dassett, who had followed Mr. Rivenhall into the house, informed him, with satisfaction, that they would sit down thirty to dinner at eight o’clock. He added that her ladyship was laid down upon her bed in preparation for the revels, and that his lordship had personally selected the wines to be served at dinner. Mr. Rivenhall, who seemed to be resigned rather than delighted, nodded, and asked whether any letters awaited him.

“No, sir,” replied Dassett. “I should mention that the band of the Scots Grays will play during supper, Miss Sophy being acquainted with the Colonel, who will be amongst the dinner guests. A vast improvement, if I may say so, sir, on the Pandean pipes, which have become quite common since we had them for Miss Cecilia’s ball last year. Miss Sophy, I venture to say, is a lady as knows precisely how things should be done. A great pleasure, if I may be pardoned the liberty, to work for Miss Sophy, for she thinks of everything, and I fancy there will be no hitch to mar the festivities.”

Mr. Rivenhall grunted and went off to his own apartments. When he next appeared, it was to join the rest of his family in the drawing room a few minutes only before eight o’clock. His two youngest sisters, who were deriving much entertainment from hanging over the bannisters of the staircase leading to the schoolroom floor, informed him in penetrating whispers that he looked so smart they could not believe that there would be any other gentleman to rival him. He looked up, laughing, for although he had a good figure, and was dressed with propriety in black satin knee breeches, a white waistcoat, striped stockings, and a waisted coat with very long tails, he knew that he would be sartorially outshone by half the male guests. But his little sisters’ wholehearted admiration certainly softened his mood, and after promising faithfully to send a servant up to the schoolroom with ices later on, he went on to the drawing room, and was even able to bring himself to compliment his sister and cousin on their gowns.

Sophy had chosen a dress of her favorite pomona-green crape, which she wore over a slip of white satin. It had tiny puff sleeves of lace and seed pearls and was lavishly trimmed with lace. Particularly fine diamond drops hung from her ears; her pearl necklace was clasped round her throat; and an opera comb was set behind the elaborate knot of hair on the crown of her head. Jane Storridge had brushed and pomaded her side curls until they glowed richly chestnut in the candlelight. Green-striped satin slippers, long gloves, and a fan of frosted crape on ivory sticks completed her toilet.

Lady Ombersley, while approving of this striking ensemble, could not forbear gazing at Cecilia with eyes misty with maternal pride. All the youth and beauty of the Upper Ten Thousand would be present at her ball tonight, she reflected, in a large-minded spirit, but there was not a girl among them who would not be cast into the shade by Cecilia, a dream princess in white spider gauze, glinting a little when she moved, and the light caught the silver acorns embroidered on the delicate material. Cecilia’s curls, with only a silver ribbon threaded through them, were like spun gold; her eyes a clear, translucent blue; her mouth a perfect bow. Beside Sophy she seemed ethereal; her father, surveying her with easy affection, said she made him think of a fairy—Queen Mab, or Titania, was it? He needed Eugenia Wraxton to set him right.

He was to have her. Miss Wraxton, after prolonged consideration, had decided to attend Sophy’s ball, gaining her mama’s consent by assuring her that she should certainly not take part in any dancing. She was the first of the dinner guests to arrive, and was attended by her brother Alfred, who ogled Cecilia and Sophy through his quizzing glass, paying them such extravagant compliments as to bring a faint flush to Cecilia’s cheeks, and a darkling look into Sophy’s eyes. Miss Wraxton, who was attired in discreet lavender crape, had come determined to be pleased, and even complimented the cousins on their appearance. Her remarks, however, were in far better taste, and won a warm look from Charles. At the first opportunity, he engaged her [ attention, going over to put a chair for her, and saying, “I had not dared to hope that you would be present tonight Thank you!”

She smiled, and pressed his hand slightly. “Mama did not quite like it, but she agreed that it would be proper for me to come, in the circumstances. I shall not dance, I need hardly say.”

“I am delighted to hear it; you present me with a capital excuse for following your example!”

She looked gratified, but said: “No, no, you are to do your duty, Charles! I insist upon it!”

“The Marquesa de Villacañas!” announced Dassett.

“Good God!” ejaculated Charles, under his breath. The Marquesa came into the room, magnificent, and decidedly exotic, in gold satin, casually adorned with ruby or emerald brooches, chains, and necklaces. An immensely high Spanish comb was in her hair, with a mantilla draped over it; an aroma of heavy perfume hung about her; and a very long train swept the floor behind her. Lord Ombersley drew a deep breath, and moved forward to greet with real enthusiasm a guest so worthy of his notice.

Mr. Rivenhall forgot that he was not on speaking terms with his abominable cousin, and said in her ear, “How in the world did you rouse her to so much effort?”

She laughed. “Oh, she wished in any event to spend a few days in London, so all I had to do was to engage a suite of rooms for her at the Pulteney Hotel, and to charge Pepita, her maid, most straightly, to send her to us tonight.”

“I am astonished that she could be brought even to contemplate so much exertion!”

