Джорджетт Хейер - The Grand Sophy

But there was more than abstraction in the gaze turned upward to Miss Stanton-Lacy’s face, and this circumstance was not lost on Mr. Rivenhall, interpreting correctly the blankness and the doubtful smile hovering on Mr. Fawnhope’s lips. Mr. Fawnhope had not the faintest idea of the identity of the lady stretching down her hand to him in so friendly a fashion. However he took it in his, and said, “How-do-you-do,” in his soft, vague voice.

“Brussels,” said Sophy helpfully. “We danced the quadrille at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, do you remember? Oh, are you acquainted with my cousin, Mr. Rivenhall? You must know that I am staying with my aunt, in Berkeley Square, for the season. You must come to call upon us. I know she will be delighted!”

“Of course I remember!” said Mr. Fawnhope, with less truth than good manners. “Enchanting to meet again, ma’am, and so unexpectedly! I shall certainly do myself the pleasure of calling in Berkeley Square.”

He bowed and stepped back. The grays, to whom Mr. Rivenhall’s impatience had communicated itself, bounded forward. Mr. Rivenhall said, “How charming for you to have met an old friend so soon after your arrival!”

“Yes, was it not?” agreed Sophy.

“I hope he will have contrived to recall you name before he avails himself of your invitation to visit you.”

Her lips twitched, but she replied with perfect composure, “Depend upon it, if he does not he will find someone to tell him what it is.”

“You are shameless!” he said angrily.

“Nonsense! You only say so because I drove your horses,” she answered. “Never mind! I will engage not to do so again.”

“I’ll take care of that!” he retorted. “Let me tell you, my dear Cousin, that I should be better pleased if you would refrain from meddling in the affairs of my family!”

“Now, that,” said Sophy, “I am very glad to know, because if ever I should desire to please you I shall know just how to set about it. I daresay I shan’t, but one likes to be prepared for any event, however unlikely.”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowed, and their expression was by no means pleasant. “Are you thinking of being so unwise as to cross swords with me?” he demanded. “I shan’t pretend to misunderstand you, Cousin, and I will leave you in no doubt of my own meaning! If you imagine that I will ever permit that puppy to marry my sister, you have yet something to learn of me!”

“Pooh!” said Sophy. “Mind your horses, Charles, and don’t talk fustian to me.”

“Pretty well, for one morning’s work!” said Sophy. Mr. Rivenhall was less satisfied. His mother was dismayed to discover that so far from having taken a liking to his cousin he was appalled to think that they might be obliged to house her for months. “I tell you frankly, ma’am, it will not do!” he said. “God knows how long my uncle may be away! I only wish you may not live to regret the day when you consented to take charge of his daughter! The sooner you can fulfill the rest of his expectations, and marry her off to some poor wretch the better it will be for the rest of us!”

“Good gracious, Charles!” said Lady Ombersley. “What in the world has she done to put you out?”

He declined to answer this, merely saying that Sophy was pert, headstrong, and so badly brought up that he doubted whether any man would be fool enough to offer for her. His mother refrained from inquiring further into Sophy’s iniquities, but instead seized the moment to suggest that as a prelude to finding a husband for her she should be allowed to give an evening party, with dancing. “I do not mean a large affair,” she hastened to add. “Perhaps ten couples, or so — in the drawing-room!”

“By all means!” he said. “That will make it quite unnecessary for you to invite young Fawnhope!”

“Oh, quite!” she agreed.

“I should warn you, Mama,” he said, “that we encountered him this morning! My cousin greeted him an as old and valued acquaintance and begged him to call on her here!”

“Oh, dear!” sighed Lady Ombersley. “How very unfortunate, to be sure! But I daresay she does know him, Charles, for she was with your uncle in Brussels last year.”

“She!” said Charles witheringly. “He had no more notion who she was than the Emperor of China! But he will certainly call! I must leave you to deal with that, ma’am!”

With these very unfair words he strode out of his mother’s room, leaving her to wonder in what way he supposed her to be able to deal with a morning call paid by a young man of unexceptionable birth, who was the son of one of her oldest friends. She came to the conclusion that he had no more idea than she, and banished the matter from her mind, bending it instead to the far more pleasant problem of whom to invite to the first party she had held in two months.

She was presently interrupted by the entrance of her niece. Remembering Charles’s dark words, she asked Sophy, with an assumption of severity, what she had done to vex him. Sophy laughed, and almost stunned her by replying that she had done nothing but steal his curricle and tool it round the city for half an hour.

