Section I, Next Section
Part I
Uppercross was in an uproar. In two days' time the young lady of the house, Miss Elizabeth Musgrove, would be joined in marriage to Mr. James Leigh, the son of Sir George Leigh of Ashleigh Hall in Hampshire.
Miss Musgrove's eldest brother, Charles, surveyed the chaos bemusedly. Servants scurried to and fro, frantically scrubbing and polishing. The table in the sitting-room was covered with lengths of fabric and ribbons unspooled from their bobbins, the detritus of his sister's frenetic last-minute touches to her wedding-clothes. His mother had taken to her sopha, as expected, and rather than making herself useful by supervising her daughter's exertions, she divided her time between advertising her indisposition and congratulating herself on marrying her daughter to the son of a baronet.
"Just think!" she exclaimed to Charles as he entered his mother's sitting-room. "Your sister will one day be Lady Leigh! It sounds very well, does it not? And it is only fitting that she marry the son of a baronet, as she is the granddaughter of a baronet." Charles debated the propriety of pointing out to his mother that her late father, Sir Walter Elliot, had distressed his estate to such an extent that his heir, Sir William, was fortunate to have inherited a considerable fortune from his first wife. However, discretion as well as his natural good humour kept Charles silent.
His mother remembered that she was ill and lay back upon her sopha, tucking a shawl under her chin. "Charles, where is your father?" she asked fretfully.
"He and Walter are out shooting," Charles replied.
"It is too unkind of him to go out and leave me in the middle of all this confusion, when he knows I am ill," grumbled Mrs. Musgrove. "I am run distracted preparing this house and getting your sister's clothes ready. She would have a large wedding. A small family ceremony was good enough for your father and me, but you young people will have your way." Charles smiled to himself; he knew perfectly well that his mother, despite her complaining, would never have given up the opportunity to parade her son-in-law and his titled relatives before all the neighborhood. Mrs. Musgrove looked over at her son. "What about you, Charles? You are 28 years old. It is high time that you found a bride and brought her home to Uppercross. It is your responsibility to produce an heir."
It was a conversation in which Charles and his mother had engaged many times. "I have no aversion to marrying, Mamma," said Charles amiably, "but first I must find a willing young lady." Then by way of changing the subject, he offered to read to her from a novel by Sir Walter Scott, to which entertainment his mother readily agreed.
They were thus companionably engaged when Mr. Musgrove and Charles' younger brother, Walter, came in from shooting. "We bagged a dozen birds," bragged Walter. "Have no fears about the wedding dinner, Mamma. Father and I will provide." Mr. Musgrove laughed and clapped his younger son on the back, and Mrs. Musgrove smiled as Walter helped himself to a glass of wine.
Charles Musgrove had inherited his father's sturdy build and easygoing nature. Walter, however, was his mother's favorite. She fancied that she saw the Elliot countenance in his handsome features, and she had petted and spoiled him; as a result, Walter, whom nature had already endowed with an aptitude for mischief, had become a rather heedless and irresponsible young man. His family had always intended him to take orders, but Walter continued to put off this event, as it would prevent him from engaging in his true vocation of being a popular sportsman and bachelor-about-town. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove continued to indulge their younger son, although his father had confided to Charles that he was glad that Walter was not to inherit Uppercross, as he had no head for farming. Charles was astute enough to understand the implicit compliment, and true fraternal affection prevented him from harboring any ill will toward Walter.
Miss Musgrove ran into the sitting-room, carrying an armful of muslin. "Mamma, I cannot get this seam right!" she cried.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you are being so tiresome about those clothes," said her mother impatiently. "They came from the dressmaker's exactly as you ordered them. If you start ripping them apart, you have only yourself to blame if they are not right. Get Simmons to help you. I am much too ill for sewing."
At this moment, a servant brought in a note for Mrs. Musgrove. "Well," she said after reading it quickly, "Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth are returned from London and have invited us to dine tonight at Oakmont Park."
"Oh, I am so glad that my aunt and uncle have returned in time for my wedding!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "And I hope they will tell us all about my uncle's elevation. It is so exciting! They have met the young Queen!"
"I suppose my sister will take on all sorts of airs now she is Lady Wentworth," grumbled Mrs. Musgrove.
Walter laughed. "Mamma, you could elevate Aunt Anne to Queen and she wouldn't take on airs!"
"There's no danger of such an elevation," snapped his mother. "Well, I suppose we cannot decline the invitation."
Walter leaned close to Charles and whispered, "As if she'd refuse." He winked at Elizabeth, who had buried her head in her sewing to stifle her giggles, and said aloud, "But Mamma, will not your indisposition prevent your attending?"
Mrs. Musgrove started, sat up, and said, "Oh-well, we must attend, for the Wentworths are family, after all. Your cousins Anne and Sophie are to be Elizabeth's bridesmaids. I must put aside my own feelings on such an occasion. I will send my sister a note immediately."
With an effort, Charles kept a straight face and gallantly offered his hand to assist his mother in rising from her sopha. "Thank you, Charles," she said, leaning on his arm briefly. "You do take good care of your old Mamma."
Charles kissed his mother on the cheek and turned her over to the kind ministrations of her maid. Mr. Musgrove, fatigued by so much exposure to his family, also left the sitting-room in quest of the solitude of his chamber.
"I wonder if my aunt invited Mr. Leigh and his family to dine as well," Elizabeth said suddenly. "They are staying so close, at the inn in the village. It would not surprise me if my aunt included them." She sat for a moment, the sewing in her lap forgotten. "I must dress!" She jumped up and ran out of the room, muslin trailing behind her.
The brothers grinned at each other. "So, Charles," said Walter, "what think you of all this marrying? Do you think you'll catch that particular fever?"
Charles laughed. "You sound like Mother."
"Well, now," exclaimed Walter, "we can't have that, can we?" He drained his glass of wine and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Stay a bachelor as long as you like, Charles," he exclaimed. "When you marry, Mother and Father will start teasing me to follow suit, and that thought is not one I wish to contemplate." He strolled lazily out of the sitting-room, whistling tunelessly.
Charles gazed after his brother and sighed. Most of the time he found Walter's free-spirited nature charming, but their conversation had raised a feeling of foreboding. He laughed, shook his head and said to himself, "Take care, Musgrove, all this marrying is making you positively old-womanish." The clock struck five, and Charles went to his own chamber to dress for dinner at Oakmont Park.
Part II
The Musgrove family traveled the six miles between Uppercross and Oakmont Park in good time, arriving at the Wentworth estate promptly at seven. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove and Elizabeth disembarked from the carriage as the brothers climbed down from Walter's curricle.
Sir Frederick had purchased the estate shortly after his promotion to admiral. As a captain in the Royal Navy, he had taken many rich prizes and was well able to afford a permanent home for his growing family. The house was modern and pleasing to the eye, well-situated in a picturesque park. The Wentworth and Musgrove families had done much visiting back and forth over the years, and the Musgrove children knew Oakmont Park as well as their own home.
A footman admitted them and led the way to the drawing room, where the lady and gentleman of the house stood to greet them. Mr. Musgrove swept into a low, exaggerated bow. "Admiral Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth," he said, trying in vain to stifle a smirk. "We thank you for inviting your humble relations to bask in your presence."
Sir Frederick grinned down at his old friend, but Lady Wentworth looked embarrassed. "Oh, Charles," she protested, "do stop this ridiculous behavior."
Mr. Musgrove had not yet risen from his bow, and he peeked up at her, his eyes twinkling. "You must get used to this sort of thing, Anne," he said. "After all, you're a knight's lady now."
"That's what I keep telling her, Charles," said Sir Frederick. "I fear my wife has not yet learnt to enjoy the deference that is now her due."
Mr. Musgrove straightened up, not without some difficulty. "Well, don't expect any more from me, Anne, me old back can't stand the strain." Sir Frederick laughed and shook hands with his brother-in-law.
Lady Wentworth noticed that her sister seemed reluctant to come forward and moved to greet her. She took Mrs. Musgrove's hands in her own and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm so glad you were able to come tonight, Mary," she said. "I felt sure that you needed some relief from the wedding preparations."