“Ah, she knew I would go myself to fetch her if she failed!”

More guests were arriving; Mr. Rivenhall moved away to assist his parents in receiving them; the big double drawing room began to fill up; and at only a few minutes past eight o’clock Dassett was able to announce dinner.

The guests assembled for dinner were of a quality to fill any hostess’s bosom with pride, including as they did, a great many members of the diplomatic set, and two cabinet ministers, with their wives. Lady Ombersley could cram her rooms with as many members of the nobility as she cared to invite, but since her husband took little interest in politics, government circles were rather beyond her reach. But Sophy, barely acquainted with the very well born but equally undistinguished people who made up the larger part of the polite world, had been bred up in government circles, and, from the day when she first did up her hair, and let down her skirts, had been entertaining celebrated persons, and was on the friendliest of terms with them. Her, or perhaps Sir Horace’s, acquaintances preponderated at her aunt’s board, but not even Miss Wraxton, on the watch for signs of presumption in her, could find any fault with her demeanor. It might have been expected, since all the arrangements for the party had been hers, that she would have put herself forward more than was becoming, but so far from doing so she seemed to be in a retiring mood, bearing no part in greeting guests upstairs, and confining her conversation at table, most correctly, to the gentlemen on her either side. Miss Wraxton, who had labeled her a hoyden, was obliged to own that her company manners at least were above reproach.

The ball, which began at ten o’clock, was held in the huge room built for the purpose at the back of the house. It was lit by hundreds of candles in a great crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and since this had been unswathed from its holland covering three days before so that both footmen and the pantry boy could wash and polish its lustres, it sparkled like a collection of mammoth diamonds. Masses of flowers were arranged in set pieces at either end of the room, and an excellent orchestra had been engaged, quite regardless (Mr. Rivenhall bitterly reflected) of expense.

The room, large as it was, soon became so crowded with elegant persons that it seemed certain that the function would receive the final accolade, in being voted a sad crush. No hostess could desire more.

The ball opened with a country dance, in which Mr. Rivenhall, in honor bound, stood up with his cousin. He performed his part with propriety, she hers with grace; and Miss Wraxton, watching from a rout chair at one side of the room, smiled graciously upon them both. Mr. Fawnhope, a most beautiful dancer, had led Cecilia into the same set, a circumstance that considerably annoyed Mr. Rivenhall. He thought that Cecilia should have reserved the opening dance for some more important guest, and he derived no satisfaction from overhearing more than one tribute to the grace and beauty of such an arresting couple. Nowhere did Mr. Fawnhope shine to more advantage than in a ballroom, and happy was the lady who stood up with him. Envious eyes followed Cecilia, and more than one dark beauty wished that, since Mr. Fawnhope, himself so angelically fair, unaccountably preferred gold hair to black, she could change her coloring to suit his fancy.

Lord Bromford, one of the earliest arrivals, failed, owing to Mr. Rivenhall’s sense of duty, to secure Sophy’s hand for the first dance, and as a waltz followed the country dance it was some time before he was able to stand up with her. While waltzing was in progress he stood watching the performers, and in due course, gravitated to Miss Wraxton’s side, and entertained her with an exposition of his views on the waltz. With these she was to some extent in sympathy, but she expressed herself more moderately, saying that while she herself would not care to waltz, the dance could not be altogether frowned on now that it had been sanctioned at Almack’s.

“I did not see it danced at Government House,” said Lord Bromford.

Miss Wraxton, who was fond of reading books of travels, said, “Jamaica! How much I envy you, sir, your sojourn in that interesting island! I am sure it must be one of the most romantic places imaginable.”

Lord Bromford, whose youth had never been charmed by tales of the Spanish Main, replied that it had much to recommend it and went on to describe the properties of its medicinal springs and the great variety of marbles to be found in the mountains, all of which Miss Wraxton listened to with interest, telling Mr. Rivenhall later that she thought his lordship had a well-informed mind.

It was halfway through the evening when Sophy, breathless from an energetic waltz with Mr. Wychbold, was standing at the side of the room, fanning herself, and watching the couples still circling round the floor while her partner went to procure a glass of iced lemonade for her, was suddenly accosted by a pleasant-looking gentleman, who came up to her and said with a frank smile, “My friend, Major Quinton, promised that he would present me to the Grand Sophy, but the wretched fellow goes from one set to the next, and never spares me a thought! How do you do, Miss Stanton-Lacy? You will forgive my informality, won’t you? It is true that I have no business here, for I was not invited, but Charles assures me that had I not been believed to be still laid upon a bed of sickness I must have received a card.” She looked at him in that frank way of hers, summing him up. She liked what she saw. He was a man in the early thirties, not precisely handsome, but with a pleasing countenance redeemed from the commonplace by a pair of humorous gray eyes. He was above the medium height, and had a good pair of shoulders, and an excellent leg for a riding boot.

“It is certainly too bad of Major Quinton,” Sophy said smilingly. “But you know what a rattlepate he is! Ought we to have sent you a card? You must forgive us! I hope your illness was not of a serious nature?”