The Grand Sophy (7 page)

She then swept Cecilia off to her own room, where she found the mantillas, carefully wrapped in silver paper, one of which she instantly carried to Lady Ombersley’s dressing room, declaring that Sir Horace had charged her to present it, with his love, to his dear sister. Lady Ombersley was delighted with the mantilla, a particularly handsome black one; and much touched (as she afterward told Cecilia) by the message that went with it, not one word of which did she believe, but which showed, she said, such thoughtful delicacy in her niece.

By the time Sophy had changed her traveling dress for an evening gown of pale green crape, festooned at the bottom with rich silk trimmings, and confined at the waist with a cord and tassels, Cecilia had completed her own toilet, and was waiting to escort her downstairs to the drawing room. Sophy was trying to clasp a necklace of pearls round her throat while the gaunt maid, adjuring her not to be so fidgety, was equally determined to button up the cuffs of her long, full sleeves. Cecilia, tastefully but not strikingly attired in sprigged muslin, with a blue sash, supposed enviously that Sophy had had her gown made in Paris. She was quite right; nearly all Sophy’s dresses came from Paris.

“One consolation,” said Cecilia naively, “is that Eugenia will dislike it excessively!”

“Good gracious, who is Eugenia?” exclaimed Sophy, wheeling round upon her dressing stool. “Why should she dislike it? I don’t think it ugly, do you?”

“Miss Sophy, drat you, will you sit still?” interpolated Jane Storridge, giving her a shake.

“No, of course I do not!” responded Cecilia. “But Eugenia never wears modish gowns. She says there are more important things to think of than one’s dresses.”

“What a stupid thing to say!” remarked Sophy. “Naturally there are, but not, I hold, when one is dressing for dinner. Who is she?”

“Miss Wraxton. Charles is betrothed to her, and Mama sent to warn me a few minutes ago that she is dining here tonight. We had all of us forgotten it in the bustle of your arrival. I daresay she will be in the drawing room already, for she is always very punctual. Are you ready? Shall we go down?”

“If only my dear Jane would bestir herself a little!” Sophy said, giving up her other wrist to her maid and casting a roguish look into Miss Storridge’s disapproving face.

The maid smiled rather grimly, but said nothing. She did up the tiny buttons, draped a gold-embroidered scarf over her mistress’s elbows, and gave a little nod of approval. Sophy bent and kissed her cheek, saying, “Thank you! Go to bed, and don’t think I will let you undress me, for I assure you I will not! Good night, Jane dear!”

Cecilia, a good deal astonished, said as they descended the stairs together, “I suppose she has been with you a long time? I fear Mama would stare to see you kiss your maid!”

Sophy lifted her brows at this. “Indeed? Jane was my mother’s maid, and my own kind nurse when my mother died. I hope I may do nothing worse to make my aunt stare.”

“Oh! Of course she would perfectly understand the circumstances!” Cecilia said hastily. “Only it looked so odd, you know!”

A decided sparkle in her cousin’s find eyes seemed to indicate that she did not much relish this criticism of her conduct, but as they had by this time reached the drawing-room door she did not say anything, but allowed herself to be ushered into the room.

Lady Ombersley, her two elder sons, and Miss Wraxton were seated in a group about the fire. All looked round at the opening of the door, and the two gentlemen rose to their feet, Hubert gazing at his cousin in frank admiration, Charles looking her over critically.

“Come in, dear Sophy!” Lady Ombersley said, in a welcoming tone. “You see that I am wearing the beautiful mantilla instead of a shawl! Such exquisite lace! Miss Wraxton has been much admiring it. You will let me introduce Miss Stanton-Lacy to you, my dear Eugenia. Cecilia will have told you, Sophy, that we are soon to have the joy of counting Miss Wraxton one of the family.”

“Yes, indeed!” said Sophy, smiling, and holding out her hand. “I wish you very happy, Miss Wraxton, and my cousin also.” She turned, having briefly clasped Miss Wraxton’s hand, and extended her own to Charles. “How do you do?”

He shook hands, and discovered that he was being looked at in a manner quite as critical as his own. This surprised him, but it amused him too, and he smiled. “How do you do? I shall not say that I remember you very well, Cousin, for I am sure that neither of us has the least recollection of the other!”

