by Jane Rubino
The remainder of the dinner passed in pleasant conversation. Sir Reginald and Miss Vernon engaged in a spirited discussion of one or two projects that they had begun in the hothouses, and Lewis deCourcy joined his brother in recollections of some youthful incidents that the young people found highly diverting.
When Lady deCourcy made a move to rise, her husband’s brother rose and bade her wait. “I have some information that I think—I hope—will bring as much joy to my family as it has to me.” And taking the hand of Miss Manwaring, who was seated beside him, he continued, “Miss Manwaring has done me the very great honor to accept my hand in marriage, and as her brother has given his consent, I hope that I may persuade you all to wish us well.”
Lady deCourcy was far too surprised to express anything like joy and yet not so surprised as to be shocked into silence. “Engaged?” she cried. “Engaged to Miss Manwaring? Why, what do you mean, brother? If you mean to have a joke at our expense, it is a very poor one! Surely you mean to tell us that you have got engaged to Lady Martin!”
Reginald was compelled to smile at Miss Vernon’s attempt to conceal her diversion at the notion of a union between his uncle and her aunt.
“I assure you, sister,” said Lewis deCourcy with greater civility and forbearance than the lady deserved, “that my inexperience with the decorums which are part of the practice is not so great that it would lead me to mistake the object.”
Reginald now put himself forward to announce his prior intelligence and express his pleasure in the connection. “Though if I cannot bring myself to call you ‘Aunt’ you will forgive me,” he said to the young lady with a smile. “I hope that when the happy event takes place, you will consent to have me address you by your Christian name.”
Lady deCourcy was not quite ready to relinquish her protests. “You do not know what you are about. How can you think so little of your brother’s health? He cannot bear anything so shocking. A marriage to Lady Martin could be withstood well enough, but such a proposal as this will send him straight to his bed.”
“My dear, how could my brother’s happiness have anything but a most favorable effect upon me?” declared Sir Reginald. “I can think of only one other announcement that would make me happier than the prospect of my brother’s union.”
Then, rising from his chair, he went over to Miss Manwaring, took her hand and kissed it with great formality, then expressed his delight at the prospect of calling her “sister.”
Catherine, who had sat speechless throughout, suggested to her mother that it was time for the ladies to withdraw, and Lady deCourcy, with a reproachful look at them all, strode into the drawing room and took the chair closest to the fire.
Reginald accompanied the ladies in order to keep his mother from importuning Miss Manwaring. Fortunately for the young ladies, it was the custom for the children to be called down after dinner, and in entertaining them with some books and puzzles, Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring were able to avoid Lady deCourcy’s disapproving glances.
“I think I have been very ill used for Miss Manwaring to have presented herself as an unattached young lady!” maintained Lady deCourcy to her son and daughter. “Catherine and I had quite settled upon her as the children’s governess—they must have a governess and Miss Vernon will not do, for once she is in town, she will not be allowed to quit her mother’s house again until she marries Sir James Martin. I cannot blame Miss Manwaring—it is a very great step up for her to be a deCourcy, but I pity your uncle—to have got so foolish in his stage of life. I think your uncle is very much to be pitied, do you not agree, Reginald?”
“I think I shall reserve my pity for the Reverend Mr. Heywood, who has seen two excellent prospects come to nothing. A gentleman’s joy of surviving his wife must be considerably lessened if his second choice marries before circumstances allow him to make her an offer.”
“Reginald, do not run on in the manner that you do in town—I cannot bear such levity when I have been thwarted in everything.”
“How can you think yourself thwarted in anything, madam? You have a daughter married and four handsome grandchildren, a husband whose health is remarkably improved, and a brother-in-law engaged to a charming young lady. That is a very strange notion of ill treatment.”
“You delight in provoking me.”
“Indeed, I do not—but it is a provocation that you will not have to endure for very long. Tomorrow I return to town and you may be at peace once more.”
“I cannot be at peace while you are in town—I will imagine you in all sorts of mischief!”
“Then at least you will never want for something to think about.”
“I would rather you stayed with us in Kent—then I would not have to think about anything at all!”
“I would not for anything deprive you of the pleasures of imagination. As for mischief, I can only promise to get in as little as any gentleman can when in town, and to assure you that there will be those who put their mothers’ imaginations to the task, and with far greater cause than I.”
This was no consolation for Lady deCourcy, however, and she passed the rest of the evening in grievances and whist.
chapter fifty-five
Mrs. Johnson to Lady Vernon
Edward Street, London
My dear creature,
How unlucky that you should have been from home when I last called at Portland Place—it is so provoking, for I have had such a tale to tell! The rumors of Miss Manwaring and Mr. Lewis deCourcy marrying are quite true, but it was not until just now that I have learned that they are to be married to each other! This I have on the indisputable authority of Eliza Manwaring, who has this moment left us.
I had gone to Bedford Square, to call upon Lady Hamilton and her daughters. Miss Hamilton and Miss Claudia were with their mantua maker, having their gowns for Sir James’s ball finished, but Lady Hamilton was sitting with her youngest daughter and her husband. Mr. Smith has learned that forgiveness for his conduct is very easily come by—he has only to flatter Lady Hamilton and agree with her every opinion and pronouncement to be declared “a very agreeable sort of young man.”
