University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

For the succeeding fortnight the intercourse
between the Moseley's and their new
acquaintances increased daily. It was rather
awkward at first on the part of Emily, and
her beating pulse and changing colour too often
showed the alarm of feelings not yet overcome,
when any allusions were made to the
absent husband of one of the ladies. Still,
as her parents encouraged the cequaintance,
and her aunt thought the best way to get rid
of the remaining weakness of humanity, with
respect to Denbigh, was not to shrink from
even an interview with the gentleman himself;
Emily succeeded in conquering her reluctance;
and as the high opinion entertained
by Lady Laura of her husband, was expressed
in a thousand artless ways, an interest
was created in her by her affections, and the
precipice over which, both Mrs. Wilson and
her niece thought, she was suspended.

Egerton carefully avoided all collision with
the Moseley's. Once, indeed, he endeavoured
to renew his acquaintance with John, but a
haughty repulse drove him instantly from the
field.

What representations he had thought proper
to make to his wife, we are unable to
say, but she appeared to resent something--as
she never approached the dwelling or persons of
her quondam associates, although in her heart

she was dying to be on terms of intimacy
with their titled friends. Her incorrigible mother
was restrained by no such or any other
consideration, and had contrived to fasten on
the Dowager and Lady Harriet, a kind of
bowing acquaintance, which she made great
use of at the rooms.

The Duke sought out the society of Emily
wherever he could obtain it; and Mrs. Wilson
thought her niece admitted his approaches
with less reluctance, than that of any others
of the gentlemen around her.

At first she was surprised, but a closer observation
betrayed the latent cause to her.

Derwent resembled Denbigh greatly in
person and voice, although there were distinctions,
easily to be made, on an acquaintance.
The Duke had an air of command
and hauteur that was never to be seen in his
cousin. But his admiration of Emily he did
not attempt to conceal, and, as he ever addressed
her in the respectful language and
identical voice of Denbigh, the observant widow
easily perceived, that it was the remains
of her attachment to the one, that induced her
niece to listen, with such evident pleasure,
to the conversation of the other.

The Duke of Derwent wanted many of
the indispensable requisites of a husband, in
the eyes of Mrs. Wilson; yet, as she thought
Emily out of all danger, at the present, of
any new attachment, she admitted the association,
under no other restraint, than the

uniform propriety of all that Emily said or
did.

“Your niece will one day be a Dutchess,
Mrs. Wilson,” whispered Lady Laura—as
Derwent and Emily were running over a new
poem one morning, in the lodgings of Sir
Edward; the former—reading a fine extract
aloud, in the air and voice of Denbigh, in so
striking a manner, as to call all the animation
of the unconscious Emily, into her expressive
face.

Mrs. Wilson sighed, as she reflected on the
strength of those feelings, which even principles
and testimony, had not been able wholly
to subdue, as she answered---

“Not of Derwent, I believe. But how
wonderfully the Duke resembles your husband,
at times,” she added, thrown off her
guard.

Lady Laura was evidently surprised as she
answered: “yes---at times, he does; they
are brother's children, you know; the voice
in all that connection is remarkable. Pendennyss,
though a degree farther off in blood,
possesses it; and Lady Harriet, you perceive,
has the same characteristic; there has been
some syren in the family in days past.”

Sir Edward and Lady Moseley saw the attentions
of the Duke with the greatest pleasure;
though not slaves to the ambition of wealth
and rank, they were certainly no objections in
their eyes; and a proper suitor, Lady Moseley
thought the most probable means of driving

the recollection of Denbigh from the
mind of her daughter; this consideration
had great weight in leading her to cultivate
an acquaintance, so embarrassing on many
accounts.

The Colonel, however, had written his wife
the impossibility of his quitting his uncle while
he continued so unwell, and the bride was
to join him, under the escort of Lord William.

The same tenderness distinguished Denbigh
on this occasion, that had appeared so
lovely, when exercised to his dying father.
Yet, thought Mrs. Wilson, how insufficient are
good feelings to effect, what can only be the
result of good principles.

Caroline Harris was frequently of the parties
of pleasure---walks---rides---and dinners,
which the Moseley's were compelled to join
in; and as the Marquess of Eltringham had
given her one day some little encouragement,
she determined to make an expiring effort at
the peerage, before she condescended to enter
into an examination of the qualities of Capt.
Jarvis; who, his mother had persuaded her,
was an Apollo, and who she had great hopes
of seeing one day a Lord, as both the Captain
and herself had commenced laying up a certain
sum quarterly, for the purpose of buying
a title hereafter. An ingenious expedient
of Jarvis to get into his hands a portion of the
allowance of his mother.

Eltringham was strongly addicted to the

ridiculous, and, without committing himself
in the least, drew the lady out on divers occasions,
for the amusement of himself and
the Duke---who enjoyed, without practising
that species of joke.

The collisions between ill-concealed art,
and as ill-concealed irony, had been practised
with impunity by the Marquess for a
fortnight; and the lady's imagination began
to revel in the delights of her triumph, when
a really respectable offer was made to the
acceptance of Miss Harris, by a neighbour of
her father's in the country, one she would
rejoice to have received a few days before,
but which, in consequence of hopes created
by the following occurrence, she haughtily
rejected.

It was at the lodgings of the Baronet, that
Lady Laura exclaimed one day:—

“Marriage is a lottery, certainly, and
neither Sir Henry or Lady Egerton appear to
have drawn prizes.”—Here Jane stole from
the room.

