“Oh, very well!” said his lordship. “But I’ll tell you what, Sophy! I’d as lief take young Fawnhope into my family as that sour creature Charles must needs bring into it!”
“Oh, certainly!” she responded coolly. “That could never answer! I have known it since first I came to London, and I now entertain a reasonable hope of terminating that entanglement. Only do your part, and we may all come about!”
“Sophy!” exclaimed her uncle explosively. “What the devil do you mean to be about now?”
But she would only laugh and whisk herself out of the room.
The upshot of this interview staggered the household. For once Mr. Rivenhall failed to bend his parent to his will. His representations to Lord Ombersley of the enduring nature of Cecilia’s passion fell quite wide of the mark and were only productive of an outburst of rage that surprised him. Knowing that his heir would speedily out argue him, and dreading nothing so much as a struggle against a will far stronger than his own, Lord Ombersley scarcely allowed him an opportunity to open his mouth. He said that however highhanded Charles might be in the management of the estates, he was still not his sisters’ guardian. He added that he had always considered Cecilia more than half promised to Charlbury and would not consent to her marriage with another.
“Unfortunately, sir,” said Charles dryly, “Charlbury no longer affects my sister. His eyes are turned in quite another direction.”
“Pooh! Nonsense! The fellow haunts the place!”
“Exactly so, sir! Encouraged by my cousin!”
“Don’t believe a word of it!” said his lordship. “Sophy wouldn’t have him.” Charles gave a short laugh. “And if he did offer for her, I still wouldn’t permit Cecilia to marry that nincompoop of hers, and so you may tell her!”
Mr. Rivenhall did tell her, but as he added consolingly that he had little doubt of being able to talk his father round to his way of thinking, he was not surprised at her calm manner of receiving the news. Not even a tirade from Lord Ombersley, delivered over the dinner table, quite shattered her composure, although she had the greatest dislike of angry voices and could not help wincing a little and changing color.