Stafford; or if he is detained long in town, come without him. I will send my post-chaise to meet you at Basingstoke. Lord Montreville cannot object to it; and Delamere, whom you have never mentioned, has, I conclude, given way to the peremptory commands of his father, and has determined to forget my Emmeline.'Is it then probable any one can forget her? I know not of what the volatile and thoughtless Delamere may be capable; but I know that of all things it would be the most impossible to her truly attached and affectionate,C. Stafford.'Woodfield, Nov. 30.
Stafford; or if he is detained long in town, come without him. I will send my post-chaise to meet you at Basingstoke. Lord Montreville cannot object to it; and Delamere, whom you have never mentioned, has, I conclude, given way to the peremptory commands of his father, and has determined to forget my Emmeline.
'Is it then probable any one can forget her? I know not of what the volatile and thoughtless Delamere may be capable; but I know that of all things it would be the most impossible to her truly attached and affectionate,
C. Stafford.'
Woodfield, Nov. 30.
This letter gave great relief to the mind of the dejected Emmeline. That her first and dearest friend, opened at this painful crisis her consolatory bosom to receive and pity her; and that she should have the power to share her fatigue, and lessen the weight of her anxiety during the slow recovery of her child; seemed to be considerations which softened all the anguish she had endured during the day.
She was however too much disordered to go down to tea; and told Mrs. Ashwood, who civilly came up to enquire after her, that she had a violent pain in her head and would go to bed.
Mrs. Ashwood, full of her increased fortune, and busied in studying to make her deep mourning as becoming as possible, let her do as she would, and thought no more about her.
She had therefore time to meditate at leisure on her wayward fate: and some surprise that Delamere had not appeared the whole day, mingled itself with her reflections.
Poor Delamere was not to blame. Lord Montreville had sent him very early in the morning to desire to see him for five minutes on business of consequence.
Delamere, who from what had passed the evening before had indulged, during the night, the fondest dreams of happiness, obeyed the summons not without some hopes that he should hear all his favourable presages confirmed. When he came, however, his father, waving all discourse that related to Emmeline or himself, affected to consult him on a proposal he had received for his eldest sister, which the family were disposed to promote; and after detaining him as long as he could on this and on other subjects, he desired him to send to his lodgings for Millefleur, and to dressas expeditiously as possible, in order to accompany him to dine at Lord Dornock's, a Scottish nobleman, with whom his Lordship was deeply engaged in the depending negociation with Ministry; and who was at his seat, about nine miles from London.
Delamere reluctantly engaged in such a party. But however short his father's discourse fell of what he hoped, he yet determined to get the better of his repugnance and obey him; still flattering himself that Lord Montreville would lead to the subject nearest his heart, or that in the course of the day he should at least have an opportunity of introducing it.
They therefore set out together, on the most amicable terms, in Lord Montreville's coach. But as they had taken up on their way a gentleman who held a place under Lord Dornock, his presence prevented any conversation but on general subjects, during their short journey.
The dinner passed as such dinners generally do—too much in the secret to touch on politics, all such discourse was carefully avoided at the table of Lord Dornock.
In literature they had no resource; and therefore the conversation chiefly turned on the pleasure they were then enjoying—that of the luxuries of the table. They determined on the merits of the venison of the past season; settled what was the best way of preparing certain dishes; and whose domain produced the most exquisite materials for others. And on these topics a society of cooks could not have more learnedly descanted.
Delamere, not yet of an age to be initiated into the noble science of eating, and among whose ideas of happiness the delights of gratifying his palate had not yet been numbered, heard them with impatience and disgust.
He was obliged, however, to stay while the wines were criticised as eloquently as the meats had been; and to endure a long harangue from the master of the house, oncote rotiandlacryma Christi; and after the elder part of the company had adjusted their various merits and swallowed a sufficient quantity, the two noblemen retired to a private conference; and Delamere, obliged to move into a circle of insipid women, took refuge in cards, which he detested almost as much as the entertainment he had just quitted.
The hours, however slowly, wore away, and his patience was almost exhausted: soon after ten o'clock he ventured to send to his father, to know whether he was ready to return to town? buthe received a message in reply, 'that he had determined to stay all night where he was.'
Vexed and angry, Delamere began to suspect that his father had some design in thus detaining him at a distance from Emmeline; and fired by indignation at this idea, equally scorning to submit to restraint or to be detained by finesse, he disengaged himself from the card table, fetched his hat, and without speaking to any body, walked to the next village, where he got into a post-chaise and was presently in London; but as it was almost twelve o'clock, he forbore to visit Emmeline that night.
As soon as there was any probability of Emmeline's being visible the next morning, Delamere was at Clapham.
The servant of whom he enquired for her, told him, that Miss Mowbray had not yet rung her bell, and that as it was later than her usual hour, she was afraid it was owing to her being ill.
Alarmed at this intelligence, Delamere eagerly questioned her further; and learned that the preceding morning, a gentleman who had never been there before, had been to see Miss Mowbray, and had staid with her about three quarters of an hour, during which he had talked very loud; and that after he was gone, she had hastened to her own room, crying sadly, and had seemed very much vexed the whole day afterwards. That when she went to bed, which was early in the evening, she had sighed bitterly, and said she was not well. The servants, won by the sweetness and humanity with which Emmeline treated them, all seemed to consider her health and happiness as their own concern; and the girl who delivered this intelligence to Delamere, had been very much about her, and knowing her better, loved her more than the others.
Delamere could not doubt the truth of this account; yet he could not conjecture who the stranger could be, in whose power it was thus to distress Emmeline. But dreading lest some scheme was in agitation to take her from him, he sat in insupportable anxiety 'till she should summons the maid.
Her music book lay open on apiano fortein the breakfast parlour.A song which he had a few days before desired her to learn, as being one which particularly charmed him, seemed to have been just copied into it, and he fancied the notes and the writing were executed with more than her usual elegance. Under it was a littleporte feuilleof red morocco. Delamere took it up. It was untied; and two or three small tinted drawings fell out. He saw the likeness of Mrs. Stafford, done from memory; one yet more striking of his sister Augusta; and two or three unfinished resemblances of persons he did not know, touched with less spirit than the other two. A piece of silver paper doubled together enclosed another; he opened it—it was a drawing of himself, done with a pencil, and slightly tinged with a crayon; strikingly like; but it seemed unfinished, and somewhat effaced.
Though among so many other portraits, this could not be considered as a very flattering distinction, Delamere, on seeing it, was not master of his transports. He now believed Emmeline (whom he could never induce to own that her partiality for him exceeded the bounds of friendship) yet cherished in her heart a passion she would not avow.
While he was indulging these sanguine and delicious hopes, he heard a bell ring, and flew to enquire if it was that of Emmeline?
The maid, who crossed the hall to attend it's summons, told him it was. He stepped softly up stairs behind the servant, and waited at the door of the chamber while she went in.
To the question, from the maid, 'how she did?' Emmeline answered, 'much better.'
'Mr. Delamere is here, Madam, and begs to know whether he may see you?'
Emmeline had expected him all the day before, and was not at all surprised at his coming now. But she knew not what she should say to him. To dissimulate was to her almost impossible; yet to tell him what had passed between her and Sir Richard Crofts was to create dissentions of the most alarming nature between him and his father; for she knew Delamere would immediately and warmly resent the harshness of Lord Montreville.
She could not however determine to avoid seeing Delamere; and she thought his Lordship was not entitled to much consideration, after the indelicate and needless shock he had given her, by employing the peremptory, insolent, and unfeeling Sir Richard Crofts.