"Oh, Anne," cried Mrs. Musgrove. "I am so ill and distracted. You know I cannot stand disruption, and the entire house has been turned topsy-turvy." Lady Wentworth tucked her sister's hand into her arm and led her to a corner, making sympathetic noises.
Sir Frederick turned his attention to the younger Musgroves. "Good evening, Elizabeth," he greeted his niece. "And how is the bride holding up?"
"Very well, Uncle, I thank you," responded Elizabeth. "But I was hoping to see my bridesmaids tonight."
"I dare say the girls will be down shortly," said Sir Frederick. "Charles, and Walter, you young scamp, it is good to see you both."
Charles shook his uncle's hand. "Congratulations on your elevation to the knighthood, Uncle," he said. "Her Majesty could not have chosen a more deserving subject."
Sir Frederick's smile widened and he put his arm around Charles' shoulders. "Thank you, my boy," he said quietly.
The Misses Wentworth entered the room, and Charles turned to greet his cousins. Miss Wentworth, a petite, dark-haired young lady, approached him and curtseyed. Charles bowed in return. "Hello, Anne," he said. "I hope you are well." Charles prided himself on being a well-spoken young man, but he frequently found himself rather tongue-tied around his pretty cousin.
Anne Wentworth smiled at him. "I am very well, thank you, Charles," she said. "Walter, it is good to see you."
Walter bowed deeply and kissed Miss Wentworth's hand. "It never fails to amaze me that the little cousin and sister that Charles and I used to push into mud puddles have grown into such fine young ladies."
"What about me, Walter?" asked Miss Sophie Wentworth, who was standing behind her sister. At seventeen, Miss Sophie was only recently "out" and was determined to be a social success, unlike her more retiring sister. Consequently she had developed what Charles considered an unattractive tendency to put herself forward. No wonder my aunt and uncle rushed back from town, he thought. Sophie's blooming good looks and obvious youth would make her a target for every blackguard and bounder still hanging around London, sniffing about for just such a tidbit.
"You are as lovely as always, my dear cousin," cried Walter gallantly, bowing over her hand.
"I am glad that you both are here," said Sophie. "There seems to be an unfortunate shortage of young men tonight. Mamma hoped that Edward would arrive home by now, but Papa is not sure if his ship puts into Portsmouth today or tomorrow."
"I am delighted that Edward will be here for the wedding," said Walter. "I suppose it is convenient to have a father who is an admiral, not to mention newly-knighted, when you are seeking a furlough."
"Indeed," said Sophie. "Did Mamma tell you that Edward has been recently made lieutenant?"
"No," said Charles. "That is fine news." Charles was fond of his cousin Edward Wentworth, who had entered the Naval Academy at fourteen and been much away from home since. They had kept up a correspondence, in the utilitarian way of young men, and Charles looked forward to their meeting.
Elizabeth joined their group. "I will not allow you two to monopolize my bridesmaids," she said, and led the two girls away so they could discuss wedding-clothes, flowers, and all things matrimonial.
Walter took a glass of wine from a footman circulating with a tray. "Always enjoy a family party, eh, Charles?" he said, and took a sip of wine. His eyes widened over the top of his glass as he gazed at a point behind his brother. Charles turned just in time to see the footman lead in Sir George Leigh and his family. Charles knew that his brother was not fascinated by the sight of the baronet and his lady, nor even by Elizabeth's intended, Mr. James Leigh; he was transfixed by the baronet's daughter, Miss Catherine Leigh.
Miss Leigh was certainly beautiful enough to gain the attention of any young man, even notwithstanding her elegant silk dress and expensive jewelry. She wore her fine apparel easily, without affecting a haughty air as did so many young ladies of fortune. "Excuse me, brother," said Walter, putting down his wine-glass and moving toward the Leighs. He held out his hand to Mr. Leigh. "James, it is good to see you!"
Mr. James Leigh had been at Winchester and Cambridge with Charles and Walter; the young men had renewed their acquaintance in London during the previous season, and Mr. Leigh's subsequent introduction to Miss Musgrove had only increased his affection for the brothers, who would soon be his brothers as well. "You two are looking well," Mr. Leigh said to his friends. "Mother, Father," he added, turning to Sir George and Lady Leigh. "You remember Charles and Walter Musgrove."
The brothers bowed to the baronet and his lady, and they kindly inclined their heads in return. Mr. Leigh turned to his sister. "Catherine, you have not met Elizabeth's brothers. Miss Catherine Leigh, may I present Mr. Walter Musgrove and Mr. Charles Musgrove."
Miss Leigh curtseyed gracefully, and Walter moved forward to take her hand. "It is always a pleasure to meet a friend's sister, especially one so lovely," he said, smiling at her. Miss Leigh blushed prettily and looked at the floor. Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth approached to greet their guests, and the young men stepped aside. Charles took his brother's arm and whispered in his ear, "Remember, Walter, she is James' sister. Do not take liberties."
"Me? Take liberties with a young lady?" laughed Walter. "Of course I will be respectful to our friend's sister, Charles. But you must agree that she is remarkably beautiful."
"Beautiful or not, James will not scruple to have you horsewhipped if you trifle with her, and I suspect neither will Sir George. For that matter, neither will I."
"You may rest easy," said Walter. "I will treat her as if she were my own sister. There need be no talk of whipping and other unpleasantness." A footman announced dinner, and the company paired off to go into the dining-room. Sir George escorted Lady Wentworth, and Sir Frederick took his sister-in-law's arm, much to her delight. Mr. Musgrove led in Lady Leigh, Mr. Leigh naturally paired with his intended, and Walter hastened to secure the arm of Miss Leigh. Charles found himself with one of his cousins on each arm.
Sophie prattled on about neighborhood gossip as they walked into the dining-room, but Miss Musgrove was silent, her eyes fastened demurely on the carpet. Charles was acutely aware of Anne's presence beside him, of her hand resting lightly on his arm. He paid scant attention to Sophie's chatter, grateful that she did not seem to expect him to respond, as he did not trust himself to make a rational answer.
Part III
"Tell us about your presentation, Aunt," said Miss Musgrove. "What does the Queen look like? What did she wear?"
"Her Majesty is a very small woman," said Lady Wentworth. "And she was very elegantly dressed. But I must say that it is most disconcerting when one's monarch is younger than one's children." The company laughed appreciatively.
Charles, seated between Miss Leigh and Miss Wentworth, applied himself to his white soup. Miss Leigh was engaged in conversation with his brother, and Charles knew that he should talk to his cousin, but he was having difficulty finding a subject.
"We have been enjoying pleasant weather," he said finally.
"Yes. It is most convenient to have the roads so dry this time of year," replied Anne. They lapsed into silence.
"Is Elizabeth able to attend the wedding?" Lady Wentworth was asking Mrs. Musgrove.
"Unfortunately not," replied her sister. "I had a letter from her yesterday. She and Mr. Brydges are much engaged at present and are unable to leave Bath."
Charles was relieved at this news. He found that his aunt Elizabeth's cold elegance tended to suck all the light and life from a room, and he knew that Mrs. Musgrove's disappointment in her sister's absence would be balanced by the unexpressed gratitude of the rest of the family.
His mother addressed Lady Leigh. "My sister's husband, Mr. Brydges, is the brother of the Earl of Bancroft. Lord Bancroft's wife, Lady Ada, is my cousin and the daughter of the late Viscount Dalrymple."
Lady Leigh blinked at her. "How interesting," she said politely. Mrs. Musgrove nodded and beamed.
There was a commotion outside the dining-room; the door opened, and a tall, dark-haired young man dressed in a naval uniform entered.
"Edward!" cried Sophie, jumping from her chair to fling herself upon her brother, all dignity abandoned in the joy of his arrival.
Lieutenant Edward Wentworth laughed and embraced his sister. "This can't be Sophie!" he exclaimed. "When I last saw you, you were a little girl!"
"I am all grown up now," said Sophie proudly.
