The following morning, therefore, Cecilia went early to St James’s-square: and, after the usual ceremonies of messages and long
waiting, she was shewn into an apartment where she found Mr Delvile
and his son.
She rejoiced to see them together, and determined to make known to
them both the purport of her visit: and therefore, after some
apologies and a little hesitation, she told Mr Delvile, that
encouraged by his offers of serving her, she had taken the liberty
to call upon him with a view to entreat his assistance.
Young Delvile, immediately arising, would have quitted the room; but
Cecilia, assuring him she rather desired what she had to say should
be known than kept secret, begged that he would not disturb himself.
Delvile, pleased with this permission to hear her, and curious to
know what would follow, very readily returned to his seat.
“I should by no means,” she continued, “have thought of proclaiming
even to the most intimate of my friends, the partiality which Sir
Robert Floyer has been pleased to shew me, had he left to me the
choice of publishing or concealing it: but, on the contrary, his own
behaviour seems intended not merely to display it, but to insinuate
that it meets with my approbation. Mr Harrel, also, urged by too
much warmth of friendship, has encouraged this belief; nor, indeed,
do I know at present where the mistake stops, nor what it is report
has not scrupled to affirm. But I think I ought no longer to neglect
it, and therefore I have presumed to solicit your advice in what
manner I may most effectually contradict it.”
The extreme surprise of young Delvile at this speech was not more
evident than pleasant to Cecilia, to whom it accounted for all that
had perplext her in his conduct, while it animated every expectation
she wished to encourage.”
“The behaviour of Mr Harrel,” answered Mr Delvile, “has by no means
been such as to lead me to forget that his father was the son of a
steward of Mr Grant, who lived in the neighbourhood of my friend and
relation the Duke of Derwent: nor can I sufficiently congratulate
myself that I have always declined acting with him. The late Dean,
indeed, never committed so strange an impropriety as that of
nominating Mr Harrel and Mr Briggs coadjutors with Mr Delvile. The
impropriety, however, though extremely offensive to me, has never
obliterated from my mind the esteem I bore the Dean: nor can I
possibly give a greater proof of it than the readiness I have always
shewn to offer my counsel and instruction to his niece. Mr Harrel,
therefore, ought certainly to have desired Sir Robert Floyer to
acquaint me with his proposals before he gave to him any answer.”
“Undoubtedly, Sir,” said Cecilia, willing to shorten this parading
harangue, “but as he neglected that intention, will you think me too
impertinent should I entreat the favour of you to speak with Sir
Robert yourself, and explain to him the total inefficacy of his
pursuit, since my determination against him is unalterable?”
Here the conference was interrupted by the entrance of a servant who
said something to Mr Delvile, which occasioned his apologizing to
Cecilia for leaving her for a few moments, and ostentatiously
assuring her that no business, however important, should prevent his
thinking of her affairs, or detain him from returning to her as soon
as possible.
The astonishment of young Delvile at the strength of her last
expression kept him silent some time after his father left the room;
and then, with a countenance that still marked his amazement, he
said “Is it possible, Miss Beverley, that I should twice have been
thus egregiously deceived? or rather, that the whole town, and even
the most intimate of your friends, should so unaccountably have
persisted in a mistake.”
“For the town,” answered Cecilia, “I know not how it can have had
any concern in so small a matter; but for my intimate friends, I
have too few to make it probable they should ever have been so
strangely misinformed.”
“Pardon me,” cried he, “it was from one who ought to know, that I
had myself the intelligence.”
“I entreat you, then,” said Cecilia, “to acquaint me who it was?”
“Mr Harrel himself; who communicated it to a lady in my hearing, and
at a public place.”
Cecilia cast up her eyes in wonder and indignation at a proof so
incontrovertible of his falsehood, but made not any answer.
“Even yet,” continued he, “I can scarcely feel undeceived; your
engagement seemed so positive, your connection so irretrievable,—
so,—so fixed, I mean.—”
He hesitated, a little embarrassed; but then suddenly exclaimed,
“Yet whence, if to neither favourable, if indifferent alike
to Sir Robert and to Belfield, whence that animated apprehension for
their safety at the Opera-house? whence that never to be forgotten
oh stop him! good God! will nobody stop him!—Words of
anxiety so tender! and sounds that still vibrate in my ear!”
