Sir Horace entered the library and took a seat in the wing back chair nearest the fireplace. Charles followed him, looking hopefully towards the sideboard, where the decanters had, under Dassett's careful direction, been refilled. He then recollected that 11.30am was a little too soon for brandy, so checked his steps, clutching the back of an adjacent wing chair and clearing his throat.
Sir Horace, observing Charle's thwarted intent, strode confidently to the sideboard and poured two glasses of Madeira instead. He handed one to Charles, observing as he did, "always better to leave the stronger stuff in reserve. You never know when you might have fresh cause to require it."
He then took a chair by the fireplace, put his feet up on the adjacent stool and gestured imperiously to Charles to do likewise. Charles, a maelstrom of diffidence, anxiety and indignation, took the proffered seat without comment, taking a sharp swig from the glass clenched in his hand, as he did so.
Charles looked around and, seeing no sign of Sophie, braced himself for a tete a tete with his elusive uncle; this formidable man, with whom he already shared a tenuous bond of relationship, and was girding himself to make that bond even more binding.
Sir Horace looked all ease and affability. He took a long gulp of Madeira, regarded the half empty glass thoughtfully and observed, "Always a fine judge of wine, your father, I suppose he still chooses what is laid in his cellars?"
Charles coloured and coughed and returned, "Of course, sir! I would never… well ." He coughed and rubbed his hand across his damp forehead.
"My father remains in control of his household, as much as he ever was and, this, at least is an area where his experience and expertise far outweighs mine." Charles smiled, rather ruefully. "I my not always show the tact and deference that is required, and indeed due to my father, but he does remain master in his own home. And will ever do so."
He smiled again and looked up, regarding Sir Horace with a penetrating gaze. "Possibly even more than I may be in mine. But, indeed sir, you are best placed to advise me in that regard."
"Are you asking me for housekeeping advice or my daughters hand in marriage? Best be frank, boy. As I am sure you have already discerned, we Stanton-Lacey's prefer pound dealing." Sir Horace laughed. "You can be master, should you chose to be, but give her her head, my boy. Not an ounce of vice in her."
"Is that consent, Sir?" Asked Charles, a little surprised at the ease with which the conversation was progressing.
Sir Horace stood up and walked towards the decanter, replenishing his own and Charles' empty glasses with brandy. "No. But it's a beginning. Now tell me exactly why I should allow you to marry my daughter and how you intend to maintain her."
Charles blanched a little at the unaccustomed steel in Sir Horace's voice and relaxed only slightly when, as he settled back into his armchair and took an appreciative sip of Lord Ombersley's best brandy, with which the decanters had been freshly filled on Dassett's orders this morning, his uncle added, "And if you could offer me some assurance that she will remain un-murdered before the honeymoon is ended, that would afford a father some measure of peace."
Sophy had not followed her parent and erstwhile fiancé into the library. Instead setting off to harry her Aunt and Cecilia into making their way to the morning room. She needed no sixth sense to predict that morning calls at Ombersley House would be early, frequent and often today. And, whilst it was far too soon to reasonably expect morning callers, she had every expectation that the bounds of propriety may be stretched a little today.
Her expectations were soon met. No sooner had the hall clock rung the hour, than Dassett could be observed making stately progress towards the front door where he was able to greet in person the eager paramour, Lord Charbury.
The lover was tenderly divested of his hat and cane, the flowers for Miss Rivenhall, held by a swiftly summoned footman, during this operation. Dassett then intoned. "I believe Miss Rivenhall and Miss Stanton-Lacy are in the morning room." He bowed his head in gracious invitation, leading Lord Charlbury, his floral tribute restored to him, up the stairs to the morning room, with the interested footman bringing up the rear.
Lord Charlbury was announced with grave formality, but the sight of Cecilia, blushing adorably, standing to greet him, hands held out in uncertain invitation, spurred Charlbury swiftly over the threshold. His flowers were preferred, exclaimed over and then gently removed by Sophy, allowing the lovers to clasp hands and gaze adoringly and largely silently at one another. Sophy presented the bouquet to the footman, who reluctantly obeyed the intimation from Dassett to depart, bearing a rather thorny cluster of roses to the house keepers room, where they would be arranged for display, Dassett judging that neither of the two young ladies present would have time for flower arranging today.