"I don't know about that," replied her brother. "I will have to observe you for a time to be certain. But I will be sure to tell you my determination." He went to Lady Wentworth, who had risen from her chair. "Hello, Mother," he said, and kissed her on the cheek.
Lady Wentworth touched her son's face. "Hello, Edward," she said warmly. "It is good to have you home."
"It is good to be home," he declared. "And just in time, it seems. Mother, forgive me for interrupting your dinner party."
"That is quite all right," said Lady Wentworth, smiling. She signaled a servant to lay another place as Edward shook hands with his father.
Sir Frederick made introductions, and Lieutenant Wentworth bowed to Sir George and Lady Leigh, his sword rattling softly. He winked at Anne, who smiled back at her brother. They were only a year apart in age and had always been very close.
"It is good to see you, Edward," said Charles.
Edward leaned across the table to clasp hands with his cousin. "We will talk later, Charles," he said, and seated himself between his mother and his youngest sister. Sophie immediately began to chatter, but her brother's gaze kept straying across the table to where Miss Leigh was seated. That young lady was well aware of his regard, since her own eyes just as frequently turned toward the handsome naval officer, despite the best efforts of Walter Musgrove to engage her attention.
When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, Charles went to his aunt, who was pouring coffee. "Lady Wentworth," he said, "I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you on my uncle's elevation."
She turned to him in astonishment. "Charles, I am surprised at you." She put down the coffee-pot and reached up to take his face in her hands. "I will always, always be your Aunt Anne," she said softly. "I hope you know that."
Charles smiled down at her. His earliest memory was of his aunt reading to him as he lay on a sopha at Uppercross Cottage. He remembered a throbbing ache in his shoulder and the damp coolness of a cloth she used to bathe his face. Later, a footman carried him up to bed, and his aunt had stroked his hair and sung to him softly until he fell asleep. Poets may write of love as an abstract entity, but when Charles Musgrove thought of love, the image that sprang, unbidden, to his mind was his aunt's soft voice and touch as he drifted off to sleep, her love as palpable as the woolen blanket that covered him. "I know that, Aunt," he said. She smiled back at him and returned to the coffee-pot.
"We must have some entertainment," cried Edward. "Anne, will you play for us?"
"Of course I will, if you desire it," replied his sister. "But Elizabeth has told me that Miss Leigh is a superior musician. Perhaps she will oblige us?"
Walter and Edward immediately applied to her for just that favour, and what young lady can resist such entreaties from two handsome young men? The instrument was opened, and Walter quickly procured a spot on the bench next to Miss Leigh, where he might make himself useful by turning the pages of the music. Lieutenant Wentworth stationed himself nearby, leaning on the pianoforte where he could have an unobstructed view of her lovely face. Miss Leigh proved to be as accomplished as advertised, and the entire company was delighted by her sweet voice and practiced fingers upon the keyboard.
A servant unobtrusively entered the drawing-room bearing a silver tray with a few cards upon it, which he presented to Lady Wentworth. She looked at the cards, closed her eyes, and sighed. She nodded to the servant, and he signaled to a footman waiting by the drawing-room door. Both Anne and Edward had noticed their mother's expression and went to her side. The door to the drawing-room opened, and an elegantly-dressed woman of middle age entered, followed by a young man and woman.
"Mother, are you sure you wish to admit them?" whispered Edward fiercely.
"I can hardly refuse them, Edward," his mother responded weakly. "They are family, after all." She rose to greet her guests. At that moment, Sir Frederick, who was standing by the fireplace talking with Mr. Musgrove and the Leighs, turned and saw the new arrivals. Charles' blood froze at the venomous look his uncle directed toward them. Sir Frederick was so amiable and engaging among his family and friends that it was easy to forget that he had distinguished himself in battle and could be considered a dangerous man to his enemies.
"Good evening, Lady Elliot," his aunt was saying to the older woman. "Welcome to Oakmont Park."
Lady Elliot curtseyed, none too gracefully. "I am sorry to intrude upon your party," she said. "If I had known you already had guests, we would have stayed away. But it was such a fine night, and we so wanted to congratulate our cousins on their recent good fortune." Lady Wentworth turned to the baronet. "Sir George, Lady Leigh, may I present Lady Elliot and her children, Mr. Henry Clay and Miss Gwendolyn Clay." The proper bows and curtseys that attended such an introduction followed, and the hostess helped the new arrivals to coffee and tea.
Charles joined his cousins. Edward's jaw was rigid, and his eyes glowed with anger. "I wonder that Sir William did not accompany them," said Charles.
"He would not dare to show his face in my father's house," responded Edward. "The baronet may not be over-endowed with brains, but he has a well-developed sense of self-preservation."
Anne took her brother's arm. "Rather than allow these unexpected guests to ruin our evening," she suggested, "why don't we go on as we were? I'm sure we can prevail on Mother to play for us. And you know Sophie needs no encouragement to dance."
"A good idea," said Edward. "I'll talk to Mother." He crossed the room to where his mother stood with Mrs. Musgrove.
Mr. Clay approached Charles and Anne. "Hello, Musgrove," he said to Charles, who inclined his head slightly but remained silent. "Miss Wentworth, you have always been one of the loveliest ladies of my acquaintance, but tonight you have reached a new zenith." He bowed low, and Anne blushed and stared at the floor in confusion.
Henry Clay was a remarkably handsome man of about thirty. He had not been adopted by his mother's husband upon her second marriage, much to his chagrin, as he had no desire to follow any profession. He had been educated in the law, but preferred a dissipated lifestyle, dividing his time between London, his stepfather's estate, and an assortment of fashionable watering-places. Charles had heard much talk in London about Mr. Clay, none of it complimentary, and he steadfastly avoided his company as much as possible.
Lady Wentworth went to the pianoforte, followed by her son, and spoke kindly to Miss Leigh. That young lady surrendered her place with alacrity, and Edward led her to an open spot in the drawing-room. Walter, who had left Miss Leigh's side for a moment to fetch them some tea, stood in confusion by the piano bench, unsure of how he had lost the advantage to his cousin.
Mr. Clay turned to Anne. "I see that we have arrived just in time for the dancing. I would be honored to be your partner, Miss Wentworth."
This was not to be borne. "I'm afraid you are too late, after all, Clay," said Charles, reaching for his cousin's hand. "Anne promised me the first two dances at dinner, and I believe that she will honor my prior claim." Anne looked up at Charles, her eyes glowing, and she said, "Yes, Mr. Clay, I'm sorry, but I am already engaged for these dances." She put her hand on Charles' arm, and he led her to where her brother stood with his partner.
"Thank you, Charles," she said quietly. He smiled down at her, looking up in time to catch an approving glance from Edward.
Mr. Clay, undaunted by the refusal of one sister, led Sophie to the set. Edward's lip curled in contempt, and he would have spoken to Mr. Clay but for Anne's hand on his arm. Mr. Leigh and Elizabeth joined them, and Walter, to Charles' disgust, escorted Miss Clay onto the floor. Charles had also heard much about Miss Clay, mostly over port and cigars, when gentlemen engaged in the type of conversations that polite society forbids in the presence of ladies.
Anne saw his distress and took his hand. "Don't think about them, Charles," she urged. "Don't let them ruin our enjoyment." He squeezed her hand. "You're right," he replied. "We cannot control their behavior."
The music began, and Charles neither knew nor cared about the other couples; he had eyes only for Anne, the light touch of her gloved hands on his, her delighted smile, the look in her dark eyes. He was sorry when the music ended and they had to emerge from their cocoon into the universe inhabited by all other creatures. Without thinking, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
Anne blushed, but the look of happiness on her face belied her coloring. Charles found his tongue. "Would you like to go riding tomorrow?" he asked her. "It will be like old times. Remember when I taught you to ride?"
"I remember it well," she said. "It was one of the most enjoyable times of my life."
"Then I will be here in the morning," he said.
"I look forward to it, Charles," she replied, and he reluctantly dropped her hand.
