The journey from Churchill to Langford was to take the ladies through Bath, where they would stop for the night at the home of Lewis deCourcy.

When they had dined, Wilson retired to her sewing and Miss Vernon was invited to form her opinion of the rose garden. Lady Vernon took the opportunity to discuss the matter of her finances with Mr. deCourcy. He listened carefully and asked a good many questions about the particulars of the language of Sir Frederick’s will, then made every attempt to alleviate her anxiety.

“I am not ready to believe that you have any real need for concern yet,” said he, “though your acquaintance with Mrs. Manwaring’s situation must make you sensible of the evils of having your money under the control of one who deliberately withholds it from the intended object. There may be some working of the law that must take place before Charles can make good on any promises given to Sir Frederick. An inheritance will always come with some matters of unfinished business, and in my experience, the law does nothing so well as prolonging what ought to be swift. I advise you to wait a little longer—once Mrs. Vernon and the family are settled, Charles will be at leisure to address those points of honor that his more pressing obligations have deferred. In another month or very shortly thereafter, this will all be resolved, and if it is not, I will be more than happy to intercede on your behalf.”

Lady Vernon was sensible of the delicacy of his situation in being her particular friend and Charles’s uncle through marriage. She assured him that no intercession would be wanted and thanked him for his counsel, and the remainder of the evening was spent in discussing the pleasures of Somerset and Mr. deCourcy’s hopes that Miss Vernon might find a friend and confidante in Miss Manwaring.

At Langford, they were received with a great deal of effusion and ceremony. The business of welcome took above an hour, for the Vernon ladies must be embraced and exclaimed over, and relate how they had traveled, and how they had left Mr. deCourcy, and whether the roads had been very hot and dirty, and whether the dust had soiled their gowns. This brought on a brief embarrassment, as the remarks must draw attention to the Vernon ladies’ black dresses and remind the Manwaring ladies of the tragedy that had brought about the invitation.

At last, it was supposed that the travelers would want to rest, and they were shown to their chambers. Lady Vernon permitted herself to be taken out of her traveling dress, and when Wilson left them, she sat down to explain the state of their affairs to Frederica.

“I will not wait for my uncle to be honorable,” declared Frederica. “My father was always inclined to be fond of Mr. Vernon and I would not dare to contradict him, but from the day of my father’s accident, I have had cause to think very ill of my uncle.”

“What cause?” her mother asked, bewildered.

“On the day of my father’s accident, I was in the wood—oh, I know that I have always been cautioned to keep away when the men were shooting, but I did not think there was any harm in going just to the edge, for I had seen a small growth of hepatia upon some of the trees, and I was certain that I could obtain a sample without getting anywhere near their party. I passed through a little copse and immediately spied my father lying upon the ground and my uncle standing motionless beside him. No alarm had been raised—and it was only when my uncle spied me that he affected anything like concern and ordered me to go for help. I cannot accuse my uncle of anything worse than the shock of discovering my father in such a state,” Frederica hastened to add. “And yet—I do think that it is his nature to at least consider how far a little delay might work to his advantage!”

As certain as Lady Vernon was of her daughter’s integrity and her brother-in-law’s want of it, she was shocked to think that Charles Vernon might have withheld assistance from his brother. One is always willing to believe that one’s relations are lying, grasping, or vain, but a suggestion of iniquity will strain all but the most forbearing nature.

“How I wish that I had arrived a minute sooner,” Frederica lamented, “or said something to Papa when he recovered his health! But I could not bring myself to introduce a matter that would raise suspicion and anxiety toward one who my father always regarded with affection—oh, if only I had spoken!”

“If you had spoken, you would only have put at variance one with whom your father had the misfortune to be on good terms. It is better that your father was never obliged to think ill of his brother. He could not have done justice to the task.” 

chapter fourteen

Langford enjoyed a pleasing situation in the eastern part of Somerset. The estate was not large, but the manor house was spacious and modern. The common rooms, however, were furnished in a manner that annulled every advantage of size and light, for there was not a single settee nor table where two or three might be crammed into the space, not a solitary drapery where shades and valances might be laid on as well. The lawns were likewise cluttered with statuary and fountains, and the walks were overhung with trellises. Inside and out, nothing was left alone where more could be done to it, which kept the Manwaring property in a state of habitual clutter and chronic improvement.