Sophy, seeing that Charlbury in particular, would benefit from a little unchaperoned time with his betrothed, left the morning room, with the stated intent of going to summon Aunt Lizzie.
Dassett also withdrew, bestowing a fatherly glance towards the acknowledged lovers, drawing the doors softly together, but with still enough daylight between them to ensure no one could accuse him of having shut the door behind him. He proceeded slowly to the baize door at the end of the hall. Adjourning to his pantry for a quick snifter of the brandy he had decanted earlier that morning, and keeping alert for the anticipated ringing of the door bell.
Sophie, having updated an interested Selina with news of the current callers in Berkley Square and reminded Lady Ombersley of her duty to her visitors, which was spurring that indolent dame into leaving her boudoir at an unusually forward point in the day, then departed to check on progress in the library. Finding her father and Charles in the midst of what looked like being a lengthy and particularly detailed conversation of a financial nature, conducted with good-natured forcefulness on both sides, she determined her ongoing absence was the best aid to a successful resolution. Any tweaks that might need to be made to whatever settlement was arrived at could be done discretely at a later date.
In matters such as this the best course was to leave Sir Horace to his pronouncements and adjust as required later. Sir Horace always had a finer eye for detail at the planning stage, rather than the execution. Sophy suspected her husband would be rather more clearer eyed for longer but, having an equal partner in her decision-making was something she rather looked forward to. And so, she determined brightly, would Charles.
Some time later, with Lady Ombersley now presiding over the morning room and Charles and Sir Horace still ensconced in the library, a new visitor was announced. Mr Wychbold proceeded in state up to the morning room, where he was met by a radiant Sophy.
"So, you witch," he exclaimed without preamble. How did you do it?" He checked himself as he crossed the threshold and saw the room's occupants. "My apologies Lady Ombersley, your very obedient." He made an elegant little bow towards Lady Ombersley and then turned to greet Charlbury and Cecilia. Noting their intimate posture on the sofa, he raised a quizzical eyebrow towards Sophie.
Having not been formally announced, Cecilia's betrothal could not be publicly severed, and whilst Charlbury had arrived at the offices of the Morning Post before Charles that morning, he had not beaten Sophy's speed. But he was happy to offer Mr Wychbold all the clarification he sought.
"You may congratulate me, Cyprian, Miss Rivenhall has accepted my offer of marriage. There will be an announcement out tomorrow, but we are happy for all our friends to know the glad news as soon as possible."
"My heartiest congratulations Everard! Miss Rivenhall, you have made this old dog here a very happy man already, I hope he will do likewise by you."
Cecilia blushed prettily and stammered something about being so happy, but what would people think.
"Nothing to worry about there," said Mr Wychbold, perceiving at once what what tying Cecillia in knots, "nothing announced, childish infatuation, easily done. Beautiful young man.." here Cyprian paused, thoughtfully, yes, a very beautiful young man, he thought to himself, anyone might lose their head.
But he left that thought unspoken, instead shaking Cecilia's hand rather vigorously, accepting a seat and allowing Lady Ombersley to pour him a cup of tea.
The party in the morning room was joined shortly by Charles, who, having finally satisfied is uncle of his solvency, and struck a delicate balance of confirming his father was incapable of reducing the family to penury, whilst still maintaining an imposture that Lord Ombersley was still fulfilling his role as head of his family. It was, Charles reflected rather ruefully, a performance worthy of a candidate for son-in-law to the famous diplomatist. But here, as in so many things, Sophy out-gunned him.
He made straight for Sophy, acknowledging Mr Wychbold and Lord Charlbury by perfunctory nods, and relayed her father's wish that she join him in the library. Sophy slipped out, whilst Charles allowed himself to be handed a thin porcelain cup and saucer and submitted to the natural questions that his gathered friends and family still demanded answers to. He was unable to satisfy Mr Wychbold's questions as to Sophy's brand of alchemy, that had ended a betrothal that his friend now felt free to castigate as the stupidest hole Charles had ever got himself into.
