“My eldest brother,” said Cecilia.
“Well, that is what I collected. But what has he to say to anything?”
Cecilia sighed. “You will soon discover, Sophy, that nothing may be done in this house without Charles’s sanction. It is he who orders everything, arranges everything, and rules everything!”
“Now, let me understand this!” said Sophy. “My uncle has not died, has he? I am sure Sir Horace never told me so!”
“Oh, no! But Papa — I should not be talking about him, and of course I don’t know precisely — but I think poor Papa found himself in difficulties! In fact, I know it was so, for I found my mother in great distress once, and she told me a little, because she was so distracted she hardly knew what she was doing. In general, she would never say a word about Papa to any of us — except Charles, I suppose, and I daresay Maria, now that she is a married lady. Only then my great-uncle Matthew died, and he left all his fortune to Charles, and I don’t understand exactly how it was, but I believe Charles did something with mortgages. Whatever it was, it seems to have placed poor Papa quite in his power. And I am very certain that it is Charles who pays for Hubert and Theodore, besides settling all the debts, for that Mama did tell me.”
“Dear me, how very uncomfortable it must be for your Papa! remarked Sophy. “My cousin Charles sounds a most disagreeable creature!”
“He is quite odious!” said Cecilia. “I sometimes think he takes a delight in making everyone miserable, for I am sure he grudges us the least pleasure, and is only anxious to marry us to respectable men with large fortunes, who are quite middle-aged, and sober, and can do nothing but catch the mumps!”
Since Sophy was far too intelligent to suppose that this embittered speech was a mere generalization, she at once pressed Cecilia to tell her more about the respectable man with mumps, and after a little hesitation, and a good deal of circumlocution, Cecilia not only divulged that a marriage between herself and Lord Charlbury had been arranged (though not as yet announced), but favored her with a word picture of the Honorable Augustus Fawnhope which must have seemed like the ravings of delirium to anyone who had not been privileged to behold that beautiful young man. But Sophy had already met Mr. Fawnhope, and instead of coaxing her cousin to lie down upon her bed with a cooling draught, she said in the most matter-of-fact way, “Yes, very true. I have never seen Lord Byron, but they tell me that he is nothing to Mr. Fawnhope. He is quite the most handsome man I think I ever saw.”
“You know Augustus!” Cecilia breathed, clasping her hands at her palpitating bosom.
“Yes — that is to say, I am acquainted with him. I fancy I danced with him once or twice at the balls in Brussels last year. Was he not attached to Sir Charles Stuart in some capacity or another?”