University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

On taking leave of Mrs. Fitzgerald, Emily
and her aunt settled a plan of correspondence;
the deserted situation of this young
woman, having created a great interest in
the breasts of her new friends. General
M`Carthy had returned to Spain without
receding from his original proposal, and his
niece was left to mourn in solitude, her early
departure from one of the most solemn duties
of life, though certainly under circumstances
of great mitigation and temptation.

Mr. Benfield, thwarted in one of his most favourite
schemes of happiness for the residue of
his life, obstinately refused to make one of the
party to Bath; and Ives and Clara having returned
to Bolton, the remainder of the Moseleys
arrived at the lodgings of John, a very
few days after the interview of the preceding
chapter, with hearts but ill qualified to enter
into the gayeties of the place; but in obedience
to the wishes of Lady Moseley, to see
and be seen once more on that great theatre
of fashionable amusement.

The friends of the family who had known
them in times past, were numerous, and glad to
renew their acquaintance, with those they had
always esteemed; so that they found themselves
immediately surrounded by a circle of smiling
faces and dashing equipages.

Sir William Harris, the proprietor of the deanery,
and a former neighbour, with his showy
daughter, were amongst the first to visit them.
Sir William was a man of handsome estate and
unexceptionable character, but entirely governed
by the whims and desires of his only
child. Caroline Harris neither wanted sense
or beauty, but expecting a fortune, had placed
her views too high. She at first aimed at
the peerage, and while she felt herself entitled
to suit her taste as well as her ambition,
had failed of her object by her ill concealed
efforts to attain it. She had justly acquired
the reputation of the reverse of a coquette or
yet a prude; still she had never an offer, and
at the age of twenty-six, had now began
to lower her thoughts to the commonalty.
Her fortune would have easily got her a husband
here, but she was determined to pick
amongst these lower supporters of the aristocracy
of the nation. With the Moseleys she
had been early acquainted, though some years
their senior---a circumstance, however, she
took care never unnecessarily to allude to.

The meeting between Grace and the Moseleys
was tender and sincere. John's countenance
glowed with delight, as he witnessed
his future wife, folded successively in the
arms of those he loved, and Grace's tears and
blushes added twofold charms to her native
beauty. Jane relaxed from her reserve to
receive her future sister, and determined with
herself to appear in the world, in order to

shew Sir Henry Egerton, that she did not feel
the blow he had inflicted, as severely, as the
truth would have proved.

The Dowager found some little occupation
for a few days, in settling with Lady Moseley
the preliminaries of the wedding; but the
latter had suffered too much through her
youngest daughters, to enter into these formalities
with her ancient spirit. All things
were, however, happily settled, and Ives, making
a journey for the express purpose, John
and Grace were united privately, at the altar
of one of the principal churches in Bath, by
the consent of its rector. Chatterton had
been summoned on the occasion, and the same
paper which announced the nuptials, contained,
amongst the fashionable arrivals -the
names of the Duke of Derwent and his sister---the
Marquess of Eltringham and sisters,
amongst whom was to be found Lady Laura
Denbigh; her husband—Lady Chatterton,
carelessly remarking, in the presence of her
friends, she heard was summoned to the
death-bed of a relative, from whom he had
great expectations. Emily's colour did certainly
change as she listened to this news,
but not allowing her thoughts to dwell on
the subject, she was soon enabled to recall at
least her serenity of appearance.

But Jane and Emily were delicately placed.
The lover of the former, and the wives
of the lovers of both, were in the way of daily,
if not hourly meetings; and it required all the

energies of the young women to appear with
composure before them. The elder was supported
by pride---the junior by principle.---
The first was restless---haughty---distant,
and repulsive. The last---mild---humble---
reserved, but eminently attractive. The one
was suspected by all around her---the other,
was unnoticed by any, but her nearest and
dearest friends.

The first rencontre with these dreaded
guests, occurred at the rooms one evening
where the elder ladies had insisted on the
bride's making her appearance. The Jarvis's
were there before them, and at their entrance
caught the eyes of the group. Lady Jarvis
approached immediately, filled with exultation---her
husband, with respect. The latter
was received with cordiality---the former, politely,
but with distance. The young ladies
and Sir Henry bowed distantly, and the gentleman
soon drew off into another part of the
room: his absence kept Jane from fainting.
The handsome figure of Egerton standing by
the side of Mary Jarvis, as her acknowledged
husband, was near proving too much for
her pride to endure; and he looked so like
the imaginary being she had set up as the
object of her worship, that her heart was
in danger of rebelling also.