“Sophy!” gasped her ladyship. “Charles’s grays? You could never hold them!”

“To own the truth,” admitted Sophy, “I had the devil’s own work to do so! Oh, I beg your pardon! I did not mean to say that, dearest Aunt Lizzie! Don’t scold! It comes of living with Sir Horace. I know I say the most shocking things, but I do try to mind my wretched tongue! No, and do not give Charles’s pets another thought! He will come about presently. I daresay if he had not engaged himself to marry that tedious girl he would not be so stuffy!”

“Oh, Sophy!” said Lady Ombersley involuntarily. “I own I cannot like Miss Wraxton, try as I will!”

“Like her! I should think not indeed!” exclaimed Sophy.

“Yes, but one should,” said Lady Ombersley unhappily. “She is so very good, and I am sure she wishes to be a most dutiful daughter to me, and it is so ill natured of me not to wish for a dutiful daughter! But when I think that in quite a short time now I shall have her living in the house — but I should not be talking in this style! It is most improper, and you must forget it, if you please, Sophy!”

Sophy paid no heed to this, but echoed, “Living in the house? You are not serious, ma’am?”

Lady Ombersley nodded. “There is nothing at all out of the way in such an arrangement, you know, my love. They will have their own apartments, of course, but — ” She broke off and sighed.

Sophy looked at her fixedly for a few moments, but, rather to her surprise, said nothing. Lady Ombersley tried to put these melancholy reflections out of her mind and began to talk about the party she meant to give. In these plans her niece entered with enthusiasm, and an efficiency that swept Lady Ombersley quite off her feet. By what stages she arrived at agreement with Sophy on all points she was never afterward able to explain, either to Charles or to herself, but at the end of an interview which left her feeling bemused but convinced that no one could boast of having a sweeter-natured or more thoughtful niece than Sophy, she had certainly consented not only to allow Sophy and Cecilia to undertake all the necessary arrangements, but also to permit Sir Horace (through his daughter) to defray the cost of the entertainment.

“And now,” Sophy said buoyantly to Cecilia, “you shall tell me where we must order the cards of invitation and where you in general go for refreshments. I don’t think we should leave that to my aunt’s cook, for he would be busy for so many days he would have very little time for anything else, and that would make everyone uncomfortable, which I don’t at all wish.”

Cecilia regarded her in round-eyed astonishment. “But Sophy, Mama said it should only be quite a small party!”

“No, Cecy, it was your brother who said that,” replied Sophy. “It is going to be a very large party.”

Selina, who was present at this conference, asked shrewdly: “Does Mama know that?”

Sophy laughed. “Not yet!” she admitted. “Do you think she does not care for large parties?”

“Oh, no! Why, there were more than four hundred people invited to the ball she gave for Maria, were there not, Cecilia? Mama enjoyed it excessively, because it was such a capital success, and everyone complimented her on it. Cousin Mathilda told me so.”

“Yes, but the cost of it!” Cecilia said. “She will not dare! Charles would be so angry!”

“Don’t give him a thought!” recommended Sophy. “It is Sir Horace who will bear the cost, not Charles. Make a list of all your acquaintances, Cecy, and I will make one of those of my friends who are in England, and then we will go out to order the cards. I imagine we shall not need more than five hundred.”

“Sophy,” said Cecilia, in a faint voice, “are we going to send out five hundred invitations without even asking Mama?”

Imps of mischief danced in her cousin’s eyes. “Of course we are, dear goose! For once we have despatched them, even your horrid brother cannot recall them!”

“Oh, famous, famous!” cried Selina, beginning to skip round the room. “What a rage he will be in!”

“Dare I?” breathed Cecilia, at once scared and dazzled.

Her sister begger her not to be poor spirited, but it was Sophy who clinched the matter, by pointing out to her that she would not have to bear the responsibility and was unlikely to incur much recrimination from her brother, who would have no hesitation in laying the blame at the right door.

Mr. Rivenhall, meanwhile, had gone off to visit his betrothed. He arrived at the Brinklow’s somewhat cheerless house in Brook Street still seething with indignation, but so thankless and perverse was his disposition that no sooner did he find his sentiments shared and his strictures on his cousin endorsed than he took an abrupt turn in quite another direction and said much must be forgiven a girl who could handle his grays as Sophy had. From being a female sunk below reproach Sophy became rapidly an unconventional girl whose unaffected manners were refreshing in an age of simpers and high flights.