After a moment's hesitation, she told Nanny to let Mr. Delamere know that as soon as she was dressed she would be with him in the parlour.
Delamere, who heard the message, stepped softly down stairs, replaced the drawings, and waited the entrance of Emmeline; who neither requiring or accustoming herself to borrow any advantage from art or ornament, was soon dressed in her usual simple undress.
But to give some appearance of truth to what she intended to alledge, a cold, in excuse for her swollen eyes and languid looks, she wrapt a gauze hood over her head, and tied a black ribband round her throat; for tho' she could not wholly conceal the truth from Delamere, she wished to prevent his seeing how much it had affected her.
When she entered the room, Delamere, who was at the door to meet her, was astonished at the alteration he saw in her countenance.
'You are ill, Emmeline?' said he, taking her hand.
'I am not quite well—I have a violent cold coming.'
'A cold?' eagerly answered Delamere, 'you have been crying—who was the person who called on you yesterday?'
It was now in vain to attempt concealment if she had intended it.
'He did not tell me his name, for our conversation was very short; but his servants told those of Mrs. Ashwood that his name is Sir Richard Crofts.'
'And what business could Sir Richard Crofts possibly have with you?'
Emmeline related the conversation with great fidelity and without comment.
Delamere had hardly patience to hear her out. He protested he would immediately go to Sir Richard Crofts, and not only force him to apologize for what had passed, but promise never again to interfere between Lord Montreville and his family.
From executing this violent measure, Emmeline by earnest entreaty diverted him. She had not yet recovered the shock given her by the unwelcome interview of the preceding day; and though she had a very excellent constitution, her sensibility of mind was so great, that when she suffered any poignant uneasiness, it immediately affected her frame. In the present state of her spirits, she could not hear Delamere's vehement and passionate exclamations without tears; and when he saw how much she was hurt,he commanded himself; spoke more calmly; and by a rapid transition from rage to tenderness, he wept also, and bathed her hands with his tears.
He was not without hopes that this last effort of Lord Montreville would effect a change in his favour; and he pleaded again for an elopement with the warmest eloquence of love.
But Emmeline, though she felt all the force of his arguments, had still the courage to resist them; and all he could obtain from her was a renewal of her former promise, neither to leave Mrs. Ashwood unknown to him or to conceal the place of her residence; to consent to see him wherever she should be, and positively to reject Mr. Rochely's offer.
In return, she expected from Delamere some concessions which nothing but the sight of her uneasiness would have induced him to grant. At length she persuaded him to promise that he would not insult Sir Richard Crofts, or commit any other rashness which might irritate Lord Montreville.
Nothing was a stronger proof of the deep root which his passion had taken in his heart, than the influence Emmeline had obtained over his ungovernable and violent spirit, hitherto unused to controul, and accustomed from his infancy to exert over his own family the most boundless despotism.
Emmeline, tranquillized and consoled by his promises, then entreated him to go; as the state of Mrs. Ashwood's family made visitors improper. In this, too, he obeyed her. And as soon as he was gone, Emmeline sat down to write to Mrs. Stafford, related briefly what had lately happened, and told her, that as soon as Lord Montreville could be induced to settle some yearly sum for her support, (which notwithstanding his threats she still thought he would do, on condition of her engaging never, without his consent, to marry Delamere,) she would set out for Woodfield.
Lord Montreville, absorbed in politics and in a negociation with ministry, had, on the evening when he and his son were at Lord Dornock's, forgotten the impatient temper and particular situation of Delamere. His non appearance at supper occasioned an enquiry, and it was found he had left the house. It was too late for Lord Montreville to follow him that night, and would, indeed, have been useless; but early the next morning he was in Berkley-Square, where he heard nothing of his son.
He received a letter from Sir Richard Crofts, relating the illsuccess of his embassy; but adding, that he would bring Rochely to his Lordship the next day, to consider together what was next to be done. A letter also soon after arrived from Lady Montreville, to let his Lordship know that herself and her daughter, with Lady Mary and Miss Otley, were coming to town the next evening.
Delamere, the tumult of whose spirits was too great immediately to subside, took, for the first time in his life, some pains to conquer their violence, in consideration of Emmeline.
He sent his servants to Berkley-Square, to enquire among the domestics what had passed. He thence learned that his father had returned in the morning from Lord Dornock's in very ill humour, and that his mother was expected in town. An interview with either, would, he was conscious, only be the occasion of that dissention he had promised Emmeline to avoid. His mother, he knew, came to town determined to keep no terms with him; and that she would incessantly harrass him with reproaches or teize him with entreaties. He therefore determined to avoid entirely all conversation with both; and after a short reflection on the best means to do so, he ordered Millefleur to discharge the lodgings; told him and his other two servants that he was going out of town, and should not take either them or his horses; therefore would have them go to Berkley-Square, and wait there his return. He bade his valet tell Lord Montreville that he should be absent ten days or a fortnight. Then ordering an hackney coach, he directed it to drive to Westminster Bridge, as if he meant there to take post: instead of which he dismissed it at the end of Bridge-Street; and walking over to the Surry side, he presently provided himself with lodgings under the name of Mr. Oswald, a gentleman just come from Ireland; and all traces of Mr. Delamere were lost.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME
Sir Richard Crofts brought Mr. Rochely to Lord Montreville at the time appointed; and in consequence of the conversation then held, his Lordship was confirmed in his resolution of persisting in the plan Sir Richard had laid down, to force Emmeline to accept the good fortune offered her. Lord Montreville had sent as soon as he got to town to Delamere's lodgings, whose servants said that he had slept there, but was then gone out. His Lordship concluded he was gone to Clapham; but as he could not remedy his uneasiness on that head, he was obliged to endure it. About twelve o'clock Delamere had arranged matters for his concealment; and about three, as Lord Montreville was dressing to go out, Millefleur, together with Delamere's footman and groom, came as they had been ordered to Berkley-Square. This circumstance was no sooner related to Lord Montreville by his valet de chambre, than he ordered Millefleur to be sent up. The Frenchman related to his Lordship, that his master was certainly gone to Mr. Percival's; but Lord Montreville concluded he was gone to Scotland, and, in a tempest of anger and vexation, cursed the hour when he had listened to the advice of Sir Richard Crofts, the harshness of whose proceedings had, he imagined, precipitated the event he had so long dreaded. He was so entirely persuaded that this conjecture was the truth, that he first gave orders for a post-chaise and four to be ready directly; then recollecting that if he overtook his son he had no power to force him back, he thought it better to take with him some one who could influence Emmeline. His youngest daughter was still in Yorkshire; Mrs. Stafford he knew not where to find; but he supposed that Mrs. Ashwood, with whom she had lived some months, might have power to persuade her; and not knowing what else to do, indeed hardly knowing what he expected from the visit, he ordered his coachmanto be as expeditious as possible in conveying him to the house of that lady.
Mrs. Ashwood, her brother, and four or five other persons related to the family, were at dinner. Lord Montreville entered the room; spoke to those he knew with as much civility as he could; but not seeing Emmeline among them, his apprehensions were confirmed. He desired they would not disturb themselves; and declined sharing their repast; but being unable to conceal his emotion till it was over, he said to Mrs. Ashwood—'I am sorry, Madam, to trouble you on this unhappy business. I did hope you would have had the goodness at least to inform me of it. What can I do?' exclaimed he, breaking suddenly from his discourse and rising—'Good God, what can I do?'
The company were silent, and amazed.