Mr. Musgrove approached them. "It is time we were leaving, Charles," he said. "Your mother is rather done for and your sister should be abed, she has much to do in the morning."
They took their leave of Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth. Walter was nowhere to be seen, so Charles went out into the passage and looked down the hall. He observed his brother standing close to Miss Clay, one of his hands resting on the wall behind her. A proper young lady would have been alarmed at such a position, but Miss Clay stood with her back against the wall, staring brazenly into Walter's eyes. Charles watched as his brother, smiling lazily, wrapped one of her long fair curls repeatedly around his finger, leaned in close to her, and kissed her neck. She laughed and threw her head back; as she did so, she caught a glimpse of Charles, rooted to the spot in stupefaction. She did not pull away or attempt to stop his brother's untoward behavior, but looked boldly at Charles with an expression of triumph in her eyes.
"Walter!" cried Charles, more loudly than was necessary. His brother looked around, and Charles was glad to see a guilty look cross his face. "We are leaving," he said, turned on his heel, and ran outside.
Walter joined him a few minutes later, smoothing his hair and adjusting his cravat. Charles was furious. "To conduct yourself that way in our uncle's home! I am disgusted with your behavior. A gentleman should not take such liberties with young ladies."
Walter laughed. "You know as well as I do that she is no lady. Do not take such a high tone with me, brother." They climbed up into the curricle. Charles tried to take the reins, but Walter would not permit him. "You'll lather up the horses, the state you're in. Do not worry, I have not had so much wine that I will drive us off the road." They traveled on for a bit in silence.
"What of Miss Leigh?" Charles finally said, much of the pique against his brother evaporated. "She is a much more proper object for your affections."
"What of Miss Leigh?" Walter echoed mockingly. "She took one look at Edward's blue coat and I was immediately forgotten. You know how all ladies love a man in uniform. Besides, what can I offer a girl like that, Charles?" he asked pensively. "Edward will inherit not only Oakmont Park but Kellynch as well, since the Elliot line is done. I may have a parsonage someday and a curate's salary to pay, but a wealthy young woman like Catherine will not wish to mortify herself by marrying a country vicar." He sighed heavily. "Unfortunately I like Edward too well to begrudge him her favor. Perhaps he will give me the Kellynch living out of gratitude." Charles was surprised that Walter's feelings for Miss Leigh ran so deeply after only one meeting; he had never mentioned marriage before in any form, let alone referring to his future profession.
Walter brooded over the reins for a few more moments, the only sound the steady clop-clop of the horses' hooves on the hard-packed dirt road. "I knew I should have joined the Navy," he said finally, and his brother's peals of laughter rang in the chill night air.
Part IV
The next morning at breakfast, Mrs. Musgrove insisted on discussing every aspect of the previous evening. "Wasn't it kind of Lady Elliot to come to Oakmont Park to offer her congratulations to Sir Frederick?" she asked. "But it was most unfortunate that she brought along her children. We must maintain relations with Sir William, of course, Papa would have wanted it, but I really wish he had made a more advantageous marriage. He wanted to marry your Aunt Anne, you know."
Charles was startled. "I did not know that, Mamma," he said. No wonder Sir Frederick dislikes him, he thought. He tried to imagine his aunt married to Sir William Elliot, but such a situation was inconceivable. He knew no two people who belonged together more than Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth.
"And I believe your Aunt Elizabeth had designs on him at one time," she mused, munching on a piece of dry toast. "Being Lady Elliot would certainly have suited her." Charles was equally taken aback at that prospect; his haughty aunt established in the neighborhood, a regular visitor at Uppercross-he preferred even the inconvenience of avoiding the Clays to such a circumstance.
Wearied by his mother's chatter, Charles finished his tea in a single draught and took his leave. The grooms had saddled his favorite horse, as instructed, and he mounted and set off for Oakmont Park.
Anne was waiting for him at the stables, dressed in a lovely deep red riding habit that perfectly set off her dark hair and eyes. Charles dismounted and motioned away the groom who was waiting to help Anne mount her horse. The groom stepped aside, grinning conspiratorially, and Charles boosted Anne into the saddle. She settled herself, carefully draping her skirt on the sidesaddle. Charles swung up onto his own mount and they set off at a canter.
Riding was Charles' favorite pastime. His father and brother had long tried to interest him in shooting, and he had developed skill with firearms but never took much pleasure in the sport. He felt most at ease in the saddle, enjoying the speed and power of a well-bred horse, patiently training them until they could be controlled with the slightest pressure of the knees or tug on the bridle. Anne was also a fine rider, and Sir Frederick generously provided his daughter with the very best horses. Her mount that day was a young and spirited mare, and she controlled the horse expertly, although the mare fought the bridle, tossing her head and snorting.
The morning was fine and warm, and they went off the road into a meadow. Anne looked at Charles mischievously and applied her crop to the mare's rump; the horse leaped forward and galloped across the field. Charles laughed and spurred his own horse, a large chestnut stallion that loved to run, and he caught up to Anne in short order. They raced across several fields, each taking turns in the lead, until they reached a small grove where a stream crossed the meadows. They slowed the horses to a walk, dismounting when they reached the stream. Charles had provided himself with a blanket in his saddlebag, which he spread on the bank. He tied the horses to a tree near the stream where they could graze and drink, and they sat on the blanket, grateful for the shade after their exercise.
"This is like old times," said Anne. "I remember when you first came down from Cambridge and taught me to ride." Anne had wanted to learn horsemanship, but her father and brother were at sea and her mother did not ride. There was talk of engaging a riding instructor, but when Charles heard of the situation, he immediately offered to teach his cousin. "You were so patient with me," she said. "I wanted so badly to do well. You were a little intimidating, you know."
Charles looked at her in surprise. "I?" he cried. "I cannot believe that I could intimidate anyone."
"We all looked up to you," she replied, serious now. "Edward and I, Walter, our Hayter cousins as well. You were the oldest, and naturally we looked to you as our leader."
This was a new thought for Charles, and he considered it for a few moments. "I hope I didn't frighten you back then," he said finally. "You were a good student. Look how you tried to shame me just now in our race."
"Oh, Charles," cried Anne, "I was just funning! I would never try to shame you!" Her agitation was obvious, and Charles reached over and took her hands in his, laughing. "I was funning, too, Anne," he said. "I am proud of my protégé. As far as I'm concerned, you can race every man in the parish, and I will cheer you on." She smiled at him, her face very close, and it took every bit of willpower Charles possessed not to kiss her. He dropped her hands and turned away.
Anne's face fell, and she turned away as well. They sat silently for a time. Finally Charles could stand no more. "If you've rested, perhaps we should go back," he said. Anne nodded her consent, and he untied the horses and helped her into the saddle.
They found their way out to the road, a few miles from Uppercross. The horses walked along, their riders silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Charles spoke at last. "Will you come back to the house?" he asked. "We can have some tea and refresh ourselves, and I know Elizabeth will be glad to see you."
"Of course," she replied.
Charles was a little ashamed of his behavior. He was beginning to understand his feelings, and knew that he was in love with Anne, but was at a loss as to how to proceed. He did not want to take advantage of her, and thought it best if they were not alone together; he did not trust himself to always be master of his emotions. He pulled gently on the stallion's reins, letting Anne's mare walk on ahead a little.
Suddenly, a fox ran from a grove of trees and out into the roadway, startling the mare. The horse reared and broke into a gallop, racing down the road, her ears pinned back and her eyes rolling. Anne held on gamely, pulling on the lines to no effect. Charles reacted immediately, spurring on the stallion with his crop, trying to catch up to her. This was not like their race; Anne had been in control of her horse at all times, but now all she could do was clutch onto her saddle and try not to be thrown.
The stallion, used to such all-out runs, began to catch up to the mare. Charles was only a few lengths behind when a third rider crashed out of the meadow onto the road just in front of the mare. The rider had the advantage of starting out ahead of the mare and was able to keep pace with the creature. He managed to grab Anne around the waist and pull her onto his horse. The mare continued to run down the road, relieved to be rid of her burden.