She laughed. “Very true! Not even Aunt Elizabeth could remember me! Cousin—Hubert, is it?—tell me, if you please, about Salamanca, and John Potton! Did you see both safely bestowed?”

She moved a little aside, to talk to Hubert. Lady Ombersley, who had been anxiously watching her son, was relieved to see that he was looking perfectly amiable, even rather appreciative. A half smile lingered on his lips, and he continued to observe Sophy until his attention was recalled by his betrothed.

The Honorable Eugenia Wraxton was a slender young woman, rather above the average height, who was accustomed to hearing herself described as a tall, elegant girl. Her features were aristocratic, and she was generally held to be a good-looking girl, if a trifle colorless. She was dressed with propriety but great modesty in a gown of dove-colored crape, whose sober hue seemed to indicate her mourning condition. Her hair, which she wore in neat bands, was of a soft tint between brown and gold; she had long, narrow hands and feet; and rather a thin chest, which, however, was rarely seen, her mama having the greatest objection to such low-cut bodices as (for instance) Miss Stanton-Lacy was wearing. She was the daughter of an Earl, and, although she was always careful not to appear proud, perfectly aware of her worth. Her manners were gracious, and she took pains to put people at their ease. She had had every intention of being particularly gracious to Sophy, but when she rose to shake hands with her she had found herself looking up into Sophy’s face, which made it very difficult to be gracious. She felt just a little ruffled for a moment, but overcame this, and said to Charles in a low voice, and with her calm smile: “How very tall Miss Stanton-Lacy is! I am quite dwarfed.”

“Yes, too tall,” he replied.

She could not help being glad that he apparently did not admire his cousin, for although she perceived, on closer scrutiny, that Sophy was not as handsome as herself, her first impression had been of a very striking young woman. She now saw that she had been misled by the size and brilliance of Sophy’s eyes; her other features were less remarkable. She said, “Perhaps, a trifle, but she is very graceful.”

Sophy at this moment went to sit down beside her aunt, and Charles caught sight of the fairylike little greyhound, which had been clinging close to her skirts, not liking so many strangers. His brows rose; he said, “We seem to have two guests. What is her name, cousin?”

He was holding down his hand to the greyhound, but Sophy said, “Tina. I am afraid she will not go to you, she is very shy.”

“Oh, yes, she will!” he replied, snapping his fingers.

Sophy found his air of cool certainty rather annoying, but when she saw that he was quite right, and watched her pet making coquettish overtures of friendship, she forgave him, and was inclined to think he could not be as black as he had been painted.

“What a pretty little creature!” remarked Miss Wraxton amiably. “I am not, in general, fond of pets in the house. My mama, dear Lady Ombersley, will never have even a cat, you know, but I am sure this must be quite an exception.”

“Mama has a great liking for pet dogs,” said Cecilia. “We are not usually without one, are we, ma’am?”

“Fat and overfed pugs,” said Charles, with a grimace at his mother. “I prefer this elegant lady, I confess.”

“Oh, that is not the most famous of Cousin Sophy’s pets!” declared Hubert. “You wait, Charles, until you see what else she has brought from Portugal!”

Lady Ombersley stirred uneasily, for she had not yet broken the news to her eldest son that a monkey in a red coat was now king of the schoolroom. But Charles only said, “I understand, Cousin, that you have brought your horse with you too. Hubert can talk of nothing else. Spanish?”

“Yes, and Mameluke-trained. He is very beautiful.”

“I’ll go bail you’re a famous horsewoman, cousin!” Hubert said.

“I don’t know that. I have had to ride a great deal.” The door opened just then, but not, as Lady Ombersley had expected, to admit her butler, with an announcement that dinner awaited her pleasure. Her husband walked in, announcing that he must just catch a glimpse of his little niece before going off to White’s. Lady Ombersley felt that it was bad enough of him to have refused to dine at home in Miss Wraxton’s honor without this added piece of casual behavior, but she did not let her irritation appear; merely saying, “She is not so very little, after all, my love, as you may see.”

“God Gad!” exclaimed his lordship, as Sophy rose to greet him. Then he burst out laughing, embraced Sophy, and said: “Well, well, well! You’re almost as tall as your father, my dear! Devilish like him, too, now I come to look at you!”