Mrs. Ashwood, however, said, 'I am sorry that any thing, my Lord, has disturbed your Lordship. I am sure I should have been happy, my Lord, could I have been of any service to your Lordship in whatever it is.'
'Disturbed!' cried he, striking his forehead with his hand, 'I am distracted! When did she go? How long has she been gone?'
'Who, my Lord?'
'Miss Mowbray—Emmeline—Oh! it will be impossible to overtake them!'
'Gone! my Lord?'
'Gone with Delamere!—Gone to Scotland!'
'Miss Mowbray was however in the house not an hour ago,' said Miss Galton; 'I saw her myself go up the garden just as we sat down to dinner.'
'Then she went to meet him!—then they went together!'—exclaimed Lord Montreville, walking round the room.
An assertion so positive staggered every one. They rose from table in confusion.
'Let us go up,' said Mrs. Ashwood; 'I can hardly think it possible, my Lord, that Miss Mowbray is gone, unless your Lordship absolutely saw them.'
Yet Mrs. Ashwood remembered that Delamere had been there in the morning, and that Emmeline had dined early alone, and had remained by herself all the rest of the day, under pretence of sickness; and she began to believe that all this was done to give her time to elope with Delamere.
She went up stairs; and Lord Montreville, without knowing what he did, followed her. The stairs were carpetted; any one ascending was hardly heard; and Mrs. Ashwood suddenly throwing open the door of her chamber, Lord Montreville saw her, with her handkerchief held to her face, hanging over a packet of papers which lay on the table before her.
Emmeline did not immediately look up—an exclamation from Lord Montreville made her take her handkerchief from her eyes.
She arose; tried to conceal the sorrow visible in her countenance yet wet with tears, and assuming as much as she could her native ease and sweetness, she advanced towards his Lordship, who still stood at the door, amazed, and asked him if he would pardon her for desiring him to sit down in a bed-chamber; if not, she would wait on him below. She then went back to the table; threw the papers into the casket that was on it; and placing a chair between that and the fire, again asked him if he would do her the honour to sit down.
Lord Montreville did so, but said nothing. He was ashamed of his precipitancy; yet as Emmeline did not know it, he would not mention it; and was yet too full of the idea to speak of any thing else.
Mrs. Ashwood had left them—Emmeline continued silent.
Lord Montreville, after a long pause, at length said, with a stern and displeased countenance, 'I understand, Miss Mowbray, that my son was here this morning.'
'Yes, my Lord.'
'Pray, do you know where he now is?'
'I do not, indeed. Is he not at your Lordship's house?'
'No; I am told by his servants that he is gone to Mr. Percival's—Butyou—'(continued he, laying a strong emphasis on the word) 'you, Miss Mowbray, are I dare say better informed of his intentions than any one else.'
'Upon my word, my Lord,' answered Emmeline, astonished, 'I donotknow. He said nothing to me of an intention to go any where; on the contrary, he told me he should be here again to-morrow.'
'And is it possible you are ignorant of his having left London this morning, immediately after he returned from visiting you?'
'My Lord, I have never yet stooped to the meanness of a falsehood. Why should your Lordship now suppose me guilty of it? I repeat—and I hope you will do me the justice to believe me—uponmy honour I donotknow whither Mr. Delamere is gone—nor do I know that he has left London.'
Lord Montreville could not but believe her. But while his fears were relieved as to the elopement, they were awakened anew by the uncertainty of what was become of his son, and what his motive could be for this sudden disappearance.
He thought however the present opportunity of speaking to Emmeline of his resolution was not to be neglected.
'However ignorant you may be, Miss Mowbray,' said he, 'of the reason of his having quitted his lodgings, you are not to learn that his motive for estranging himself from his family, and becoming a stranger to his father's house, originates in his inconsiderate attachment to you. Contrary to the assurances you gave me at Swansea, you have encouraged this attachment; and, as I understand from Sir Richard Crofts, you peremptorily and even rudely refuse the opportunity now offered you of establishing yourself in rank and affluence, which no other young woman would a moment hesitate to accept. Such a refusal cannot be owing to mere caprice; nor could it possibly happen had you not determined, in despite of every objection, and of bringing discord into my family, to listen to that infatuated and rash young man.'
'Your Lordship does not treat me with your usual candour. I have promised you, voluntarily promised you, not to marry Mr. Delamere without your Lordship's consent. To prevent his coming here was out of my power; but if I really aspired to the honour of which your Lordship thinks me ambitious,whathas prevented me from engaging at once with Mr. Delamere? who has, I own to you, pressed me repeatedly to elope. My Lord, while I am treated with kindness and confidence, I can rely upon my own resolution to deserve it;butwhen your Lordship, on suspicion or misrepresentation, is induced to withdraw that kindness and confidence—why shouldImake a point of honour, whereyouno longer seem to expect it?'
The truth of this answer, as well as it's spirit, at once hurt and irritated Lord Montreville.
Determined to separate Emmeline from his son, he was mortified to be forced to acknowledge in his own breast that she merited all his affection, and angry that she should be in the right when he wished to have found something to blame in her conduct. Pride and self-love seemed to resent that a little weak girl shouldpretend to a sense of rectitude, and a force of understanding greater than his own.
'Miss Mowbray,' said his Lordship sharply, 'I will be very explicit with you—either consent to marry Mr. Rochely, whose affection does you so much honour, or expect from me no farther kindness.'
'Your Lordship knows,' answered Emmeline, 'that I have no friend on whom I have the least claim but you. If you abandon me—but, my Lord, ought you to do it?—— I am indeed most friendless!'
She could no longer command her tears—sobs obliged her to cease speaking.
Lord Montreville thought her resolution would give way; and trying to divest himself of all feeling, with an effort truly political, he determined to press his point.
'It is in your power,' resumed he, 'not only to place yourself above all fear of such desertion, but to engage my affection and that of my whole family. You will be in a situation of life which I should hardly refuse for one of the Miss Delameres. You will possess the most unbounded affluence, and a husband who adores you. A man unexceptionable in character; of a mature age; and whose immense fortune is every day encreasing. You will be considered by me, and by Lady Montreville, as a daughter of the house of Mowbray. The blemish of your birth will be wiped off and forgotten.'
Emmeline wept more than before.
And his Lordship continued, 'If you absurdly refuse an offer so infinitely above your expectations, I shall consider myself as having more than done my duty in putting it in your way; and that your folly and imprudence dissolve all obligation on my part. You must no longer call yourself Mowbray; and you must forget that you ever were allowed to be numbered among the relations of my family. Nor shall I think myself obliged in any manner to provide for a person, who in scorn of gratitude, prudence and reputation, throws from her an opportunity of providing for herself.'
Emmeline regained some degree of resolution. She looked up, her eyes streaming with tears, and said, 'Well, my Lord! to the lowest indigence I must then submit; for to marry Mr. Rochely is not in my power.'
'We will suppose for a moment,' resumed Lord Montreville,'that you could realize the visionary hopes you have presumed to indulge of uniting yourself to Mr. Delamere. Dear as he is to me and his mother, we are determined from that moment to renounce him—never shall the rebellious son who has dared to disobey us, be again admitted to our presence!—never will we acknowledge as his wife, a person forced upon us and introduced into our family in despite of our commands, and in violation of duty, honour, and affection.Youwill be the occasion of his being loaded with the curses of both his parents, and of introducing misery and discord into his family. Can you yourself be happy under such circumstances? In point of fortune too you will find yourself deceived—whilewelive, Mr. Delamere can have but a very slender income; and of every thing in our power we shall certainly deprive him, both while we live, and at our decease. Consider well what I have said; and make use of your reason. Begin by giving up to me the ridiculous witnesses of a ridiculous and boyish passion, which must be no longer indulged; to keep a picture of Delamere is discreditable and indelicate—you will not refuse to relinquish it?'