Charles pulled up alongside the rider, who was holding Anne in his arms. "Are you all right?" he cried, and then he noticed that her savior was Henry Clay.
"Yes, I am all right, Charles," she responded shakily. "Just a little discomposed." Tears ran down her face, and she did not seem to realize that Mr. Clay was holding her rather tightly.
"We are very close to Uppercross," said Charles. "I will take her there, Clay."
Anne remembered herself and tried to pull away from her rescuer. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Clay. I am much obliged to you."
He smiled down at her. "I must insist on seeing you back myself, Miss Wentworth. I would not want you to meet with any more...accidents," he said, looking archly at Charles.
"I thank you, Mr. Clay, but I assure you it is not necessary," Anne said. She struggled to get out of his arms, but there was not enough room in the saddle for her to get away from him, and he showed no inclination to release her.
"It is no inconvenience to me," he said. "As you said, Musgrove, we are close to Uppercross. I believe that my mother and sister are already there, paying a call on your mother. I will safely convey Miss Wentworth there, and then I may see them home." Anne could only look at Charles helplessly as Mr. Clay clucked to his horse and trotted off. Charles followed, swearing silently at the fates and feeling more at a loss than ever.
Part V
They were nearing Uppercross when a rider approached them. It was Walter, riding Anne's mare, holding the reins with one hand and his shotgun with the other. "Here you are!" he cried. "I saw my uncle's horse grazing by the side of the road, and you can imagine how concerned I became when there was no rider." He recognized Mr. Clay and saw how he was holding his cousin, and his face hardened. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Anne, are you all right?"
"The mare was spooked by a fox and ran away," said Anne. "Mr. Clay kindly helped me."
Walter looked at his brother's tight face and asked no more questions. "You have had quite a shock, cousin," he declared. "We must get you back to Uppercross. Perhaps Mamma will move over on the sopha and make room for you. My brother and I can take her there, Clay, you need not trouble yourself."
"It is no trouble," responded Mr. Clay, not loosening his grip on Anne. "We are very nearly there." This could not be denied; they were at the foot of the drive.
"You may as well dismount here," said Walter. "I will take the horses to the stable. I espy my uncle Benwick's equipage in the drive, and I've no stomach for Byron and Scott today." He pointed to a weather-beaten barouche resting sadly in front of the house.
Charles swung down from his horse and moved to help Anne, but was too late; Mr. Clay had already dismounted and was holding his hands out to her. She slid from the horse, but stumbled a bit, falling against Mr. Clay, who caught her in his arms. Anne tried as gracefully as possible to extricate herself from his embrace, but he held her a bit, laughing, until she finally pulled away. "Go on into the house," Walter said to them. "I require a few words with my brother." Mr. Clay offered his arm to Anne, who took it uncertainly, and they went into the house.
Walter grabbed his brother's arm. "What are you about, Charles, letting Clay manhandle Anne like that?" he whispered. "Upon my word, you are a most unnatural lover. I would have driven him off with my crop."
Charles looked at him in surprise. "You know? You know how I feel about Anne?" he cried. "How could you? I only just realized it myself this day."
"It was obvious to me, brother, but remember I know you better than anyone," said Walter. "I saw how it was last night when you were dancing. I supposed you may need a push, but I'd no idea you would stand back and let another man walk away with her. Especially the likes of Clay."
"What can I do, Walter, call him out?" asked Charles resignedly. "If she likes another man better than me, I would never stand in her way."
"It would be one thing if she actually did like him better. I certainly did not stand in Catherine Leigh's way when she showed her preference for Edward. But I'll wager that Anne finds Clay as revolting as we do."
"You didn't find his sister revolting last night," Charles reminded his brother.
Walter laughed. "Gwendolyn is a very...obliging girl," he said with a grin. "But you can't possibly imagine that I have any serious intentions toward her."
"Then I wish you would not behave in such an unbecoming manner."
"Don't lecture me, Charles," said Walter. "And don't change the subject. Go in there and claim your lady's hand." He took the horses' reins from his brother and led the horses toward the stables.
Charles entered the house and went into his mother's sitting-room. Lady Elliot and her daughter were there, seated by the fire, as were his aunt and uncle Benwick. Mr. Leigh and Elizabeth were sitting on the other end of the room, engrossed in one another. Mrs. Musgrove handed a cup of tea to Mr. Clay, who had managed to procure a seat next to Anne. "Hello, Charles," his mother greeted him brightly. "We have visitors, as you see. Your uncle Benwick was reading to us from--what was it, Benwick?" she asked him.
"Wordsworth," replied Captain Benwick. His wife smiled at him beatifically, and he smiled back at her. The Benwicks were the unwitting object of much secret merriment among their nieces and nephews. They were never apart; Mrs. Benwick accompanied her husband at sea, and when they were on land, they rented Kellynch Lodge from Sir William Elliot. They had no children, which the younger generation considered lucky, since it was hard to imagine them begrudging any of the obvious affection they had for each other to bestow on their offspring. Besides, as Walter Musgrove somewhat disrespectfully declared, children were simply not poetic.
"This poem is a particular favorite of my wife's," said Captain Benwick. He cleared his throat. " 'Louisa, After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion.
I MET Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen that lovely Maid,
Why should I fear to say
That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,
And down the rocks can leap along
Like rivulets in May?She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.Take all that's mine "beneath the moon,"
If I with her but half a noon
May sit beneath the walls
Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.' "
He stopped reading and exchanged a knowing glance with his wife. Charles noticed a look pass between Anne and Elizabeth, both with twinkling eyes and barely concealed mirth. Charles had a well-developed sense of the ridiculous and usually joined in the irreverent badinage that flew about his oblivious aunt and uncle, but tonight he felt a sneaking sympathy for his uncle Benwick. Having himself recently discovered the delicious pain of love, he could understand how lovers can appreciate having such a convenient outlet for their feelings as romantic poetry could provide.
Mr. Clay leaned over to Anne and whispered in her ear. She smiled uneasily, blushed, and looked away. Charles could take it no longer. "Mother, forgive me," he said. "I feel the need for air. I am taking a walk." He knew that his mother would not begrudge his absence, since she had so many other visitors. However, he did not consider that his sister was seeking an excuse to be alone with her fiancé.
"That's an excellent suggestion, Charles," said Elizabeth, jumping to her feet. "James and I will join you."
Anne also stood. "I will accompany you as well, Charles, if that is all right," she said quietly. Charles' heart leapt, but his feelings were immediately dashed when Mr. and Miss Clay stood and prepared to join them as well.
Mrs. Musgrove was not particularly perturbed. She was happy with the Benwicks' company, and if Lady Elliot was not her favorite cousin, at least she was not left alone to fret herself into an imagined illness. The young people collected themselves and went out to the shrubbery.
Mr. Clay immediately secured Anne's hand on his arm, and Mr. Leigh and Elizabeth naturally walked together, a little ahead of the rest of the company. Charles found himself walking beside Miss Clay, who seemed every bit the demure young lady, until he met her gaze. There was a bold, inviting look in her green eyes that he found disconcerting, and he tried to walk more slowly so that she would move ahead, but she matched her footsteps to his own.
"I am not my brother, Miss Clay," Charles said finally. "I am not interested in whatever you're offering."
She laughed. "I hope you are not dangling around after that sweet little cousin of yours. My brother has developed quite a tendre for her, and I should warn you, there are few ladies that can resist him when he sets his mind upon gaining their affection."
"Her father would never agree to such a match," he said.
"On the contrary. I have heard Sir Frederick say that Lady Wentworth's family tried to prevent their union and that he would never prohibit his one of daughters from marrying a man she truly loved." Charles could not deny that; he had also heard his uncle make that very statement. His anger grew at the thought of his Anne marrying such a contemptible man, and he flashed out at Miss Clay, who was regarding him with a scornful smile.
"I hope you do not share such a design on my brother," he said. "I have had it from his own mouth that he is just dallying with you."