“Positively, Sir Edward and my lady,
both Sir Timo---and myself, and I dare say Sir
Harry and Lady Egerton too, are delighted
to see you at Bath among us. Mrs. Moseley,

I wish you much happiness; Lady Chatterton
too, I suppose your ladyship recollects
me now---I am Lady Jarvis. Mr. Moseley,
I regret, for your sake, my son, Captain Jarvis,
is not here; you were so fond of each other,
and both so lov'd your guns.”

“Positively, my Lady Jarvis,” said Moseley
dryly in reply, “my feelings on the occasion
are as strong as your own; but I presume
the captain is much too good a shot for
me by this time.”

“Why, yes; he improves greatly in most
things he undertakes,” rejoined the smiling
dame, “and I hope he will soon learn like
you, to shoot with the arrows of Cupid---I
hope the Honourable Mrs. Moseley is well.”

Grace bowed mildly, as she answered to
the interrogatory—and smiled as she thought
of Jarvis, in competition with her husband,
in this species of archery; when a voice
immediately behind where they sat, caught
the ears of the whole party; all it said was--

“Harriet, you forgot to show me Marian's
letter.”

“Yes, but I will to-morrow,” was the reply.

It was the tone of Denbigh---Emily almost
fell from her seat as it first reached
her, and the eyes of all but herself, were
immediately turned in quest of the speaker.
He had approached to within a very few
feet of them, and supported a lady on each
arm; a second look wass necessary to convince
the Moseley's they were mistaken.

It was not Denbigh—but a young man
whose figure, face and air, resembled him
strongly, and whose voice possessed the same
soft, melodious tones, which had distinguished
that of Denbigh. As they seated themselves
within a very short distance of the
Moseleys, they continued their conversation.

“Your Ladyship heard from the Colonel
to-day too, I believe,” continued the gentleman,
turning to the lady, who sat next to
Emily.

“Yes, he is a very punctual correspondent
---I hear every other day,” was the answer.

“How is his uncle, Laura?” inquired her
female companion.

“Rather better; but I will thank your grace
to find the Marquess and Miss Howard.”

“Bring them to us,” rejoined the other.

“Yes, duke,” said the former lady with a
laugh, “and Eltringham will thank you too,
I dare say.”

In an instant the duke returned, accompanied
by a gentleman of thirty, and an elderly
lady, who might have been safely taken for
fifty, without offence to any thing but—herself.

During these speeches, their auditors had
listened with very different emotions of curiosity
or surprise, or some more powerful
sensation. Emily had stolen a glance which
satisfied her it was not Denbigh himself, and
it greatly relieved her, but discovered with
surprise that it was his wife by whose
side she sat, and when an opportunity offered,
dwelt on her amiable, frank countenance, with

a melancholy satisfaction—at least she thought,
he may yet be happy, and I hope penitent.

It was a mixture of love and gratitude which
prompted this wish, both sentiments not easily
gotten rid of, when once ingrafted in our
better feelings. John eyed them with a displeasure
he could not account for, and saw,
in the ancient lady, the brides-maid, Lord
Henry had so unwillingly admitted to that
distinction.

Lady Jarvis was astounded with her vicinity
to so much nobility, and drew back
to her family, to study its movements to
advantage; while Lady Chatterton sighed
heavily, as she contemplated the fine figures
of an unmarried Duke and Marquess—and
she without a single child to dispose of. The
remainder of the party viewed them with curiosity,
and listened with interest to what they
said.

Two or three young ladies had now joined
them, attended by a couple of gentlemen, and
their conversation became general The ladies
declined dancing entirely, but appeared willing
to throw away an hour in comments on
their neighbours.

“Oh! Willian!” exclaims one of the
young ladies, “there is your old messmate,
Col. Egerton.”

“Yes! I observe him,” replied her brother,
“I see him;” but, smiling significantly,
he continued, “we are messmates no longer.”

“He is a sad character,” said the Marquess;

with a shrug. “William, I would advise you
to be cautious of his acquaintance.”

“I thank you, Marquess,” replied Lord
William. “But I believe I understand him
thoroughly.”