He reached over the table, and took from among two or three loose papers, which yet lay before Emmeline, a little blue enamelled case, which he concluded contained a miniature of Delamere, of whom several had been drawn. Emmeline, absorbed in tears, did not oppose it. The spring of the case was defective. It opened in his hand; and presented to his view, not a portrait of his son, but of his brother, drawn when he was about twenty, and at a period when he was more than a brother—when he was the dearest friend Lord Montreville had on earth. A likeness so striking, which he had not seen for many years, had an immediate effect upon him.
His brother seemed to look at him mournfully. A melancholy cast about the eye-brows diminished the vivacity of the countenance, and the faded colour (for the picture had been painted seven and twenty years) gave it a look of languor and ill health; such perhaps as the original wore before his death, when a ruined constitution threatened him for some months, tho' his life terminated by a malignant fever in a few hours.
The poor distrest Emmeline was the only memorial left of him; and Lord Montreville felt her tears a reproach for his cruelty in thus threatening to abandon to her fate, the unhappy daughter of this once loved brother.
Sir Richard Crofts and Lady Montreville were not by, tointercept these sentiments of returning humanity. He found the tears fill his eyes as he gazed on the picture.
Emmeline, insensible of every thing, saw it not; and not conscious that he had taken it, the purport of his last words she believed to relate to a sketch she had herself made of Delamere. She was therefore surprized, when Lord Montreville arising, took her hand, and in a voice that witnessed the emotion of his soul, said—'Come, my dear Emmeline, pardon me for thus distressing you, you shallnotbe compelled to marry Mr. Rochely if you have so great a dislike to him. You shall still have an adequate support; and I trust I shall have nothing to fear from your indiscretion in regard to Delamere.'
'Your Lordship,' answered Emmeline, without taking her handkerchief from her eyes, 'has never yet found me capable of falsehood: I will repeat, if you desire it, the promise I gave you—I will even take the most solemn oath you shall dictate, never to be the wife of Mr. Delamere, unless your Lordship and Lady Montreville consent.'
'I take your promise,' answered his Lordship, 'and shall rely firmly upon it. But Emmeline, you must go from hence for your own sake; your peace and reputation require it; Delamere must not frequent the house where you are: you must conceal from him the place of your abode.'
'My Lord, I will be ingenuous with you. To go from hence is what I intend, and with your Lordship's permission I will set out immediately for Mrs. Stafford's. But to conceal from Mr. Delamere where I am, is not in my power; for I have given him a solemn promise to see him if he desires it, wherever I shall be: and as I hope you depend on my honour, it must be equally sacred whether given to him or you. You will therefore not insist on my breaking this engagement, and I promise you again never to violate the other.'
With this compromise, Lord Montreville was obliged to be content. He entreated Emmeline to see Rochely again, and hear his offers. But she absolutely refused; assuring Lord Montreville, that were his fortune infinitely greater, she would not marry him, tho' servitude should be the alternative.
His Lordship therefore forbore to press her farther. He desired, that if Delamere wrote to her, or saw her, she would let him know, which she readily agreed to; and he told her, that so long as shewas single, and did nothing to disoblige him, he would pay her an hundred guineas a year in quarterly payments. He gave her a bank note of fifty pounds; and recommending it to her to go as soon as possible to Mrs. Stafford's, he kissed her cheek with an appearance of affection greater than he had yet shewn, and then went home to prepare for the reception of Lady Montreville, whose arrival he did not greatly wish for; dreading lest her violence and ill-temper should drive his son into some new extravagance. But as her will was not to be disputed, he submitted without remonstrance to the alteration of the plan he had proposed; which was, that his family should pass their Christmas in Norfolk, whither he intended to have returned.
The next day Delamere was again at Clapham, very early.
Emmeline, the additional agitation of whose mind had prevented her sleeping during the night, appeared more indisposed than she had done the day before.
Delamere, very much alarmed at her altered looks, anxiously enquired the cause? And without hesitation she told him simply all that had passed; the promise she had given to his father, to which she intended strictly to adhere, and the arrangement she had agreed to on condition of being persecuted no more on the score of Mr. Rochely.
It is impossible to describe the grief and indignation of Delamere, at hearing this relation. He saw all the hopes frustrated which he had been so long indulging; he saw between him and all he loved, a barrier which time only could remove; he dared not hope that Emmeline would ever be induced to break an engagement which she considered as binding; he dared not flatter himself with the most distant prospect of procuring the consent of Lord and Lady Montreville, and therefore by their deaths only could he obtain her; which if he had been unnatural enough to wish, was yet in all probability very distant; as Lord Montreville was not more than seven and forty, and of an excellent constitution; and Lady Montreville three years younger.
Passion and resentment for some moments stifled every other sentiment in the heart of Delamere. But the impediments that thus arose to his wishes were very far from diminishing their violence.
The more impossible his union with Emmeline seemed to be, the more ardently he desired it. The difficulties that might havechecked, or conquered an inferior degree of passion, served only to strengthen his, and to render it insurmountable—
It was some moments before Emmeline could prevail upon him to listen to her. She then enquired why he had concealed himself from his father, and where he had been?
He answered, that he had avoided Lord Montreville, because, had he met him, he found himself incapable of commanding his temper and of forbearing to resent his sending Sir Richard Crofts to her, which he had promised her not to do. That therefore he had taken other lodgings in another part of the town, where he intended to remain.
Emmeline exhorted and implored him to return to Berkley-Square. He positively refused. He refused also to tell her where he lodged. And complaining loudly of her cruelty and coldness, yet tenderly entreating her to take care of her health, he left her; having first procured permission to see her the next day, and every day till she set out for Woodfield.
When he was gone, Miss Mowbray wrote to Lord Montreville—
'My Lord,'In pursuance of the word I passed to your Lordship, I have the honour to acquaint you that Mr. Delamere has just left me. I endeavoured to prevail on him to inform me where he lodges; but he refuses to give me the least information. If it be your Lordship's wish to see him, you will probably have an opportunity of doing it here, as he proposed being here to-morrow; but refused to name the hour, apprehending perhaps that you might meet him, as I did not conceal from him that I should acquaint you with my having seen him.I have the honour to be,my Lord,your Lordship'smost obedient servant,Emmeline Mowbray.'Clapham, Dec. 3.
'My Lord,
'In pursuance of the word I passed to your Lordship, I have the honour to acquaint you that Mr. Delamere has just left me. I endeavoured to prevail on him to inform me where he lodges; but he refuses to give me the least information. If it be your Lordship's wish to see him, you will probably have an opportunity of doing it here, as he proposed being here to-morrow; but refused to name the hour, apprehending perhaps that you might meet him, as I did not conceal from him that I should acquaint you with my having seen him.
I have the honour to be,my Lord,your Lordship'smost obedient servant,Emmeline Mowbray.'
Clapham, Dec. 3.
Lord Montreville received this letter in her Ladyship's dressing-room. The servant who brought it in, said it came from Clapham; and Lady Montreville insisted on seeing its contents. She had been before acquainted with what had passed; and bestowed onher son the severest invectives for his obstinacy and folly. Poor Emmeline however, who was the cause of it, was the principal object of her resentment and disdain. Even this last instance of her rectitude, could not diminish the prejudice which embittered the mind of Lady Montreville against her. She lamented, whenever she deigned to speak of her, that the laws of this country, unlike those of better regulated kingdoms, did not give people of fashion power to remove effectually those who interfered with their happiness, or were inimical to their views. 'If this little wretch,' said she, 'was in France, it would not be difficult to put an end to the trouble she has dared to give us. Aletter de cachetwould cure the creature of her presumption, and place her where her art and affectation should not disturb the peace of families of high rank.'