"Are you envious, Mr. Musgrove?" she asked. "I assure you, there is plenty to go around." She stepped in front of him, shielding them from the view of the others with her parasol. She reached out and slid her hand under his waistcoat, looking at him slyly. Charles, stunned by her brazen action, was unable to breathe, unable to move away. He could feel the heat of her hand through the thin lawn of his shirt. Her searching fingers found a gap between the buttons. The feel of her skin on his shocked him from his paralysis, and he backed away with a gasp. He walked away as quickly as dignity allowed, Gwendolyn Clay's mocking laughter following him.
Chapter VI
Charles entered the house by way of the veranda to avoid passing his mother's sitting-room. He went into the library, an apartment that did not exist when he visited Uppercross as a small boy, when his grandparents were alive. His father, who for all his good qualities was certainly no reader, had never thought of creating such a room. When Charles came down from Cambridge, however, his book collection threatened to take over his bed-chamber, and Mr. Musgrove suggested that a little-used sitting-room be turned into a library. It had become a haven for Charles, and he retreated there now in a desperate attempt to sort his feelings.
How could he let Anne know that he loved her? He should have given in to his first instinct and kissed her as they sat by the stream! But Charles knew that he could never treat Anne disrespectfully, when he had been disgusted by Henry Clay's behavior. His face grew hot as he thought of his encounter with Gwendolyn Clay. Had Anne seen them? Would Miss Clay tell her what happened, in some misbegotten spirit of sisterhood? Charles paced the library, his anxiety allowing him no peace.
A movement outside the window caught his eye, and he saw Anne and Henry Clay walk past, arm in arm. Mr. Clay said something to Anne, and they both laughed. The sight of the woman he loved laughing and smiling at such a detestable man was like a knife in Charles' chest. He watched them walk toward the front door of the house.
A moment later, the door opened slowly, and Anne came in. Startled, Charles whirled around from the window, not wanting her to know he had been watching. "Hello," he said. "How was your walk?"
She shut the door behind her. "I missed you, Charles."
Hope, that elevating emotion, rose in Charles' heart like the phoenix from the ashes. He knew that he must speak. "Anne, I--" The door opened.
"There you are, Miss Wentworth," said Henry Clay. "Gwendolyn and my mother are at your disposal to escort you to Oakmont Park." He noticed Charles. "Oh, hello, Musgrove," he said genially. "You disappeared on us. Gwendolyn was most disappointed." Anne looked at Charles sharply, noticed his heightened color, and directed her gaze at the floor, biting her lip.
"I will take you back to Oakmont Park in my gig, Anne. Lady Elliot need not trouble herself," said Charles, masking his fury with cold civility.
"I assure you it is no trouble. My mother is always delighted to perform such services for her family," said Mr. Clay. "I will be riding alongside the carriage, Miss Wentworth, so you need fear no more untoward incidents such as this morning," he added.
Mrs. Musgrove came into the library. "Here you are, Anne! Lady Elliot is waiting for you!"
Charles bit back his exasperation, knowing that his mother was an unwitting accomplice to the Clays' machinations. "I am going to take Anne home, Mamma," he said.
"Don't be silly, Charles. Lady Elliot is perfectly willing to take her home, and it is only a mile out of her way."
Charles was desperate to be alone with Anne. "I must insist," he said. "I invited Anne to the house and it is my responsibility to see her home."
"Please stop!" cried Anne. "I declare, if I had realized that I was such unwanted baggage, I would never have left my own home today! I will accept a place in Lady Elliot's carriage, if she will still have me," she said to Mr. Clay, who promptly offered his arm to her. Charles, who had begun the day with the sweet awareness of growing love, was reduced to the mortification of seeing the object of his affections being handed into a carriage by his rival.
Walter came up from the stables just as Anne was entering the carriage. Miss Clay, a few steps behind, turned toward him and held out her hand. "It is good to see you, Mr. Musgrove," she said in her husky voice. Walter took her hand reflexively and helped her into the carriage. Charles was astonished to see a folded piece of paper in his brother's hand when he released Miss Clay's, although Walter immediately closed his hand into a fist, which he clasped behind his back. What kind of message was Gwendolyn Clay passing to Walter? Charles did not think he really wanted to know.
The driver clucked to the horses and the carriage rolled away, Henry Clay's grey gelding trotting alongside. Charles stared after the carriage, trying to catch Anne's eye; her head was bowed, and she did not look up, although he watched until the carriage was out of sight. When finally he turned away, his brother was standing in his path, looking at him earnestly. Charles pushed past him and went into the house.
Part VII
Sleep proved elusive that night. Charles lay in bed, berating himself for failing to recognize something so obvious as his love for Anne. He did not know when it had started, although he suspected that it was when he had taught her to ride, six years before. He could picture her in his mind, so pretty and eager to learn, laughing as they galloped across meadows in the summer sunshine. He had met many lovely and eligible young women since then, some of whom had shown an interest in being the future mistress of Uppercross; he had found all of them lacking, although he had been hard-pressed to give a specific reason. The plain truth was that they were not Anne Wentworth. What a damnable fool he had been! At any time these past six years he might have spoken, but he had been too blind and self-absorbed to know his own heart until the possibility of losing Anne forever loomed large before him in the form of Henry Clay.
He finally threw back the covers, donned his dressing-gown, and descended to the first floor, thinking that a glass of brandy and a book could perhaps combat his restlessness. As he walked down the passage, the front door opened quietly, and Walter came in. The brothers gazed at each other steadily.
"You were at Kellynch?" Charles asked finally.
"I was. How did you know?"
"I saw Miss Clay hand you a note. I concluded that an assignation was being planned."
"It wasn't what you think," said Walter. "I was breaking it off."
"Breaking it off?" cried his brother. "What sort of connection did you have with Miss Clay that needed to be broken off?"
Walter sighed. "Let us go into the library," he said. "A brandy would be most welcome."
In the library, Charles poured drinks for both of them. Walter took a gulp and threw himself into a chair by the dying fire. Charles seated himself more cautiously nearby. "It started earlier this year, when I was in London," said Walter, staring into the glowing embers. "We met by chance. Gwendolyn travels in a very fast circle, which I found exciting at first. She was very attentive, and I allowed myself to be flattered and petted into a more intimate relationship." He took another sip of his brandy. "Tonight she told me that Sir William is cutting off her allowance and her brother's. Apparently the baronet has tired of paying for their intemperate lifestyle."
"I can't say that I blame him," said Charles. "Henry Clay is perfectly capable of earning his own living, and had Miss Clay guarded her reputation more carefully, she might have married quite comfortably."
"She still thinks that she can," said Walter. He chuckled ruefully. "The silly bit of muslin thought I would marry her."
"Does that surprise you? After you acted the libertine?"
"I and half the rakes in London! You have heard the talk about her, Charles, don't deny it."
"I have," Charles admitted. "She made an advance at me this afternoon."
Walter looked around at him in astonishment. "At you? Really? The look on your face must have been priceless! What I would have given to see it!"
Charles was not amused. "Anne may have seen us together," he said. "I can only imagine what she must be thinking about me."
Walter instantly sobered. "I'm sorry. I had not considered that. Don't think too badly of Gwen, brother. She hid it well, but she is near desperation. She had some wild plan about a viscount's son who is enamored of her. I recall seeing him hanging about the townhouse, a round-faced puppy with shirt collars so high they looked like blinders. He will suit her admirably." The brothers sat quietly for a time, watching the fading embers in the fireplace and sipping their drinks.
"I wonder if Henry Clay is in similar hopeless straits," said Charles thoughtfully. "It would explain his sudden attention to Anne."
"Anne's fortune is not large," Walter agreed. "But it would give him a stake and the means to settle any pressing debts. I would not worry, though. Anne is a clever girl. I don't think she will be taken in by a fortune-hunting rogue."
Charles recognized the truth in his brother's words and took comfort from them, but his mind persisted in playing back Gwendolyn Clay's words about her brother: "I should warn you, there are few ladies who can resist him when he sets his mind upon gaining their affection."
Walter set his glass down suddenly. "Charles," he said, turning toward his brother earnestly, "Do you think Father would give me the Uppercross living if I took orders?"