He remarked simply, as the pair moved away from the tea tray and towards the side board, that he knew not how Sophy spun her toils, he just knew that he would rather be caught in every web of her spinning than without.
Sophy returned some time later, without her father, who was apparently, in conference with his man of business now in the Library and would join them presently.
Charles, whilst resentful of the fact that Sir Horace was treating the library as his own, reminded himself that it was his father's library. He retreated to a small window seat, from where he could watch Sophy as she went about quietly issuing discrete instructions to Dassett, ordering a fresh tea tray and gently steering the conversation away from her doings of the previous day and focusing instead on the build up to Cecillia's wedding day. Her own engagement she wouldn't allow to be exclaimed over, saying simply that all must be private for now, as she would not want to offer Miss Wraxton any insult.
At this point, Mr Wychbold, who had already lacerated his own finely tuned sense of propriety by making a morning call at least two hours in advance of the usual time and was, even now, unheeding of the convention that morning calls should last no longer than half an hour, made as if to take his leave. Before he could offer his felicitations and adieus to his hostess, however, the door opened and Dassett intoned, solemnly, "Sir Vincent Talgarth."
Sir Vincent stepped lightly into the room and headed straight to Sophie. Clasping her in a light embrace that immediately had Charles fidgeting, he exclaimed, "Juno, my delightful Juno, I am ever in your service. But you have tried my loyalty sorely. What mean you by abandoning Sancia and I to that wretched house party? I have just endured a ride in a post chaise with the wretched invalid, Bromford. I warn you Sophy, I will never respond to your bugle again if you send me towards such a barrage again!"
Sophie gently extracted herself from Sir Vincent's arms and responded with a laugh, "Indeed Sir Vincent, my summons was not intended for you. You placed yourself in the line of fire! But thank you most sincerely for attending to Lord Bromford. I was puzzled somewhat by how he was to be removed from Lacey Manor. I had visions of him staying for weeks, with the poor Claverings obliged to make gruel and send up mustard footbaths every day!"
"And with Eugenia remaining in fond attendance, no doubt!" Came the sardonic interjection from the window seat.
"O yes!" Cried Sophy, casting a hard glance at her betrothed, "And what has become of Eugenia?"
"Sancia is returning her to her family no doubt as we speak." Returned Sir Vincent. "We decided to decide and conquer. Bromford was keen to speak to Miss Wraxton's father, but I was able to convince him that returning home to recruit his strength first was the better plan. Also, as my bachelors quarters are no place for a lady and Talgarth House is not yet reopened, I took the opportunity to take rooms at Limmers. Sancia will be in no mood for a journey to Merton after today's extingencies."
"Where's the poet?" asked Charles.
"We left him at Lacey Manor," replied Sir Vincent, urbanely, "In the depths of composition. The Claverings will see that he doesn't starve, but someone should go and retrieve him at some point. Sophy, my dear, as I have done enough clearing up after your abandoned house party, I believe it will fall to your lot. Give it a few days, then I am sure he will be in need of reinvigoration by his latest muse."
"I will expel the poet!" returned Charles, bristling at Sir Vincent's casual caress of Sophy's chin as he addressed her.
"Of course you will." returned Sir Vincent. "Am I to congratulate you yet? Is the task of clearing up the after effects of Sophy's grand schemes to be permanently yours, Rivenhall?"
Charles unbridled slightly, taking Sir Vincent's outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. There is to be no announcement at this stage, he confessed, "but yes, I have offered for Sophy and, God help me, she has accepted."
"My felicitations!" Exclaimed Sir Vincent. He raised the glass that Dassett, sidling unobtrusively from the sideboard during this fascinating exchange, had placed in his hand. "To your good health, and enduring peace and tranquillity. May the memory of such keep your equilibrium steady in the years to come."
He tossed back the amber contents and was gratified to look up and see Dassett again at his elbow with the decanter.