Lord Montreville heard these invectives without reply, but not without pain.
Augusta Delamere, who arrived in Berkley-Square the same morning that Lady Montreville did, felt still more hurt by her mother's determined hatred to Emmeline, whom she languished to see, and had never ceased to love.
Miss Delamere inheriting all the pride of her mother, and adding to it a sufficient share of vanity and affectation of her own, had taken a dislike to the persecuted Emmeline, if possible more inveterate than that of Lady Montreville. Tho' she had never seen her, she detested her; and exerted all her influence on her mother to prevent her being received into the family as her father's relation. Fitz-Edward had praised her as the most interesting woman he had ever seen. Miss Delamere had no aversion to Fitz-Edward; and tho' he had never seemed sensible of the honour she did him, she could not divest herself wholly of that partiality towards him, which made her heartily abhor any woman he seemed to admire. When to this cause of dislike was added, what she called the insolent presumption of the animal in daring to attempt inveiglingherbrother into the folly of marrying, she thought she might indulge all the rancour, envy, and malignity of her heart.
When Lady Montreville had read the letter, she threw it down on the table contemptuously.
'It requires no answer,' said she to the servant who waited.
The man left the room.
'Well, my Lord,' continued she, addressing herself to her husband, 'what do you intend to do about this unhappy, infatuated boy?'
'I really know not,' answered his Lordship.
'I will tell you then,' resumed she—'Go to this girl, and let her know that you will abandon her pennyless; force her to accept the honour Mr. Rochely offers her; and, by shewing a little strength of mind and resolution, break these unworthy chains with which your own want of prudence has fettered your son.'
'It has already been tried, Madam, without success. Consider that if I am bound by no obligations to support this young person, I am also without any power over her. To force her to marry Mr. Rochely is impossible. I have however her promise that she will not enter into any clandestine engagement with Delamere.'
'Her promise!' exclaimed Lady Montreville.—'And are you weak enough, my Lord, to trust to the promise of an artful, designing creature, who seems to me to have already won over your Lordship to her party? What want of common sense is this! If you will not again speak to her, and that most decisively, I will do it myself! Send her to me! I will force her not only to tell me where Delamere has had the meanness to conceal himself, but also oblige her to relinquish the hopes she has the insolence to indulge.'
Miss Delamere, who wanted to see the wonderful creature that had turned her brother's head, and who was charmed to think she should see her humbled and mortified, promoted this plan as much as possible. Augusta, dreading her brother's violence, dared not, and Lord Montreville would not oppose it, as he believed her Ladyship's overwhelming rhetoric, to which he was himself frequently accustomed to give way, might produce on Emmeline the effect he had vainly attempted. He therefore asked Lady Montreville, whether she really wished to see Miss Mowbray, and when?
'I am engaged to-morrow,' answered she, 'all day. But however, as she is a sort of person whom it will be improper to admit at any other time, let her be here at ten o'clock in the morning. She may come up, before I breakfast, into my dressing-room.'
'Shall I send one of the carriages for her?' enquired his Lordship.
'By no means,' replied the Lady. 'They will be all wanted. Let her borrow a coach of the people she lives with. I suppose all city people now keep coaches. Or if she cannot do that, a hack may be had.' Then turning to her woman, who had just brought her her snuff-box, 'Brackley,' said she, 'don't forget to order the porterto admit a young woman who will be here to-morrow, at ten o'clock; tho' she may perhaps come in a hack.'
Lord Montreville, who grew every hour more uneasy at Delamere's absence, now set out in search of him himself. He called at Fitz-Edward's lodgings; but he was not yet come to town, tho' hourly expected. His Lordship then went to Clapham, where he hoped to meet his son; but instead of doing so, Emmeline put into his hands the following letter—
'I intended to have seen you again to-day; but the pain I felt after our interview yesterday, has so much disordered me, that it is better not to repeat it. Cruel Emmeline!—to gratify my father you throw me from you without remorse, without pity. I shall be the victim of his ambition, and of your false and mistaken ideas of honour.'Ah! Emmeline! will the satisfaction that you fancy will arise from this chimerical honour make you amends for the loss of such an heart as mine! Yet think not I can withdraw it from you, cold and cruel as you are. Alas! it is no longer in my power. But my passions, the violence of which I cannot mitigate, prey on my frame, and will conduct to the grave, this unhappy son, who is to be sacrificed to the cursed politics of his family.'I cannot see you, Emmeline, without a renewal of all those sensations which tear me to pieces, and which I know affect you, though you try to conceal it. For a day or two I will go into the country.Remember your promisenot to remove any where but to Mrs. Stafford's; and to let me know the day and hour when you set out. You plead to me, that your promise to my father issacred. I expect that those you have passed to me shall be at least equally so. Farewel! till we meet again. You know that seeing you, and being permitted to love you, is all that renders supportable the existence of your unhappyF. D.'
'I intended to have seen you again to-day; but the pain I felt after our interview yesterday, has so much disordered me, that it is better not to repeat it. Cruel Emmeline!—to gratify my father you throw me from you without remorse, without pity. I shall be the victim of his ambition, and of your false and mistaken ideas of honour.
'Ah! Emmeline! will the satisfaction that you fancy will arise from this chimerical honour make you amends for the loss of such an heart as mine! Yet think not I can withdraw it from you, cold and cruel as you are. Alas! it is no longer in my power. But my passions, the violence of which I cannot mitigate, prey on my frame, and will conduct to the grave, this unhappy son, who is to be sacrificed to the cursed politics of his family.
'I cannot see you, Emmeline, without a renewal of all those sensations which tear me to pieces, and which I know affect you, though you try to conceal it. For a day or two I will go into the country.Remember your promisenot to remove any where but to Mrs. Stafford's; and to let me know the day and hour when you set out. You plead to me, that your promise to my father issacred. I expect that those you have passed to me shall be at least equally so. Farewel! till we meet again. You know that seeing you, and being permitted to love you, is all that renders supportable the existence of your unhappy
F. D.'
'This letter, my Lord,' said Emmeline, was delivered by a porter. I spoke to the man, and asked him from whence he brought it? He said from a coffee-house at Charing-Cross.'
'Did you answer it?'
'No, my Lord,' said Emmeline, blushing; 'I think it required no answer.'
He then told her that Lady Montreville expected to see her the next day; and named the hour.
Emmeline, terrified as she was at the idea of such an interview, was forced to assure him she would be punctual to it; and his Lordship took an hasty leave, still hoping he might meet his son. He was hardly gone, before another porter brought to Emmeline a second letter: it was from Augusta Delamere.
'At length, my dear Emmeline, I am near you, and can tell you I still love you; tho' even that satisfaction I am forced to snatch unknown to my mother. Oh, Emmeline! I tremble for your situation to-morrow. The dislike that both my mother and sister have taken to you, is inconceivable; and I am afraid that you will have a great deal of rudeness and unkindness to encounter. I write this to prepare you for it; and hope that your conscious innocence, and the generosity with which you have acted, will support you. I have been taken to task most severely by my mother for my partiality to you; and my sister, in her contemptuous way, calls you my sweet sentimental friend. To be sure my brother's absence is a dreadful thing; and great allowances are to be made for my mother's vexation; tho' I own I do not see why it should prevent her being just. I will try to be in the room to-morrow, tho' perhaps I shall not be permitted. Don't say you have heard from me, for the world; but be assured I shall always love you as you deserve, and be most trulyyour affectionate and faithful,A. Delamere.'Berkley-Square, Dec. 5.