His brother stared at him in astonishment. "Of course he would. Dr. Smythe has been eager these five years to retire and join his daughter in Brighton. He has only been waiting for you to take orders. What has convinced you to do so, after all this time?"
"Do you remember yesterday when I asked you if all this marrying business had persuaded you to follow suit? Well, I must confess that it has affected me." Walter stood and went to the brandy-bottle to refresh his drink. He took a sip and returned to his chair. "I cannot deny that I have spent the years since I finished at Cambridge in idleness and self-indulgence. Our parents have never forced me to seek an occupation, and it was certainly not my preference to do so. There were many pleasures to be had and I was loath to give them up. However, I have long felt that something was missing in my life. Last night at my uncle's house, when I saw Catherine Leigh, I knew what was missing."
"You are in love with Miss Leigh?" asked Charles quietly.
"How can I tell?" asked Walter pensively. "I cannot even attempt to court her. I have no fortune, no title, no promised inheritance. I have nothing to offer a woman but myself. Until now, that has not been important to me. But I have come to regret my conduct of late. I am ready to make myself worthy of the regard of a girl like Catherine." He turned to his brother, who was smiling broadly. "Don't make fun of me, Charles, I can't stand it from you. You pattern-card, I know I should have been imitating your exemplary behavior all these years, but you should rejoice that your reprobate brother has seen the error of his ways."
"But I am delighted!" cried Charles, leaning over to slap his brother's back. ""This is a turn of events that I confess I had not expected, but my pleasure is no less for the surprise. By all means speak to Father, but you should probably wait till all the excitement is past."
"I will," promised Walter. "As soon as Eliza and James are off for their wedding tour, I will speak to Father and Dr. Smythe. Hopefully that good man can be prevailed upon to convince the bishop that I am a proper candidate for the church, despite my chequered past." He drained his glass and set it on a table. "I am off to bed, brother, with a much lighter heart, now that I have unburdened it," he said. "Thank you, Charles. I meant it when I said that I wish I had patterned my behavior on yours."
Emotion would not permit his brother to immediately respond. "I have never set myself up to be a pattern-card," he said finally. "But I am glad that you consider me such, if it has aided your decision." Walter gave him a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling, and left the library. Charles was relieved to see that his brother's sense of mischief was still present, despite his new resolution; he would have been grieved had Walter's cheerful disposition been overly tempered by the serious nature of his vocation.
Charles sat back and sipped his drink. Walter thinks he should pattern himself after me, while I should be patterning myself after him, he thought. He is astute enough to know what he is seeking and brave enough to pursue it, while I am sitting idly by and letting the best thing in my life be taken away by the likes of Henry Clay. A new determination formed in his mind. Tomorrow, after he saw his sister and his friend joined as man and wife, he would contrive an interview with Anne and tell her what was in his heart. Encouraged by this resolution, he set his glass next to Walter's and went to his chamber, where he fell immediately into a deep slumber, dreaming of a dark-eyed girl.
Part VIII
The day of the wedding dawned clear and bright. There was a chill in the morning air that anticipated the approach of winter, until the warmth of the rising September sun soaked through and finally abolished the cold.
Charles finished tying his cravat and reached for his coat. He surveyed himself in the small looking-glass he used for shaving. He was not a particularly vain young man and did not normally pay much attention to his appearance, other than to ensure that his apparel was clean and appropriate. Today, though, he wanted to look his best, not only for his sister's sake but for his own. He had no illusion that anyone would consider him handsome; however, he could not see what others could, the good humor and kindness that illuminated his light brown eyes and gave his countenance a pleasing aspect. He attempted to smooth his curly fair hair, but it grew in all directions and was resistant to any style. He looked at his reflection and sighed. He could certainly never match the lean elegance of Henry Clay, with his fashionable London clothes and careful barbering. Charles looked as he was: a rather bookish country squire, more comfortable in the saddle than the ballroom, and he would have to be satisfied with that. He picked up his gloves and left the room.
In the passage, Walter was also emerging from his chamber. He presented a dapper figure, finished in all the ways that escaped his brother, from flawlessly-dressed hair to fashionably-shod feet. Charles regarded him with a mixture of pride and exasperation. He knew well that Walter's style only looked effortless; it required some time and effort, time that Charles preferred to spend on horseback or with a book, yet he wished for a moment that he could transfer some of Walter's polish to himself. He was not going to admit it, however. "Good morning, Mr. Brummell. You look like you're the one getting married," he teased. "Elizabeth will not be happy if you outshine her husband."
"She could not possibly object when James has learned so much from me," said the unruffled Walter. The brothers descended to the first floor, laughing and pushing each other as if they were still small boys. Walter reached the landing first and came to a sudden stop, staring into the sitting-room in wonder. Charles, not noticing, bumped into him, then followed his gaze until he saw the vision that had arrested his brother.
Elizabeth stood in the sitting-room, wreathed in the white cloud of her wedding dress. Mrs. Musgrove was pinning a veil in her hair. She looked like a porcelain doll that a little girl would treasure carefully on her shelf. She turned and saw her brothers standing in the doorway. "Do you think I look well?" she asked them. "Mamma says I do, but I want a male opinion. Do you think James will like me?"
"If he does not, love, I suggest you cry off, because I would not want you shackled to a witless man," said Walter with some emotion.
"From you, Walter, that is a real compliment," she laughed. "I know you are a connoisseur of female costume. What say you, Charles? You are unusually quiet this morning."
"You are beautiful, Eliza," he said quietly. "I think I can safely say that James will find you so as well."
She smiled and held her hands out to her brothers. Walter took one and kissed it, but Charles folded his sister into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Charles," she said. "You are crushing my dress, dearest." He released her, grinning sheepishly. She smiled up at him, her fair curls surrounding her face and framing her sparkling hazel eyes. "All the years that you and Walter teased and tortured me, and on the day you get rid of me you turn sentimental. It is too diverting." She looked at her mother. "Is my bouquet ready, Mamma? I think it is time to leave. Where is Papa? Charles and Walter, it is time you were leaving as well. I would not have Mr. Leigh waiting for his groomsmen." Mrs. Musgrove handed her a nosegay of blush-pink roses tied with a froth of lace and ribbons. Only her eldest son noticed her discreetly wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
They went outside and down the stone walk, where Mr. Musgrove stood waiting to hand his daughter into the carriage one last time. Elizabeth settled herself, arranging her dress so that it would not crumple, while her parents seated themselves opposite her. Two saddled horses were ready for the brothers, and the assembled party made the short trip to Uppercross church.
The horses trotted along behind the carriages, the riders silent. Walter finally said, "Do you remember the day Eliza was born?"
"I do. Father took us fishing. When we arrived back at the house, Jemima told us that we had a sister. I remember that I thought it was a shame that she had not come earlier so that she could go fishing with us. I was expecting a girl the same age as I!"
Walter laughed. "So was I. Jemima took us up to Mamma's room, and there was this tiny baby, wrapped in a blanket. All the babies I'd seen until then were red and wrinkled, but Eliza was so pretty. She had big eyes and pink skin and looked at us as if she knew us already. And Mamma said that since we were her older brothers, it was our job to look after her and protect her."
Charles remembered that moment well. Until then, he had been as naughty and impish as his brother, and they frequently led one another into mischief, laughing at their mother's feeble attempts to discipline them. But when he saw his sister for the first time, when she had looked up at him and wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his own, he instantly took his mother's words to heart. He became Elizabeth's protector and champion, keeping Walter, their cousins, and the village children from teasing her too outrageously. He also tried to provide her with a good example to follow, in the process becoming known as the "good" Musgrove brother, although Walter could still occasionally coax him into some spectacular bit of naughtiness. Eliza and Walter were good friends, and as a child she sought him out when she wanted to play or join in whatever misbehavior he was plotting; but it was to Charles that she came running with scrapes and bruises to be soothed and kissed, to Charles that she confided her infantile concerns. As well as her grown-up concerns, he thought...