I returned to find Eliza sitting with Mr. Johnson, and I had no sooner stepped into the room when Eliza demanded my congratulations upon Maria’s engagement and added, “They have both been so cautious—I do not call it a real courtship at all! Mr. Johnson has already heard the news, as he and Mr. deCourcy are such good friends, but you must confess yourself surprised, Alicia.”
“Mr. deCourcy!” I cried. I quite naturally supposed that she spoke of Mr. Reginald deCourcy—for he and Mr. Johnson are the greatest friends in the world since their introduction—and yet I could not believe that he would desert you for Maria Manwaring.
I cannot describe my shock when I was undeceived, and I shall never forgive Mr. Johnson, for he must have known this for a fortnight at least! Maria Manwaring and Lewis deCourcy! He must be thirty or more years her senior! He is very rich, of course, and Manwaring will be very happy to have her off his hands—indeed, you will have to be very prudent, as this is likely to make Manwaring more indiscreet than ever in his attentions toward you. I fear he is capable of some great imprudence and may act in such a way as to excite deCourcy’s jealousy and to make you miserable. I advise you, therefore, not to put off your marriage until Miss Vernon’s is a settled thing. You must think more of yourself and less of your daughter.
Mr. Johnson has reconciled himself to Eliza so far as to invite her and Maria to stay with us at Edward Street for the present. Such a reversal in feeling, such goodwill where there was once censure! Men are such inconstant creatures!
I am not disinclined to have Maria here. She will want a great deal of looking after now that she is to be married, and Eliza has been so little in town that she will not know where the best shops and warehouses are. And while she and Manwaring will not see each other, I am on such terms with Manwaring that I must necessarily be the proxy—I am certain that I can get him to spend more than he w
ill be inclined to for Maria’s wedding clothes.
It is my understanding that Mr. deCourcy and his nephew have gone to Parklands to bring Maria and Miss Vernon back to town, and perhaps when they are settled, we may all make a little party of going around to the warehouses together?
Yours, &c.,
Alicia Johnson
Lady Vernon had received a note from her daughter announcing the day and time when she might be expected back at Portland Place. She was very surprised, however, when Lady Martin ran into her dressing room at the appointed hour, crying out, “My dear, the whole party from Kent has just this minute drawn up to the house in a barouche, and Frederica rides in the box with Reginald deCourcy! And what do you think? His father is among them!”
“He will not come in.”
“I daresay not, but it is a great compliment to Miss Manwaring and Frederica that he should accompany them.”
The eager footstep of Frederica was heard upon the stair and a moment later, she was in her mother’s embrace and then gave an equally affectionate greeting to her aunt and Wilson. “But you must come down to the drawing room, for Sir Reginald deCourcy most particularly wishes to be introduced to you.”
Lady Vernon was all astonishment—that the gentleman who only months earlier had written of her in such critical terms should call upon her immediately upon his arrival in town was a great compliment—and sending her aunt and daughter down to their guests, she asked Wilson to arrange her gown and shawls in order to conceal her condition as well as possible, before she joined the party.
The formidable introduction was made, and Reginald, who had watched with some apprehension as his father was presented to Lady Vernon, was relieved to see that the gentleman’s conduct was courteous and civil and that the lady’s every word revealed her superiority of taste and manner. Her warmth toward his brother and Miss Manwaring, her unreserved happiness in their engagement, advanced Sir Reginald’s good opinion of her.
For her part, Lady Vernon was pleased that Frederica was the subject of so much of Sir Reginald’s discourse (and with very little prodding from Lady Martin upon her niece’s looks and accomplishments); in recalling the many pleasant hours they had spent at Parklands, the old gentleman gave every indication of his regard for Frederica, and Lady Vernon was convinced that when Reginald did ask for her hand (as his looks and words toward Frederica gave every indication that he would) his father would not object to the match.
Their visitors stayed with them above half an hour, and when they walked out to their carriage, the shades upon many upper windows fluttered, and it was whispered in several drawing rooms that the appearance of Sir Reginald deCourcy at Portland Place must mean that he had relented and given his consent to his son’s marrying Lady Vernon at last.
chapter fifty-six
Charles Vernon had not been pleased when he learned of Lewis deCourcy’s engagement to Maria Manwaring. Although it was not likely that the union would produce any future claimants upon Parklands, it was hard to think that the considerable fortune of his uncle would go to a penniless girl, for Lewis deCourcy was the sort of gentleman who would not think of marrying anybody without first settling how she was to be provided for upon his demise. His sympathies might still be played upon—he might be persuaded to settle something upon the children—but Charles must give over all hope of having any of Lewis deCourcy’s fortune come to him.
His disappointment was offset, to some degree, by the satisfying news that Sir Reginald had come to town. Charles rehearsed a proposal to relinquish his rooms in order to reside with his father-in-law, an offer that began with an earnest desire to be of use to Sir Reginald and concluded with a list of residences that were suitably quiet, convenient, and grand. He determined that the arrangement would entail no more than occasionally writing letters of business or performing some commission in the city, a small sacrifice for securing a handsome address in town.