He raised the glass again, in a deprecating salute, that belied the note of sincerity of in his next words.
"I presume you embark on this course with your eyes open, Rivenhall, but I hope you know you have gained a prize. Sophy is a remarkable woman. It's been an object of some curiosity to see who would meet her exacting standards. I was a little surprised when it became apparent that she had chosen you. But I see it will do. And if it doesn't. Well, know that Sophy has never and will never lack for protectors. Yes, yes, I know you think that is your role, foolish sap!" Sir Vincent raised a hand to remove the sting for this barb, "but know that Sophy will always have a regiment of old allies at her command." He leaned in a little closed and continued, in a low tone, "should she ever need them."
He paused, shook his head and patted Charles lightly on the arm. "But I am sure such circumstances would never arrive." He Continued bracingly, "well well, conjugal bliss all the way I have no doubt! And I can highly recommend the married state, old married man that I am!"
As if on cue the door opened and Dassett intoned ponderously, "Lady Talgarth, Ma'am."
Sancia sailed imperiously into the room.
"Oh Sophie Sophie Sophie!" She exclaimed, sinking expansively into the soft sofa besides Lady Ombersley. " I Begrudge you not the smallest exertion, not the tiniest effort, but oh my dear, what a task what an immenso, enormous, fatiguing task you have given to me. I am exhausted, my spirits all beyond repair, what efforts have I gone to, what challenge? And what thanks? What thanks Sophy?"
Sancia rounded on Sophy with a level of animation that none of her audience had hitherto witnessed.
"Sophie, am I to blame for that wretched woman calling off her engagement at this stage? Am I the one who inserts announcements in newspapers I don't even read? Am I the one who sets that ridiculous Lord Bromford up in place of the less ridiculous, but much more conniving Mr Rivenhall?"
Sancia dismissed Charle's startled interjection with an imperious wave of the hand and continued.
"Who is not yet Lord Ombersley and might not be for many years yet, a baronet under the hand is worth a viscount upon the shrubbery, as I tried to tell Lady Brinklow, but there was such a wailing, such a to do. All these complaints about the scandal, the short notice, as if her lanky, miserable daughter were back on the shelf, not immediately planning a far more advantageous match. I was prepared to be sorry for her, for to have one's betrothed plucked from one's grasp at almost the church door is not kind, Sophy, it is not convenient. But I have endured, Sophy and I see you have been most generous."
Sancia paused, and smiled beatifically at Sophy, before casting a hopeful glance in the direction of the sideboard. James the footman, who had been observing this performance in goggle-eyed wonder, leapt forward at this stage to proffer a glass of ratafia to the afflicted lady. He had observed Dassett performing a similar function for Lady Ombersley and was preening himself on having anticipated a similar need, in advance of his formidable mentor.
Lady Talgarth grasped the glass like a man in the dessert reaches for water and continued her invective.
"That Lady Brinklow, she looks at me like I am el insecto in her medicine, As if it were my doing, Sophy, as if I were the source of this fatigue and not yet another victim of your imbroglio. What yet do you do to me? What I endure for your sake!"
She took a long drought from the glass in her hand, spluttering slightly then regarding the glass in her hand with puzzled dejection. Dassett sidled imperceptibly over and gently replaced the fragile glass in her hand with a more substantial tumbler filled with Lord Ombersley's ever excellent brandy. He shimmered back to his self-appointed station by the sideboard, with only the merest flicker of a glance in James's direction.
Sophy, who had been grinning appreciatively during this onslaught, sprang to action.
Seating herself on a stool by Sancia's sofa and offering profuse apologies.
"Indeed, Sancia, I have abused you entirely. I only ever expected you to need to act as my duenna, not to have to chaperone Miss Wraxton, who has, I am afraid, been guilty of a gross breach of propriety regarding Lord Bromford. But we must blame the extingencies of the situation. Indeed, I never planned for you to have to do so much."
"Really, Juno?" Came the laconic interjection from Sir Vincent.
"Well, my need for a chaperone was the only outcome I could plan for. There were so many other imponderables. And I never accounted for the presence of Eugenia and Lord Bromford. But that has resolved most satisfactorily, owing to the good offices of yourself and Scancia."