“Miss Wraxton, Lord Ombersley,” said his wife reprovingly.

“Eh? Oh, yes, how-de-do?” said his lordship, bestowing a cheerful nod on Miss Wraxton. “I count you as one of the family, and stand on no ceremony with you. Come and sit down beside me, Sophy, and tell me how your father does these days!”

He then drew Sophy to a sofa, and plunged into animated conversation, recalling incidents thirty years old, laughing heartily over them, and presenting all the appearance of one who had completely forgotten an engagement to dine at his club. He was always well disposed toward pretty young women, and when they added liveliness to their charms, and guessed exactly how he liked to conduct a flirtation, he enjoyed himself very much in their company, and was in no hurry to leave them. Dassett, coming in a few minutes later to announce dinner, took in the situation immediately, and after exchanging a glance with his mistress withdrew again to superintend the laying of another place at the table. When he returned to make his announcement, Lord Ombersley exclaimed: “What’s that? Dinnertime already? I declare, I’ll dine at home after all!”

He then took Sophy down on his arm, ignoring Miss Wraxton’s superior claims to this honor, and as they took their places at the dining table commanded her to tell him what maggot had got into her father’s head to make him go off to Peru.

“Not Peru; Brazil, sir,” Sophy replied.

“Much the same, my dear, and just as outlandish! I never knew such a fellow for traveling all over the world! He’ll be going off to China next!”

“No, Lord Amherst went to China,” said Sophy. “In February, I think. Sir Horace was wanted for Brazil because he perfectly understands Portuguese affairs, and it is hoped he may be able to persuade the Regent to go back to Lisbon. Marshal Beresford has become so excessively unpopular, you know. No wonder! He does not know how to be conciliating and has not a grain of tact.”

“Marshal Beresford,” Miss Wraxton informed Charles, in a well-modulated voice, “is a friend of my father’s.”

“Then you must forgive me for saying that he has no tact,” said Sophy at once, and with her swift smile. “It is perfectly true, but I believe no one ever doubted that he is a man of many excellent qualities. It is a pity that he should be making such a cake of himself.”

This made Lord Ombersley and Hubert laugh, but Miss Wraxton stiffened a little, and Charles shot a frowning look across the table at his cousin, as though he were revising his first favorable impression of her. His betrothed, who always conducted herself with rigid propriety, could not, even at an informal family party, bring herself to talk across the table, and demonstrated her superior upbringing by ignoring Sophy’s remark, and beginning to talk to Charles about Dante, with particular reference to Mr. Cary’s translation. He listened to her with courtesy, but when Cecilia, following her cousin’s unconventional example, joined in their conversation, to express her own preference for the style of Lord Byron, he made no effort to snub her, but on the contrary, seemed rather to welcome her entrance into the discussion.

Sophy enthusiastically applauded Cecilia’s taste, announcing that her copy of
The Corsair
was so well worn as to be in danger of disintegrating. Miss Wraxton said that she was unable to give an opinion on the merits of this poem, as her mama did not care to have any of his lordship’s works in the house. Since Lord Byron’s marital difficulties were among the most scandalous on dit of the town—it being widely rumored that he was, at the earnest solicitations of his friends, on the point of leaving the country—this remark at once made the discussion seem undesirably raffish, and everyone was relieved when Hubert, disclaiming any liking for poetry, went into raptures over the capital novel,
Waverley
.

Here again Miss Wraxton was unable to edify the company with any measured criticism, but she graciously said that she believed the work in question to be, for a novel, quite unexceptionable. Lord Ombersley then said that they were all very bookish, but
Ruff’s Guide to the Turf
was good enough reading for him, and drew Sophy out of the conversation by asking her a great many questions about old friends of his own whom, since they now adorned various embassies, she might be counted upon to know.

After dinner, Lord Ombersley put in no appearance in the drawing room, the claims of faro being too insistent to be ignored, and Miss Wraxton very prettily begged that the children might be permitted to come downstairs, adding, with a smile cast upward at Charles, that she had not had the felicity of seeing her little friend Theodore since he had come home for the Easter holidays. However, when her little friend presently appeared he was carrying Jacko upon his shoulder, which made her shrink back in her chair, and utter an exclamation of protest.