Such disorder did not impose upon Lady Vernon or her daughter during their first fortnight at Langford; but the Manwarings considered two weeks to be a sufficient period of deep mourning. They must have some company and noise, and soon the house was filled up with young men who came in quest of some shooting and young ladies in quest of young men.

Among the latter were the Misses Hamilton, who were brought by their mother. Lady Hamilton was secure of her eldest, but there were the two younger girls to be disposed of, and though Miss Claudia was but eighteen and Miss Lucy a year younger, they had already been launched upon a round of visits and balls and assemblies, wherever there were eligible men to be found. They had been four months in town and six weeks at Bath before they were obliged to return to the family estate only long enough for them to remind Lord Hamilton of their affection and to coax another hundred pounds of pocket money from him before they laid siege to Somersetshire.

They had not gone immediately to Langford, for while in Bath, Lady Hamilton happened upon an old friend who introduced Sir Walter Elliot to her acquaintance. This gentleman was a widower whose middle daughter had been a schoolfellow of Miss Lucy Hamilton’s, so there was an additional source of intimacy, and before they left Bath, an engagement had been formed for Lady Hamilton and her daughters to come to the Elliots for a month or two at the end of the summer. Before the superior society of Kellynch Hall, Langford must give way. Lady Hamilton very soon understood, however, that Sir Walter Elliot’s motive had been to make a very unreasonable application for her eldest daughter, and promptly recollected an absolute promise to go to her dear friends the Manwarings. “No, Sir Walter, it cannot be put off … No, I do not think we can come back again from Langford, as I mean to have Lucy try school again, in town … Eliza Manwaring has invited my nephew Reginald deCourcy on purpose for Lavinia—I am certain you must understand what that means.” And, mortified by this rejection, Sir Walter was very happy to have them go from his quarter of Somersetshire to one that, he was certain, was very much inferior.

The elder Misses Hamilton were slight, conceited, and no more than handsome, while Miss Lucy Hamilton was high-spirited, plump, and pretty. “But, la,” she declared right after she and Frederica had been introduced, “we are very near related, are we not? Our mother is the sister of Sir Reginald deCourcy, and his daughter has married your uncle, Mr. Vernon! And we may be even more closely connected in the future, will we not, Livvy?”

This caused Miss Hamilton to simper and blush and declare that she did not know what Lucy’s meaning was in a manner that implied that she did.

Frederica was drawn aside by Maria Manwaring, who said in a low voice, “It has long been decided that Lavinia Hamilton will marry her cousin Reginald deCourcy, your Aunt Vernon’s younger brother. Have you ever met him?”

“No, never.”

“Eliza and I saw him at Bath, with his friend, Charles Smith, but we were never introduced. Mr. Lewis deCourcy twice invited us to dine on purpose to make his nephew’s acquaintance, but alas, both times he was dining elsewhere. My brother means to invite him and Mr. Smith to Langford.”

“What sort of person is Mr. Smith?” inquired Frederica.

“Oh, he is not half as good-looking as Mr. deCourcy, but he is twice as lively to make up for it,” Maria replied. “I am afraid that my brother insists upon everyone being very lively here at Langford. I hope that you do not mind it.”

“No, I do not mind it, for if that is the case, you will all be too engaged to notice if we are quiet.”

The liveliness began that evening as soon as the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner. Lady Hamilton began to nudge and wink at her youngest daughter. Miss Lucy took the hint and immediately coaxed Maria to ask her brother’s leave for some dancing. “There is your brother and Mr. Reed and Mr. Blake and Lord Whitby for partners—and you or Miss Vernon and my sisters and me. We can make up four couples!”

Maria, who was not without feeling, reminded her friends that Miss Vernon was in mourning.

“Yes,” agreed Miss Claudia Hamilton. “Miss Vernon cannot dance, but if she can play tolerably well, there is no reason she cannot oblige us. We do not expect anything like superiority of performance, only that she give us a minuet and a few lighter dances, and perhaps a reel to finish the evening. There can be no impropriety in that.”