Sophy turned, cajolingly to Scancia, who leaned back, muttering "Oh Sophy, you know I can never refuse you. Which is why God, save me, I could never be your mamma".
"Well, you need not fear that now, for I am to be married myself, Sancia and you…"
Sophy stopped at this point as the door creaked open and Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy stepped, unannounced, into the room and, seeing his supposed betrothed, took an involuntary step back. So engrossed had he been in the affairs of his potential son-in-law and the mechanics for setting in train plans for his daughters wedding, that he had not realised that with Sophy's marriage the remaining obstacle to his own marriage was removed.
"Oh, er, hello Sancia." Mumbled Sir Horace, "Sophy been keeping you busy, I see."
There was a snort of laughter from both Charles and Talgarth at this understatement. Sir Horace, noticing Sir Vincent , gave him a stiff nod and a Curt "Talgarth, didn't realise you were in town."
"Just come up," said Sir Vincent with a delighted gleam, "with my new wife."
"Oh, err, congratulations," said Sir Horace, looking rather distractedly around the room. It was quite full now, with Lord Charlbury and Cecilia ensconced on one sofa and Lady Ombersley and Sancia on another, with Sophy at Sancia's knee. Mr Wynchbold sat, an exquisite leg crossed over the other, in a stiff, high-backed chair, enjoying both the spectacle and the brandy. Charles was perched on a window seat and Talgarth lounged against a wall.
There was no other lady in the room excepting a rather breathless Selena who, having received news from Cecilia of her engagement to Charlbury, and the extraordinary circumstances of its creation, read the morning papers and observed the preponderance of visitors to Ombersley House; had evaded Miss Addersbury and slipped into the morning room, under cover of displaying the flowers Charlbury brought, in their hastily wrought arrangement.
Sir Horace was left to wonder no longer, as Scancia, began imperiously. "Horace, you have neglected me. Sophy, she makes me busy, active, I must rush here, go there. I must entertain endlessly the English visitors, I must come to town, I must go to balls, I must be convenable to that gross Prince Regent." Scancia pulled and expressive face at mention of the boorish Prinny. "And you, you do nothing! I hear nothing. Well, I am not a woman who sits around and does nothing but wait."
There was an appreciative splutter from Chalbury at this point.
"I wait and wait and wait for you, Sir Horace, but then I too have a better offer. I can leave my bird in his Brazilian shrubbery and take the new bird who swoops in here in London. I am no longer the Marcessa du Villas Cannas. I am now Lady Talgarth. It will not be so fatiguing. Sir Vincent is no longer in the army, I will not be marching behind the drum or having the ambassadors for receptions, or being mamma to Sophy. I will be reposeful and quiet."
She took a gulp of brandy and leaned back in her chair, Sir Horace, closed his agape mouth, swallowed and then tried to look disappointed as he began a mild expostulation.
"See here, Sancia, I know I ain't always the most thorough of correspondents, but marrying, out of hand, just cos I wasn't here, when you always knew I would come back. Well, it's not quite the thing, Sancia."
Sir Horace attempted to look stern, but it was hard to disguise the relief that was flooding through him. Along with mild chagrin that she had chosen Talgarth, of all people, over him.
Sancia looked up at Sir Horace through eye lids that were already wanting to close. "Don't be a nonsense Sir Horace, you didn't want to marry, you would also find it fatiguing. And Vincent, he is handsome, he has position, and now he has fortune to match. It is for the best."
"And Sophy will be married, which is what we never thought would happen, and the oh so English Mr Rivenhall will find news ways to keep her busy,"
This generated a blush from Sophy , a titter from Mr Wynchbold and a barely constrained guffaw from Charlbury, silenced only by the fierceness of the glare from Charles.
At this point Sir Vincent thought it politic to intervene. He strode over and offered his hand to Sir Horace.