'At length, my dear Emmeline, I am near you, and can tell you I still love you; tho' even that satisfaction I am forced to snatch unknown to my mother. Oh, Emmeline! I tremble for your situation to-morrow. The dislike that both my mother and sister have taken to you, is inconceivable; and I am afraid that you will have a great deal of rudeness and unkindness to encounter. I write this to prepare you for it; and hope that your conscious innocence, and the generosity with which you have acted, will support you. I have been taken to task most severely by my mother for my partiality to you; and my sister, in her contemptuous way, calls you my sweet sentimental friend. To be sure my brother's absence is a dreadful thing; and great allowances are to be made for my mother's vexation; tho' I own I do not see why it should prevent her being just. I will try to be in the room to-morrow, tho' perhaps I shall not be permitted. Don't say you have heard from me, for the world; but be assured I shall always love you as you deserve, and be most truly
your affectionate and faithful,A. Delamere.'
Berkley-Square, Dec. 5.
Emmeline had the convenience of Mrs. Ashwood's carriage, who agreed to set her down in Berkley-Square. She was herself sitting for her picture; and told Miss Mowbray she would send the chariot back for her when she got to the house of the painter.
Exactly at ten o'clock they arrived at the door of Lord Montreville; and Emmeline, who had been arguing herself into some degree of resolution as she went along, yet found her courage muchless than she thought she should have occasion for; and with faultering steps and trembling nerves she went up stairs. The man who conducted her, told her that his Lady was not yet up, and desired her to wait in an anti-room, which was superbly furnished and covered with glasses, in which Emmeline had leisure to contemplate her pale and affrighted countenance.
The longer the interview was delayed the more dreadful it appeared. She dared not ask for Miss Augusta; yet, at every noise she heard, hoped that amiable girl was coming to console and befriend her. But no Augusta appeared. A servant came in, mended the fire, and went down again; then Miss Delamere's maid, under pretence of fetching something, took a survey of her in order to make a report to her mistress; and Emmeline found that she was an object of curiosity to the domesticks, who had heard from Millefleur, and from the other servants who had been at Swansea, that this was the young woman Mr. Delamere was dying for.
An hour and a half was now elapsed; and poor Emmeline, whose imagination had been busied the whole time in representing every form of insult and contempt with which she expected to be received, began to hope that Lady Montreville had altered her intention of seeing her.
At length, however, Mrs. Brackley, her Ladyship's woman, was heard speaking aloud to a footman—Walter, tell that young woman she may be admitted to see my Lady, and shew her up.
Walter delivered his message; and the trembling Emmeline with some difficulty followed him.
She entered the dressing-room. Her Ladyship, in a morning dress, sat at a table, on which was a salver with coffee. Her back was to the door, where stood Mrs. Brackley; who, as Emmeline, hesitating, seemed ready to shrink back, said, with a sort of condescending nod, 'There, you may go in, Miss.'
Emmeline entered; but did not advance.
Lady Montreville, without rising or speaking, turned her head, and looked at her with a scowling and disdainful countenance.
'Humph!' said she, looking at her eldest daughter, who sat by the fire with a newspaper in her hand—'humph!' as much as to say, I see no such great beauty in this creature.
Miss Delamere, whose countenance wore a sort of disdainfulsneer, smiled in answer to her mother's humph! and said, 'Would you have her sit down, Madam?'
'Aye,' said Lady Montreville, turning again her head towards Emmeline—'You may sit down.'
There was a sofa near the door. Emmeline, hardly able to stand, went to it.
A silence ensued. Lady Montreville sipped her coffee; and Miss Delamere seemed intent upon the newspaper.
'So!' cried her Ladyship, 'my son has absented himself! Upon my word, Miss What-d'ye-call-it, (for Mowbray I don't allow that your name is) you have a great deal to answer for. Pray what amends can you ever hope to make to my Lord, and me, for the trouble you have been the cause of?'
'I sincerely lament it, Madam,' answered Emmeline, forcing herself to speak; 'and do assure you it has been on my part involuntary.'
'Oh, no doubt on't. Your wonderful beauty is the fatal cause. You have used no art, I dare say; no pretty finesse, learned from novels, to inveigle a silly boy to his undoing.'
'If I had been disposed, Madam, to take advantage of Mr. Delamere's unhappy partiality for me—'
'Oh dear! What you was coy? You knew your subject, no doubt, and now make a merit of what was merely a piece of art. I detest such demure hypocrites! Tell me,—why, if you arenotdisposed to take advantage of Mr. Delamere's folly, you do not accept the noble offer made you by this banker, or whatever he is, that my Lord says is worth above an hundred thousand pounds? The reason is evident. A little obscure creature, bred on the Welch mountains, and who was born nobody knows how, does not so easily refuse a man of fortune unless she has some other views. You would like a handsome young man with a title! Yes! you would like to hide your own obscurity in the brilliant pedigree of one of the first families in Europe. But know, presumptuous girl, that the whole house shall perish ere it shall thus be contaminated—know'—— She grew inarticulate with passion; pride and malignity seemed to choak her; and she stopped, as if to recover breath to give vent to her rage.
Miss Delamere took the opportunity to speak—
'Indeed, child,' said she, 'it is hurting yourself extremely; and I am really sorry you should be so deceived.Mybrother can nevermarryyou; and as Lord Montreville has brought you up, under the notion of your belonging to a part of his family, we are really interested, my mother and I, in your not going into a bad course of life. If you do not marry this rich city-man, what do you think is to become of you?'
'My Lord Montreville has been so good as to assure me,' said Emmeline—her words were so faint, that they died away upon her lips.
'What does she say, Fanny?' asked Lady Montreville.
'Something of my father's having assured her, Madam.'
'Don't flatter yourself, girl,' resumed her Ladyship, 'don't deceive yourself. If you refuse to marry this man who offers to take you, not one shilling shall you ever receive from this family; determine therefore at once; send to the person in question; let him come here, and let an agreement for a settlement be directly signed between Lord Montreville and him. Lord Montreville will in that case give you a fortune. I will hear no objection! Iwillhave the affair closed this morning! Iwillhave it so!'
Lady Montreville, accustomed to undisputed power in her own family, expected from every body an acquiescence as blind as she found from her tradesmen and servants, who endured her ill-humour and gave way to her caprices. But she forgot that Emmeline was equally unaccustomed to her commands, and free from the necessity of obeying them. The gentlest and mildest temper will revolt against insolence and oppression: and the cruelty and unfeminine insults she had received, concluded by this peremptory way of forcing her into a marriage from which her whole soul recoiled, at length restored to her some portion of that proper spirit and presence of mind which had been frightened from her. Conscious that she deserved none of these ungenerous insults, and feeling herself superior to her who could cruelly and wantonly inflict them, she regained her courage.
'If your Ladyship has nothing more to say,' said she, rising, 'I shall have the honour to wish you a good morning; for I believe Mrs. Ashwood has been waiting for me some time.'
'Don't tell me of Mrs. Ashwood—but tell me where is my son? Where is Delamere?'
'I know not,' answered Emmeline. 'I have already told my Lord Montreville that I am entirely ignorant.'
'Nobody believes it!' said Miss Delamere.