Cecilia, struck with amazement in her turn at the strength of his
own expressions, blushed, and for a few minutes hesitated how to
answer him: but then, to leave nothing that related to so
disagreeable a report in any doubt, she resolved to tell him
ingenuously the circumstances that had occasioned her alarm: and
therefore, though with some pain to her modesty, she confessed her
fears that she had herself provoked the affront, though her only
view had been to discountenance Sir Robert, without meaning to shew
any distinction to Mr Belfield.
Delvile, who seemed charmed with the candour of this explanation,
said, when she had finished it, “You are then at liberty?—Ah
madam!—how many may rue so dangerous a discovery!”
“Could you think,” said Cecilia, endeavouring to speak with her
usual ease, “that Sir Robert Floyer would be found so irresistible?”
“Oh no!” cried he, “far otherwise; a thousand times I have wondered
at his happiness; a thousand times, when I have looked at you, and
listened to you, I have thought it impossible!—yet my authority
seemed indisputable. And how was I to discredit what was not uttered
as a conjecture, but asserted as a fact? asserted, too, by the
guardian with whom you lived? and not hinted as a secret, but
affirmed as a point settled?”
“Yet surely,” said Cecilia, “you have heard me make use of
expressions that could not but lead you to suppose there was some
mistake, whatever might be the authority which had won your belief.”
“No,” answered he, “I never supposed any mistake, though sometimes I
thought you repented your engagement. I concluded, indeed, you had
been unwarily drawn in, and I have even, at times, been tempted to
acknowledge my suspicions to you, state your independence, and
exhort you—as a friend, exhort you—to use it with spirit,
and, if you were shackled unwillingly, incautiously, or unworthily,
to break the chains by which you were confined, and restore to
yourself that freedom of choice upon the use of which all your
happiness must ultimately depend. But I doubted if this were
honourable to the Baronet,—and what, indeed, was my right to such a
liberty? none that every man might not be proud of, a wish to do
honour to myself, under the officious pretence of serving the most
amiable of women.”
“Mr Harrel,” said Cecilia, “has been so strangely bigoted to his
friend, that in his eagerness to manifest his regard for him, he
seems to have forgotten every other consideration; he would not,
else, have spread so widely a report that could so ill stand
enquiry.”
“If Sir Robert,” returned he, “is himself deceived while he deceives
others, who can forbear to pity him? for my own part, instead of
repining that hitherto I have been mistaken, ought I not rather to
bless an error that may have been my preservative from danger?”
Cecilia, distressed in what manner to support her part in the
conversation, began now to wish the return of Mr Delvile; and, not
knowing what else to say, she expressed her surprise at his long
absence.
“It is not, indeed, well timed,” said young Delvile, “just now,—at
the moment when—” he stopt, and presently exclaiming “Oh dangerous
interval!” he arose from his seat in manifest disorder.
Cecilia arose too, and hastily ringing the bell, said, “Mr Delvile I
am sure is detained, and therefore I will order my chair, and call
another time.”
“Do I frighten you away?” said he, assuming an appearance more
placid.
“No,” answered she, “but I would not hasten Mr Delvile.”
A servant then came, and said the chair was ready.
She would immediately have followed him, but young Delvile again
speaking, she stopt a moment to hear him. “I fear,” said he, with
much hesitation, “I have strangely exposed myself—and that you
cannot—but the extreme astonishment—” he stopt again in the utmost
confusion, and then adding, “you will permit me to attend you to the
chair,” he handed her down stairs, and in quitting her, bowed
without saying a word more.
Cecilia, who was almost wholly indifferent to every part of the
explanation but that which had actually passed, was now in a state
of felicity more delightful than any she had ever experienced. She
had not a doubt remaining of her influence over the mind of young
Delvile, and the surprise which had made him rather betray than
express his regard, was infinitely more flattering and satisfactory
to her than any formal or direct declaration. She had now convinced
him she was disengaged, and in return, though without seeming to
intend it, he had convinced her of the deep interest which he took
in the discovery. His perturbation, the words which escaped him, and
his evident struggle to say no more, were proofs just such as she
wished to receive of his partial admiration, since while they
satisfied her heart, they also soothed her pride, by shewing a
diffidence of success which assured her that her own secret was
still sacred, and that no weakness or inadvertency on her part had
robbed her of the power of mingling dignity with the frankness with
which she meant to receive his addresses. All, therefore, that now
employed her care, was to keep off any indissoluble engagement till
each should be better known to the other.