Charles received word of his father-in-law’s arrival and immediately waited upon him at Reginald’s address in very sanguine spirits, which supported him until he was ushered into the gentleman’s presence. Then his confidence weakened, for Sir Reginald’s appearance and demeanor were no longer fragile and retiring; instead of losing ground since they had last parted, Sir Reginald now appeared to be in very good health—his complexion was ruddy, his eye sharp, and his voice clear and resolute.
Charles stammered out a greeting and could not help adding, “I am surprised to see you looking so well, sir.”
“I am well, which I must attribute to the advantage of good company—of Miss Vernon and Miss Manwaring I cannot speak too highly, and I am always happy to see Catherine and the children. But you appear more surprised to see me in health than pleased about it.”
Charles’s protests were cut short by Sir Reginald, who added, “You can, however, be no more displeased than I, as I hear accounts of your conduct that disappoint me exceedingly.”
“I cannot imagine. What can you allude to?”
“Churchill. Churchill—that word should be sufficient.”
Charles first went white and then colored deeply. “Churchill?” he stammered. “How can the single word ‘Churchill’ be interpreted to my discredit?”
Sir Reginald needed nothing more than the look of guilty apprehension upon his son-in-law’s countenance to confirm that his suspicions, which he hoped had imputed too much to Charles, had instead assigned too little. “Do you require particulars?”
“Sir, to simply utter the name of my family home—and the home of your daughter and grandchildren—conveys nothing that supersedes the necessity for more.”
“Then, however much it pains me to speak so to the husband of my daughter and the father of my grandchildren, I must be frank. If even I, living in seclusion, with so little company and correspondence, have come to hear accounts of your misconduct during the life and since the death of your brother, can you think that the world in general is ignorant of it?”
“‘Misconduct’?”
“To have abused the trust of your brother and robbed Lady Vernon and her daughter of all peace and security.”
“I have acted in no way that contradicted the directions laid down in my brother’s will. You may apply to his attorney in Sussex, Mr. Barrett, if you have any doubt.”
“I have no doubt as to Sir Frederick’s instructions, nor do I doubt that they were faithfully carried out by Mr. Barrett, but that does not excuse your want of regard. To be so often at Sir Frederick’s side during his infirmity left him susceptible to your persuasion, which might have been employed in encouraging your brother to better provide for his wife and daughter.”
“If I did not exert as much as I ought, it was only to spare my brother the anxiety and activity that might have sent him into a decline—and if the worst did come to pass, would you have me argue in favor of Lady Vernon and her daughter, who will always have the protection of the Martins, at the expense of Catherine and your grandchildren? My brother’s fortune must substantially benefit them.”
“Nobody can benefit from a legacy if it is squandered in high living,” replied Sir Reginald coldly.
“Sir, I have lived in town more modestly than most gentlemen of my station—indeed, much lower than I ought, as Lady Vernon’s settlement entitled her to the house on Portland Place.”
Sir Reginald endeavored to conceal his disgust at the self-interest that could not even comprehend a sense of wrongdoing—yet he could not accuse his son-in-law without feeling the full measure of his own neglect. He ought not to have allowed the marriage. Catherine’s sentiments had been guided only by the belief that at three and twenty she ought to have a husband, and Lady deCourcy had promoted the match as one that would allow her daughter the distinction of being married while placing her in a situation that would (as Charles Vernon had no property, nor the immediate means of securing any) support their settling where the relationship of mother and daughter might continue uninterrupted. Governed by expedience and ease, and his b
rother’s efforts to secure Charles Vernon some respectable means of employment, Sir Reginald had given his consent to the match. The ability to have his daughter and son take up residence on the property gave Sir Reginald some measure of satisfaction as he might—if he wished to exert it—oversee his son-in-law’s conduct. That he did not exert to correct in Charles the want of principle that might have spared Miss Vernon and her mother such misery made him now sensible of something like responsibility—refusing his consent to a marriage with Catherine would likely not have reversed the course Charles had taken, but had Sir Reginald been more conscientious, it might have instilled in Charles something like conscience.
“You have no immediate need of a house in town,” replied Sir Reginald. “Colonel Beresford’s house on Berkeley Square is put up to let and I have taken it for two months—you may give up your quarters and take up residence there. You cannot want to be away from Churchill Manor beyond two months, as I understand it is in need of the sort of supervision that cannot be done from town. As for your decision to give up your position at the banking house, I support it. You must devote yourself to putting your own house in order. Churchill Manor cannot be properly managed if your interests are divided by an occupation that draws you so often to town.”
The arrangement that Charles had hoped for was beginning to lose some of its luster. He was persuaded that he was over the worst of it, but there was a parting shot, which was very hard upon him. “You will give up your clubs. They will no longer be necessary to keep up business associations and are a poor place to be idle, for they will draw one into debts of honor, which may erase many years’ independence. I will excuse you now, as you will have some arrangements to make in quitting your rooms.”