'I am sorry for it,' replied Emmeline, coolly. 'If, however, I did know, it is not such treatment, Madam, that should compel me to give any information.' She then opened the door and walked down stairs. A footman met her, whom she desired to enquire for Mrs. Ashwood's carriage. Before the man could descend to obey her, a violent ringing was heard. The footman said it was his Lady's bell, and ran up to answer it; while Emmeline still descending, heard somebody softly calling her. She looked up, and saw Augusta Delamere leaning over the bannisters; she put up her finger as if to prevent Emmeline's speaking, threw her a letter, and immediately disappeared.
The spirits of Emmeline were again greatly hurried by this transient view of her friend. She put the letter hastily into her pocket, and was got down into the hall, where she spoke to another footman to see for her carriage; but the man whom she had met on the stairs, now came to say his Lady must see her again. Emmeline answered that she had already made her friend wait, and must beg to be excused returning to her Ladyship this morning. The man however said, that he dared not disobey his Lady, nor call up the chariot.
Emmeline, alarmed at the idea of being detained, advanced towards the door, told the porter (who had not heard this dialogue,) to open it, and walked resolutely into the street.
The two footmen followed her to the door; but contented themselves with looking after her, without attempting to stop her.
'She is pretty enough, however,' said one to the other, 'to excuse our young Lord.'
'The devil's in't if she is not,' answered the other.
Emmeline heard this; and between vexation at their impertinence, and fear of their following her, she found her whole strength again forsake her.
She walked on however towards Charles-Street, looking round for Mrs. Ashwood's carriage, but could not see it. She was totally unacquainted with the streets, where she had never been on foot before; but recollected that she might get an hackney-coach, which was the more necessary, as snow was falling fast, and her muslin cloaths were already wet almost through.
She was picking her way, still in some hopes of seeing the carriage, when an hackney-coach passed empty. Emmeline looked wishfully towards it. The man stopped, and asked if shewanted a coach? She answered yes, as eagerly as if she had been afraid of a disappointment; and hurrying into it, told the man to drive to Clapham.
Just as he was mounting the box, another hack passed, and a young officer who was in it looked earnestly into that where Emmeline sat; then calling to his driver to stop, he leaped out, and Emmeline saw Fitz-Edward at the door of her coach.
'Miss Mowbray!' said he—'Is it possible! alone and in this equipage, in Berkley-Square! Where is Delamere?'
Before Emmeline had time to answer him he had opened the coach door.
'It snows too much,' said he, 'for a comfortable conference, unless you will give me leave to sit by you; where are you going to?'
'To Clapham,' answered Emmeline.
'Oh! take me with you,' said he. 'I have a thousand things to say to you.'
He gave her no time to refuse: but flinging half a crown to the man who had driven him, he got into the coach which she was in, and ordered the man to shut the door and go where he had been directed.
Emmeline was vexed at this incident, as she was too uneasy to wish for the presence of any one, and impatient to open the letter in her pocket. But Fitz-Edward was not easily discouraged; and possessed, together with perfect good breeding, a fortunate sort of assurance with which nobody was ever long displeased.
He enquired after Mrs. Stafford with a degree of interest for which Emmeline felt inclined to love him. She related all she knew of her; and her eyes reassumed their lustre, while she told him how soon she was likely to see her. He then renewed his questions about Delamere.
Emmeline could not dissemble; and indeed saw in this case no reason why she should. She therefore told him ingenuously all that had happened since they met at Swansea; most of which he already knew from Delamere. He watched her looks however while she was speaking; and by her blushes, her manner, and the softness of her eyes, he thought he saw evidently enough that Delamere was no longer indifferent to her. Her indignation at the treatment she had just received from his mother and sister, dyed her cheeks with crimson while she related it; but when she returned to speak of Delamere, she forgot her anger, and seemed to feel only pity and tenderness.
Fitz-Edward, a most perfect judge of female hearts, made his observations on all this, with which he knew he should most effectually gratify his friend; and in his insinuating way, he said all he could think of to encrease her compassion for her lover, and inflame her resentment against those who impeded a union, which he was pretty sure Emmeline now wished for, as well as Delamere.
When they arrived at Clapham, Emmeline found Mrs. Ashwood was not yet returned. Fitz-Edward entreated her to sing to him; and either was, or pretended to be, in raptures at her improvement since they had met in the summer.
About half an hour after four, Mrs. Ashwood came in; and throwing open the parlour door, asked Emmeline, in no very sweet accent, 'Why she had given her the trouble to go in her carriage to Berkley-Square, if she intended going home by any other conveyance?'
Mrs. Ashwood was subject to causeless fits of ill-humour, to which Emmeline was a good deal accustomed; and concluding she was now seized with some sudden discomposure of temper, mildly answered, 'That she supposed there had been a mistake; for that the chariot did not come for her at the appointed time.'
'Mistake!' replied the other lady, sharply; 'I don't know as to mistake; but if you had chosen it, you might have staid dinner with Lady Montreville.'
Emmeline, without seeming to attend to the asperity of the address, desired to introduce Colonel Fitz-Edward.
As this short dialogue had passed without Mrs. Ashwood's having entered the room, she had not seen the stranger, who now advanced towards her.
The title of Colonel, added to his military air and handsome figure, seemed to gain at once her favourable opinion; and her countenance losing the unpleasing expression of ill-temper, immediately put on its best smile, and an affectation of softness and complacency with which she frequently adorned it.
She seemed to consider the handsome young soldier as a conquest worthy all her ambition; and finding he was the mostintimate friend of Delamere, had no apprehension that his admiration would be diverted by the youth and attractions of Emmeline.
Fitz-Edward presently understood her character; and with admirable adroitness acted the part of a man afraid of being too much charmed. He cast an arch look at Emmeline; then made to the Lady of the house some compliments so extravagant, that only the weakest vanity could prevent her seeing its ridicule. But Fitz-Edward, who found in a moment that nothing was too gross to be believed, fearlessly repeated the dose; and before dinner came in, she was in the best humour imaginable, and pressed him so earnestly to partake of it, that, after an apology for sitting down in his morning dishabille, he consented.
The same unlimited flattery was continued during dinner by Fitz-Edward, and received by the lady with the same avidity; and Emmeline, tho' half-angry with him for the pleasure he seemed to take in making Mrs. Ashwood absurd, could not help being amused with the scene.
Before their repast ended, she was so much charmed with her new acquaintance, and so much longed to shew him to her female friends, and her other admirers, that she could not forbear pressing him to stay to a card party, which she was to have in the evening.
He loved the ridiculous; and, influenced by a vanity as silly as that he delighted to expose, he took pleasure in shewing how extremely absurd he could make women appear, who were not on other occasions void of understanding. Tho' he had really business with Lord Montreville, who had left several messages at his lodgings desiring to see him, and was going thither when Emmeline met him, yet he accepted Mrs. Ashwood's invitation, on condition of being allowed to go home to dress.
He was no sooner gone than she flew to her toilet, and Emmeline to a second perusal of the letter she had received from Augusta Delamere.
