A Wedding at Uppercross
Chapter Three
"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 sovereign 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 stroked his hair and sang 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 woollen 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 Oaklands."
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. "I wonder that Sir William did not accompany them," he said.
Edward's jaw was rigid, and his eyes glowed with anger. "He would not dare to show his face in my father's house," he responded. "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 honoured to be your partner, Miss Wentworth."
This was not to be borne. "I am afraid that 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 honour my prior claim."
Anne looked up at Charles, her eyes glowing, and she said, "Yes, Mr. Clay, I am 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 conversation that polite society forbade 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 behaviour."
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 colouring. 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 behaviour, 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 behaviour. 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 Oaklands, but Sir William has left him Kellynch as well. 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 favour. 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.
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