Jane had manifested strong emotion, during
these remarks; while Sir Edward and
his wife averted their faces, from a simultaneous
feeling of self-reproach—their eyes
met—and mutual concessions were contained
in the glance they exchanged—yet their
feelings were unnoticed by their companions
—over the fulfilment of her often repeated
forewarnings of neglect of duty to our children—Mrs.
Wilson had mourned in sincerity
---but she had forgot to triumph.

“But when are we to see Pendennyss?”
inquired the Marquess, “I hope he will be
here, with George---I have a mind to beat
up his quarters in Wales this season---what
say you, Derwent?”

“I intend it, my lord, if I can persuade
Lady Harriet to quit the gayeties of Bath
so soon---what say you, sister, will you be
in readiness to attend me so early?” this
question was asked in an arch tone, and drew
the eyes of her friends on the person to
whom it was addressed.

“Oh, yes, I am ready now, Frederick, if
you wish,” answered the sister, hastily, and
colouring excessively as she spoke.

“But where is Chatterton? I thought he
was here---he had a sister married here last

week,” inquired Lord William Stapleton,
addressing no one in particular.

A slight movement in their neighbours,
excited by this speech, attracted the attention
of the party.

“What a lovely young woman,” whispered
the duke to Lady Laura, “your neighbour
is.”

The lady smiled her assent, and as Emily
overheard it, she rose with glowing cheeks,
and proposed a walk round the room.

Chatterton soon after entered---the young
peer had acknowledged to Emily, that
deprived of hope as he had been by her
firm refusal of his hand, his efforts had been
directed to the suppression of a passion,
which could never be successful---but his
esteem---his respect---remained in full force.
He did not touch at all on the subject of
Denbigh, and she supposed that with her,
he thought his marriage was a step that required
justification.

The Moseleys had commenced their promenade
round the room, as the baron came
in---he paid his compliments to them as soon
as he entered, and walked on in their party
---the noble visitors followed their example,
and the two parties met--Chatterton was
delighted to see them---the duke was particularly
fond of him, and had one been present
of sufficient observation, the agitation
of his sister, the lady Harriet Denbigh, would

have accounted for the doubts of her brother,
as respects her willingness to leave Bath.

A few words of explanation passed; the
duke and his friends appeared to urge something
on Chatterton---who acted as their ambassador--and
the consequence was, an introduction
of the two parties to each other. This
was conducted with the ease of the present
fashion---it was general, and occurred, as it
were incidentally, in the course of the evening.

Both Lady Harriet and Lady Laura Denbigh
were particularly attentive to Emily.
They took their seats by her, and manifested
a preference for her conversation that
struck Mrs. Wilson as remarkable---could it
be, that the really attractive manners and
beauty of her niece had caught the fancy of
these ladies---or was there a deeper seated
cause for the desire to draw Emily out, both
of them evinced? Mrs. Wilson had heard a
rumour, that Chatterton was thought attentive
to Lady Harriet, and the other was the
wife of Denbigh; was it possible the quondam
suitors of her niece, had related to their
present favourites, the situation they had
stood in as regarded Emily---it was odd, to
say no more, and the widow dwelt on the
innocent countenance of the bride with pity
and admiration---Emily herself was not a
little abashed at the notice of her new acquaintances,
especially Lady Laura---but as
their admiration appeared sincere, as well as
their desire to be on terms of intimacy with

the Moseleys, they parted, on the whole, mutually
pleased.

The conversation several times was embarrassing
to the baronet's family, and at
moments, distressingly so to their daughter.

At the close of the evening they formed one
group at a little distance from the rest of the
company, and in a situation to command a
view of it.

“Who is that vulgar looking woman,”
cried Lady Sarah Stapleton, “seated next to
Sir Henry Egerton, brother?”

“No less a personage than my Lady Jarvis,”
replied the Marquess, gravely, “and the
mother-in-law of Sir Harry and wife to Sir
Timo—;” this was said with an air of great
importance, and a look of drollery that
showed the marquess a bit of a quiz.

“Married!” cried Lord William, “mercy
on the woman, who is Egerton's wife---he
is the greatest latitudinarian amongst the
ladies, of any man in England--nothing---no
nothing---would tempt me to let such a man
marry a sister of mine”---ah, thought Mrs.
Wilson, how we may be deceived in character,
with the best intentions after all; in
what are the open vices of Egerton, worse
than the more hidden ones of Denbigh.