Charles left his parents in the drawing-room, happily engaged in playing whist with his aunt and uncle Hayter, and took his tea to the library. He opened the windows to let in the first fresh breezes of spring. Easter was less than a week away, and a fire was still welcome at night; however, he treasured the new softness in the air, so the windows stayed open despite the housekeeper's protests. He was deeply involved in his book when he heard the door open and looked up to see his sister, her face radiant. "May I come in?" she asked."Of course," he said, putting down his book and placing his spectacles on it.
Elizabeth ran to him and knelt by the side of the chair. "I am the happiest girl in the world! Mr. Leigh--James--has asked me to marry him! He is speaking to Papa right now."
"I thought James was more perceptive than that," Charles teased her. "Taking Father away from a whist game will not make him more likely to give you his blessing; rather the reverse, I should think."
Elizabeth slapped him gently on the arm. "Do stop being so tiresome!"
He smiled down at her upturned face. "They will not oppose the match, love. Father thinks very highly of James. And you know Mamma will be delighted when she is able to call you Lady Leigh. Speaking of Mamma, why aren't you talking to her now?"
She blushed and looked down. "I don't know. I suppose I should be telling her. But my first thought was to find you." Suddenly she flung her arms around his neck. "Do I have your blessing, dearest?" she asked. "It is as important to me as that of my parents."
Charles embraced his sister. "Of course, Eliza! I saw how it was between you and James when he visited last summer. If I did not approve, I would not have invited him again, would I?" He kissed her on the cheek and released her. She smiled at him and lightly ran out of the room...
"Charles?" a voice was saying. He was startled to see that they had arrived at the church. Walter was looking at him curiously. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Just a brown study." They dismounted and tied up the horses.
In the vestibule of the tiny church, all was confusion. One of the two small girls who had been pressed into service as flower girls for their cousin was wailing because she preferred her sister's basket of rose petals to her own. Mrs. Musgrove was also wailing and embracing her daughter. Sophie Wentworth was peering nervously through the door into the church, clutching her sister's arm and remarking in a shrill voice on the great number of celebrants seated there. Anne stood by silently, allowing Sophie to wrinkle the sleeve of her dress, her nosegay drooping forlornly from her free hand. When Charles and Walter entered she turned to them by reflex; Charles caught her eye for a moment, but she turned away immediately. She pulled her arm from her sister's grip and went to the little girls, rearranging their baskets to their satisfaction.
Walter disentangled his sister from her mother's embrace and led the weeping Mrs. Musgrove to the vestibule door. He said, "Anne, can you get things in hand here?"
Anne had sorted out the children, who were now beaming rosily, and assembled them with her sister at the door. She looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth and said, "Are you ready?"
Elizabeth, unbothered by the chaos of the previous minutes, smiled at her cousin. "I am ready."
Mrs. Musgrove wiped her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and took the proffered arms of her sons. They walked up the aisle three abreast, the assembled guests murmuring approval at the sight. The brothers deposited Mrs. Musgrove in the front pew, Charles bestowing a kiss on her cheek, and took their places beside the groom.
"You are looking a bit pale, James," Walter said in an undertone as he passed. "Not having second thoughts, are you? I'd hate to have to fight you for the honour of my sister but I'm afraid it would be my duty were you to cry off."
Walter's teasing had its desired effect, and Mr. Leigh, who truthfully had been feeling a bit nervous, relaxed and grinned at him. Charles patted him on the shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile.
The door opened and the smallest flower girl entered. She walked slowly up the aisle, looking around her in wonder, but not forgetting her sovereign duty of strewing rose petals in the bride's path. Her older sister and Sophie followed, then Anne, her pink silk dress highlighting the brilliancy of her complexion, her countenance serene. Charles could not take his eyes from her. She walked past without looking at him.
The guests rose and turned to the back of the church. Elizabeth and her father stood framed in the doorway. Mr. Musgrove led her up the aisle, smiling rather bashfully at their assembled family and friends, but his daughter had eyes only for her intended. They arrived at the altar, and Elizabeth took her place beside Mr. Leigh.
"Dearly beloved," intoned Dr. Smythe, "we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted by God..."
Mrs. Musgrove was now sobbing openly, and the lace of her handkerchief had become somewhat wilted. Charles took out his own handkerchief and leaned over to pass it to her. She smiled at him through her tears, and as he turned back to the altar, he caught Anne's eye for a moment. She instantly looked away, but Charles had the feeling that her look had approval in it. He resumed his place next to James.
Dr. Smythe was speaking to Mr. Leigh. "James, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
Mr. Leigh looked into Elizabeth's luminous eyes. "I will."
"Elizabeth, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"
Elizabeth had not taken her eyes from James'. "I will."
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Mr. Musgrove stepped forward, took his daughter's hand, and placed it in Mr. Leigh's. He stopped for a moment and departed from the service by kissing Elizabeth on the cheek. She smiled at him and murmured, "Thank you, Papa." He took his place in the pew beside his wife, who promptly clutched his arm and began sobbing into his sleeve.
Dr. Smythe, smiling kindly at this small digression, continued. "Repeat after me, James. I, James Richard--"
"--take thee, Elizabeth Mary, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." Mr. Leigh repeated the vicar's words, holding tightly onto his lady's hand.
Elizabeth repeated the vow in her turn. Dr. Smythe raised his eyebrows at Charles, who took his cue and produced the wedding ring, placing it on the vicar's prayer book. Dr. Smythe handed the ring to Mr. Leigh and said, "Repeat after me, James. With this ring I thee wed--"
Charles' gaze flicked to Anne, who was smiling wistfully at her cousin. Mr. Leigh repeated the vicar's words. "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship--"
Anne's eyes met Charles'. He felt as if they were touching; the sensation was physical, a warm thrill that went from his head to his feet. He could hear his heart beating, his blood rushing through his veins.
"--and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Mr. Leigh smiled down at his bride as he completed his vows.
Anne finally looked away. Charles felt as he had when, as a boy, he had fallen in the freezing stream at Uppercross early in the spring; rather short of breath, but exhilarated. The vicar continued the service, intoning the psalms and saying the prayers, but Charles found it impossible to pay attention.
At last it was over, and they all signed the register. The guests were filing outside, and the flower girls began to fuss and push at each other. Anne took them to their mother, Mrs. Harry Musgrove, and the two women stood talking for a few moments. Charles watched them, waiting for Anne to walk away so he could talk to her privately. He felt a hand on his sleeve, and turned to see Gwendolyn Clay smiling at him.
"Good morning, Mr. Musgrove," she said. "It was a lovely service, was it not?"
"Indeed it was," he said, looking around him for a way to escape the interview.
She sniffed at a rose she carried. "Your cousin Anne was looking particularly well. I can understand why Henry has become so attached to her. "
"I know exactly why your brother has become 'attached' to Anne, as you say," he said in a low voice. "Walter has acquainted me with your distressing situation. I'm afraid that I am unable to offer any sympathy."
Gwendolyn laughed, a shrill noise that carried over the crowd. "I do not require your sympathy, sir, and neither does my brother. In fact, I expect him to announce his engagement to Miss Wentworth very soon. They will make a charming couple, will they not?"
Charles could stand no more. "Excuse me. I must congratulate my sister and brother. Good morning, Miss Clay." He walked away from her, hoping that Anne had not witnessed the encounter.
Elizabeth and James had left the church and were being mobbed by well-wishers. They finally managed to get into a barouche waiting to take them back to Uppercross, but the guests continued to mill about. Charles found Anne in the crowd, standing by her father's chaise.
She curtseyed, but did not meet his eyes. "Good morning, Charles," she said quietly.
They were being jostled by passersby. It was no place for a declaration of love. "Anne, I must speak to you. May I call on you tonight?"
She hesitated, not sure how to respond. After a moment she said, "Your mother has invited my family to drink tea this evening at Uppercross. We can speak then."
"Yes," he said. "We will speak then."
She gave him a small, puzzled smile and got into the chaise. He watched it roll away, and this time she looked back at him until the chaise was out of sight.