"I think you will find my wife is right, it is all for the best. I accept your congratulations most heartily. And May I give you mine in return. Having a daughter married. So advantageously to all concerned. You must be very happy. Or," he continued, signalling to Dassett, who pressed a glass into Sir Horace's unprotesting hand, "you very soon will be."
"Juno," he continued, turning to Sophy and handing her to her feet. "I am sure every possible outcome from yesterday's debacle was considered. I hope you have got what you desired. And allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations."
He drew her into an embrace that made Charles visibly bristle.
"Rivenhall, my congratulations again. Keep her busy eh?" This last with a wink. He then turned to Lady Ombersley. "My dear Lady Ombersley, my wife is, as you see much fatigued. We must trespass on your hospitality no longer."
This signalled the end of the visit. Although it was some time before Sir Vincent had taken a voluble leave of every occupant of the room. By which time his wife had delighted Lord Charlbury by closing her eyes and lightly dozing on the sofa.
It was an attitude in which Lady Ombersley was discovered, some hours later, by her forceful niece. Sophy had been correct in her conjecture that they would be busy with morning calls for, no sooner had Sancia been shaken awake and escorted to her waiting carriage, then the next of a series of callers arrived, keen for gossip about the breaking off of Charles Rivenhall's engagement, given the Brinklow were firmly not at home today.
Sophy was able to parry curious enquiries with the bigger news that Lord Charlbury had finally secured Miss Rivenhall's hand. The arrival of Lord Ombersley, only three hours late for his midday appointment with his prospective son-in-law had saved Charlbury and Cecilia from too much scrutiny by the curious. Cecilia having escorted Charlbury to the library, then escaped to the school room, where Miss Adderbury, Selina and the rest of the school room party provided a much more comfortable audience for the tentative first articulation of her bridal hopes.
Sophy bore the sly expressions of regret at her supposed disappointment, easily. Her only concern being Charles' blatant attempts at leaping to her defence. Eventually she dispatched him to pay an short visit to the Brinklow townhouse, where he endured a brief audience with Lord Brinklow, but was thankfully denied access to Lady Brinklow and Eugenia. From there he adjourned to his club, there to confirm, to the exclamations of the incredulous, that the notice in the Post was entirely accurate. This this was an outcome that only a few hardy punters had bet on, he found himself deeply popular with this select brethren.
Sophy, shaking her aunt awake, had already instructed Dassett to declare them no longer at home to any late callers, and summoned Lady Ombersley's maid to escort her to her room, there to response herself before dressing for dinner.
Dinner that evening was an extended family party, including Sir Horace, Charlbury of course, and Lord and Lady Talgarth, who Sophie had felt obliged to invite in view of the very great service they had recently performed. In an effort to ensure as harmonious a dinner table as possible in the circumstances, Sophie had invited the ever interested Mr Wychbold; padded out the group with a last minute summons to Lord Francis Wolsey and a couple more regimental friends; and backed up Selena's plea to be allowed to dine with the family, charging Hubert with the task of stamping on her foot should Selena say anything indiscreet.
Thus the party sat down 16 to dinner, presided over by a beneficent Lord Ombersley, in as benign a humour as his family had ever seen him. The acknowledged lovers sparkled and glowed and Cecelia blushed continuously over the very gentle ribbing meted out by her family. But no one who saw how she gazed adoringly at Charlbury could doubt her very real affection for a suitor whose fortune was undeniably more handsome than his features.
The unacknowledged lovers, separated by five leaves, exchanged not a word and hardly a glance. Sophie was not quite her sparkling best, a fact the unknowing Lord Francis attributed to a noble attempt to hide her disappointment at Charlbury's deflection.
Sir Vincent briefly wondered if she was regretting her choice. The thrill of the chase, he reflected, was often more exhilarating than the capture of the prize.
But the look he observed passing between Sophie and Charles later that evening, as Sophy, presiding indefatigably over the tea tray, passed Charles a cup, assuaged all doubts. Juno, he observed, was at her most radiant. The gleam he had witnessed in Sophy as she made matches, resolved disputes and saw her schemes prosper, was as nothing to the glow of happiness that surrounded her now she had finally made the recipient of her munificence herself.