'I am forbidden to see you, my dearest Emmeline; and perhaps may not have an opportunity of giving you this. My heart bleeds for you, my sweet friend. I fear my father will be prevailed upon wholly to abandon you. They are all inventing schemes to force you into a marriage with that odd-looking old Rochely. He has been here once or twice, and closetted with my father; and part of the scheme of to-day is, to persuade you to dine here with him. But I am almost sure you will not stay; for unless my mother can command herself more before you than she does when she is talking about you, I think you will be frightened away. I am certain, my dear Emmeline, from what I have heard, tho' they say but little before me, that no endeavours will be omitted to drive you to marry Rochely; and that they will persecute you every way, both by persuasions, and by distressing you. But be assured, that while Augusta Delamere has any thing, you shall share it. Indeed I love you, not only as if you were my sister, but, I think, better. Ah! why are there such unhappy impediments to your being really so? At present I foresee nothing but perplexity; and have no dependance but on you. I know you will act as you ought to do; and that you will at last prevail with Delamere to act right too. Whoever loves you, cannot long persist in doing ill; and surely it is very ill done, and very cruel, for Delamere to make us all so unhappy. I need not tell you to arm yourself with fortitude against the attacks that will be made upon you. You have more fortitude and resolution than I have. Situated as you have been, I know not whatIshould have done; but I fear it would not have been so worthy of praise as the noble and disinterested part you have acted; which, tho' unaccompanied with the thousand amiable qualities of heart and understanding you possess, would ever command the esteem and admiration of your faithful and affectionateAugusta Delamere.''Do not write to me till you hear from me again; as I should incur great displeasure if known to correspond with you.A. D.'
'I am forbidden to see you, my dearest Emmeline; and perhaps may not have an opportunity of giving you this. My heart bleeds for you, my sweet friend. I fear my father will be prevailed upon wholly to abandon you. They are all inventing schemes to force you into a marriage with that odd-looking old Rochely. He has been here once or twice, and closetted with my father; and part of the scheme of to-day is, to persuade you to dine here with him. But I am almost sure you will not stay; for unless my mother can command herself more before you than she does when she is talking about you, I think you will be frightened away. I am certain, my dear Emmeline, from what I have heard, tho' they say but little before me, that no endeavours will be omitted to drive you to marry Rochely; and that they will persecute you every way, both by persuasions, and by distressing you. But be assured, that while Augusta Delamere has any thing, you shall share it. Indeed I love you, not only as if you were my sister, but, I think, better. Ah! why are there such unhappy impediments to your being really so? At present I foresee nothing but perplexity; and have no dependance but on you. I know you will act as you ought to do; and that you will at last prevail with Delamere to act right too. Whoever loves you, cannot long persist in doing ill; and surely it is very ill done, and very cruel, for Delamere to make us all so unhappy. I need not tell you to arm yourself with fortitude against the attacks that will be made upon you. You have more fortitude and resolution than I have. Situated as you have been, I know not whatIshould have done; but I fear it would not have been so worthy of praise as the noble and disinterested part you have acted; which, tho' unaccompanied with the thousand amiable qualities of heart and understanding you possess, would ever command the esteem and admiration of your faithful and affectionate
Augusta Delamere.'
'Do not write to me till you hear from me again; as I should incur great displeasure if known to correspond with you.
A. D.'
Charmed as Emmeline was by the tender solicitude and affectionate simplicity of her beloved friend, the pleasure this letter gave her was very much abated by learning that the domestic infelicity of Lord Montreville's family fell particularly heavy on her. She now recollected what Mrs. Ashwood had said on her first entrance into the room, when she returned home; and concluded from thence that she had seen Lady Montreville, tho' her whole attention was so immediately engrossed by the Colonel, that she had no more named it. She therefore grew anxious to hear what had been said; and her own toilet being very soon over, she sentto desire admittance to that of Mrs. Ashwood; on receiving which, she attended her, and begged to know whether she had seen Lady Montreville, and what had passed?
Mrs. Ashwood was in so happy a disposition, that she hesitated not to oblige her; and while she finished the important business of accommodating a pile of black feathers, jet and crape, upon her head, 'the mockery of woe' which she did not even affect to feel, she gave Emmeline the following account, interlarded with directions to her woman.
'Why, my dear, you must know that when I got to Gainsborough's [more to the left] he had unluckily a frightful old judge, or a bishop, or some tedious old man with him, and I was forced to wait: I cannot tell what possessed me, but I entirely forgot that I was to send the chariot back for you. So the chariot [put it a little forwarder] staid. I thought the tiresome man, whoever he was, would never have gone; however he went at last [raise the lower curl] and then Isot. You cannot think how much the likeness is improved! So when I had done [give me the scraper; here is some powder on my eye-brow] I went away, thinking to call on you; but as I went by Butler's, I remembered that I wanted some pearl-coloured twist to finish the purse I am doing for Hanbury. I was almost an hour matching it. Well, then I thought as I was so near Frivolité's door, I might as well call and see whether she had put the trimming on the white bombazeen, as you know we agreed would be most the thing. There were a thousand people in the house; you know there is never any possibility of getting out of that creature's room under an hour.' [Oh! heaven! thought Emmeline, nor is there any end to the importance you affix to trifles which interest nobody else.] 'So, however, at last I got to Berkley-Square, and stopped at the door. The man at the door said you was gone. I thought that very odd, and desired another servant go up and see, for I concluded it was some mistake. After a moment or two, the footman came down again, and said if I was the Lady Miss Mowbray lived with, his Lady desired I would walk up. Upon my word it is a noble house! When I got into the room, there was Lady Montreville and her daughters. Her Ladyship was extremely polite, indeed; and after some discourse, "Mrs. Ashwood," said she, "you know Miss Mowbray's situation: I assure you I sent for her to-day with no other view in the world but for her own good, and you know, [dear me! here is a pimple on my chinthat is quite hideous; give me a patch.] you know that for her to refuse Mr. Rochely is being absolutely blind to her own interest; because you must suppose, Mrs. Ashwood, that she is only deceiving herself when she entertains any thoughts of my son; for that is a thing that never can happen, nor ever shall happen; and besides, to give my Lord and me all this trouble, is a very ungrateful return to us for having brought her up, and many other obligations she has received at our hands; and will be the ruin of herself; and the greatest perverseness in the world. You, Mrs. Ashwood, are, I hear, a very sensible woman [where is the rouge box?] and I dare say, now you know how agreeable it would be to me and my Lord to have Miss Emmeline come to her senses about Mr. Rochely, you will do your endeavours to persuade her to act reasonably; and then, tho' she has behaved very disrespectful and very ill, which is only to be forgiven on account of her knowing no better, I shall countenance her, and so will my Lord." This was, as near as I remember, Emmeline, what my Lady said to me. You know [the milk of roses is almost out] you know I could not refuse to tell her I would certainly talk to you. I was surprised to find her Ladyship so obliging and affable, as you had told me she is reckoned so very proud. She ordered her gentleman to give me a ticket for a rout and a supper her Ladyship gives on Tuesday three weeks; and she said, that as she did not doubt but that you would discover your own interest by that time, I should take one for you. Look you, here it is.'
'I shall be in Dorsetshire, I hope, long before Tuesday se'nnight,' said Emmeline, laying the card coolly on the toilet. She found Mrs. Ashwood had nothing more material to say; and being apprehensive that she impeded the last finish which her dress and person required, she thanked her, and went back into her own room.
The eagerness and resolution with which Lady Montreville opposed her son's marriage, appeared from nothing more evidently, than from her thus endeavouring to solicit the assistance of Mrs. Ashwood, and humbling herself to use flattery and insinuation towards a person to whom it is probable nothing else could have induced her to speak. With persons in trade, or their connections, or even with gentlemen, unless of very ancient and honourable families, she seldom deigned to hold any communication; and if she had occasion to speak to them individually, it was generally under the appellation of 'Mr. or Mrs. I forget the name;'for to remember the particular distinctions of such inferior beings, was a task too heavy for Right Honourable intellects. When she spoke of such collectively, it was under the denomination of 'the people, or the folks.'