These freely expressed opinions on the
character of Sir Henry, were excessively
awkward to some of the listeners---to whom
they were connected with unpleasant recollections,

of duties neglected, and affections
thrown away.

Sir Edward Moseley was not disposed to
judge his fellow creatures harshly, and it was
as much owing to his philanthropy as to his
indolence, that he had been so remiss in his
attention to the associates of his daughters—
but the veil once removed, and the consequences
brought home to him through his
child---no man was more alive to the necessity
of caution on this important particular;
and Sir Edward formed many salutary
resolutions for the government of his future
conduct, in relation to those, whom an experience
nearly fatal in its results, had greatly
qualified to take care of themselves:---but to
resume our narrative---Lady Laura had
maintained with Emily, a conversation which
was enlivened by occasional remarks from
the rest of the party, in the course of which
the nerves as well as the principles of Emily
were put to a severe trial.

“My brother Henry,” said Lady Laura,
“who is a captain in the navy, once had the
pleasure of seeing you, Miss Moseley, and
in some measure made me acquainted with
you before we met.”

“I dined with Lord Henry at L—,
and was much indebted to his polite attentions
in an excursion on the water, in common
with a large party;” replied Emily
simply.

“Oh, I am sure his attentions were exclusive,”

cried the sister; “indeed he told us
that nothing but the want of time, prevented
his being deeply in love---he had even the
audacity to tell Denbigh, it was fortunate
for me he had never seen you, or I should
have been left to lead Apes.”

“And I suppose you believe him now,”
cried Lord William, laughing, as he bowed
to Emily.

His sister laughed in her turn, but shook
her head, in the confidence of conjugal affection,
as she replied--

“It is all conjecture, for the Colonel said he
had never the pleasure of meeting Miss Moseley,
so I will not boast of what my powers could
have done---Miss Moseley,” continued Lady
Laura, blushing slightly at her inclination to
talk of an absent husband—so lately her
lover; “I hope to have the pleasure of presenting
Colonel Denbigh to you soon.”

“I think,” said Emily, with a horror of
deception, and a mighty struggle to suppress
her feelings, “Colonel Denbigh was mistaken
in saying we never met—he was of
material service to me once, and I owe him
a debt of gratitude, that I only wish I could
properly repay.”

Lady Laura listened in surprise; but as
Emily paused, she could not delicately, as his
wife, remind her further of the obligation, by
asking what the service was—and hesitating
a moment, continued—

“Henry quite made you the subject of

conversation amongst us—Lord Chatterton
too, who visited us for a day, was equally
warm in his eulogiums—I really thought
they created a curiosity, in the Duke and
Pendennyss, to behold their idol.”

“A curiosity that would be ill rewarded
in its indulgence,” said Emily, abashed by
the personality of the discourse.

“So says the modesty of Miss Moseley,”
said the Duke of Derwent, in the peculiar
tone which distinguished the softer keys of
Denbigh's voice—Emily's heart beat quick
as she heard them---and she was afterwards
vexed to remember with how much pleasure
she listened to this opinion of the duke;---was
it the sentiment?---or was it the voice?---she,
however, gathered strength to answer, with
a dignity that repressed further praises,

“Your Grace is willing to devest me of
what little I possess.”

“Pendennyss is a man of a thousand,”
continued Lady Laura, with the privilege of
a married woman; “I do wish he would
join us at Bath—is there no hope, duke?”

“I am afraid not,” replied his Grace, “he
keeps himself immured in Wales with his
sister—who is as much of a hermit as himself.”

“There was a story of an inamorata in
private, somewhere,” cried the Marquess;
“why at one time, it was said, he was privately
married to her.”

“Scandal, my lord,” said the Duke gravely,

“the Earl is of unexceptionable morals--and
the lady you mean, the widow of Major
Fitzgerald- -whom you knew---Pendennyss
never sees her, and by accident, was once of
very great service to her.”

Mrs. Wilson breathed freely again, as she
heard the explanation of this charge, and
thought if the Marquess knew all---how differently
would he judge Pendennyss, as well
as others.

“Oh! I have the highest opinion of Lord
Pendennyss,” cried the Marquess.

The Moseleys were not sorry, the usual
hour of retiring, put an end to both the conversation
and their embarrassments.