For this reserve, however, she had less immediate occasion than she
expected; she saw no more of young Delvile that day; neither did he
appear the next. The third she fully expected him,—but still he
came not. And while she wondered at an absence so uncommon, she
received a note from Lord Ernolf, to beg permission to wait upon her
for two minutes, at any time she would appoint.
She readily sent word that she should be at home for the rest of the
day, as she wished much for an opportunity of immediately finishing
every affair but one, and setting her mind at liberty to think only
of that which she desired should prosper.
Lord Ernolf was with her in half an hour. She found him sensible and
well bred, extremely desirous to promote her alliance with his son,
and apparently as much pleased with herself as with her fortune. He
acquainted her that he had addressed himself to Mr Harrel long
since, but had been informed that she was actually engaged to Sir
Robert Floyer: he should, therefore, have forborn taking up any part
of her time, had he not, on the preceding day, while on a visit at
Mr Delvile’s, been assured that Mr Harrel was mistaken, and that she
had not yet declared for any body. He hoped, therefore, that she
would allow his son the honour of waiting upon her, and permit him
to talk with Mr Briggs, who he understood was her acting guardian,
upon such matters as ought to be speedily adjusted.
Cecilia thanked him for the honour he intended her, and confirmed
the truth of the account he had heard in St James’-square, but at
the same time told him she must decline receiving any visits from
his lordship’s son, and entreated him to take no measure towards the
promotion of an affair which never could succeed.
He seemed much concerned at her answer, and endeavoured for some
time to soften her, but found her so steady, though civil in her
refusal, that he was obliged, however unwillingly, to give up his
attempt.
Cecilia, when he was gone, reflected with much vexation on the
readiness of the Delviles to encourage his visit; she considered,
however, that the intelligence he had heard might possibly be
gathered in general conversation; but she blamed herself that she
had not led to some enquiry what part of the family he had seen, and
who was present when the information was given him.
Mean while she found that neither coldness, distance, nor aversion
were sufficient to repress Sir Robert Floyer, who continued to
persecute her with as much confidence of success as could have
arisen from the utmost encouragement. She again, though with much
difficulty, contrived to speak with Mr Harrel upon the subject, and
openly accused him of spreading a report abroad, as well as
countenancing an expectation at home, that had neither truth nor
justice to support them.
Mr Harrel, with his usual levity and carelessness, laughed at the
charge, but denied any belief in her displeasure, and affected to
think she was merely playing the coquet, while Sir Robert was not
the less her decided choice.
Provoked and wearied, Cecilia resolved no longer to depend upon any
body but herself for the management of her own affairs, and
therefore, to conclude the business without any possibility of
further cavilling, she wrote the following note to Sir Robert
herself.
To Sir Robert Floyer, Bart.
Miss BEVERLEY presents her compliments to Sir Robert Floyer, and as
she has some reason to fear Mr Harrel did not explicitly acquaint
him with her answer to the commission with which he was entrusted,
she thinks it necessary, in order to obviate any possible
misunderstanding, to take this method of returning him thanks for
the honour of his good opinion, but of begging at the same time that
he would not lose a moment upon her account, as her thanks are all
she can now, or ever, offer in return.
Portman-square, May 11th, 1779.
To this note Cecilia received no answer: but she had the pleasure to
observe that Sir Robert forbore his usual visit on the day she sent
it, and, though he appeared again the day following, he never spoke
to her and seemed sullen and out of humour.
Yet still young Delvile came not, and still, as her surprise
encreased, her tranquillity was diminished. She could form no excuse
for his delay, nor conjecture any reason for his absence. Every
motive seemed to favour his seeking, and not one his shunning her:
the explanation which had so lately passed had informed him he had
no rival to fear, and the manner in which he had heard it assured
her the information was not indifferent to him; why, then, so
assiduous in his visits when he thought her engaged, and so slack in
all attendance when he knew she was at liberty?
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