“Never, sister,” cried the Marquess. “I
will deny that. Any man can select a prize
from your sex, if he only knows his own taste.”

“Taste is a poor criterion, I am afraid,”
said Mrs. Wilson, gravely, “to bottom matrimonial
felicity upon.”

“What would you refer the decision to,
my dear madam?” inquired Lady Laura.

“Judgment.”

Lady Laura shook her head, doubtingly,
as she answered,

“You remind me so much of Lord Pendennyss.
Every thing, he wishes to bring
under the subjection of judgment and principles.”

“And is he wrong, Lady Laura?” asked
Mrs. Wilson, pleased to find such correct
views existed, in one she thought so highly of.

“Not wrong, my dear madam, only impracticable.
What do you think, Marquess, of
choosing a wife in conformity to your principles,
and without consulting your taste.”

Mrs. Wilson shook her head, with a laugh,
as she disclaimed any such statement of the
case---but the Marquess, who disliked one of
John's didactic conversations very much,
gaily interrupted her by saying—

“Oh! taste is every thing with me. The
woman of my heart against the world—if
she suits my fancy, she satisfies my judgment
too.”

“And what is this fancy of your Lordship's,”
said Mrs. Wilson, willing to gratify
his relish for trifling. “What kind of woman
do you mean to choose? How tall, for
instance?”

“Why, madam,” cried the Marquess, rather
unprepared for such a catechism, and
looking round him, until the outstretched neck
and eager attention of Caroline Harris caught
his eye, he added, with an air of great simplicity—“about
the height of Miss Harris.”

“How old?” said Mrs. Wilson with a
smile.

“Not too young, ma'am, certainly. I am
thirty-two—my wife must be five or six and
twenty. Am I old enough, do you think,
Derwent?” he added, in a whisper to the
Duke.

“Within ten years,” was the reply.

Mrs. Wilson continued—

“She must read and write, I suppose?”

“Why, faith,” said the Marquess, “I am
not fond of a bookish sort of a woman, and
least of all, of a scholar.”

“You had better take Miss Howard,” whispered
his brother. “She is old enough—
never reads---and just the height.”

“No, no, William,” rejoined the brother.
“Rather too old, that. Now, I admire a woman
who has confidence in herself.—One
that understands the proprieties of life, and
has, if possible, been at the head of an establishment,
before she takes charge of mine.”

The delighted Caroline wriggled about
in her chair, and unable to contain herself
longer, inquired:—

“Noble blood, of course, you would require,
my Lord?”

“Why, no! I rather think the best wives
are to be found in a medium. I would wish
to elevate my wife myself. A Baronet's
daughter, for instance.”

Here Lady Jarvis, who had entered during
the dialogue, and caught the topic they were
engaged in, drew near, and ventured to ask
if he thought a simple Knight too low. The
Marquess, who did not expect such an attack,

was a little at a loss for an answer; but recovering
himself, answered gravely—under the
apprehension of another design on his person,
“he did think that would be forgetting his
duty to his descendants.”

Lady Jarvis sigh'd, as she fell back in disappointment,
and Miss Harris, turning to the
nobleman, in a soft voice, desired him to ring
for her carriage. As he handed her down,
she ventured to inquire if his Lordship had
ever met with such a woman as he had described.

“Oh, Miss Harris,” he whispered, as he
handed her into the coach, “how can you
ask such a question. You are very cruel—
Drive on, coachman.”

“How, cruel, my Lord,” said Miss Harris,
eagerly. “Stop John.—How, cruel, my
Lord;” and she stretch'd her neck out of the
window as the Marquess, kissing his hand to
her, ordered the man to proceed.—“Don't
you hear your lady, sir.”

Lady Jarvis had followed them down, also
with a view to catch any thing which
might be said- -Having apologised for her
hasty visit; and as the Marquess handed her
politely into her carriage, she begged “he
would favour Sir Timo--and Sir Henry with a
call;” which, being promised, Eltringham returned
to the room.

“When am I to salute a Marchioness of Eltringham,”
cried Lady Laura to her brother, on

his entrance, “one, on the new standard set
up by your Lordship.”

“Whenever Miss Harris can make up her
mind to the sacrifice,” replied the brother very
gravely; “ah me! how very considerate
some of your sex are, upon the modesty of
ours.”

“I wish you joy with all my heart, my
Lord Marquess,” exclaimed John Moseley;
“I was once favoured with the notice of the
lady for a week or two, but a viscount saved
me from capture.”

“I really think, Moseley,” said the duke
innocently, but speaking with animation,
“an intriguing daughter, worse than a managing
mother.”

John's gayety for the moment vanished, as
he replied in a low key, “O yes, much
worse.”

Grace's heart was in her throat, until, by
stealing a glance at her husband, she saw the
cloud passing over his fine brow, and happening
to catch her affectionate smile, his face
was lighted into a look of pleasantry as he
continued,

“I would advise caution, my Lord; Caroline
Harris has the advantage of experience
in her trade, and was expert from the first.”

“John---John---” said Sir Edward with
warmth, “Sir William is my friend, and his
daughter must be respected.”

“Then, baronet,” cried the Marquess, “she
has one recommendation I was ignorant of,

and as such, I am silent: but ought not Sir
William to teach his daughter to respect herself.
I view these husband-hunting ladies as
pirates on the ocean of love, and lawful
objects for any roving cruiser, like myself,
to fire at. At one time I was simple
enough to retire as they advanced, but you
know, madam,” turning to Mrs. Wilson
with a droll look, “flight only encourages
pursuit, so I now give battle in self-defence.”

“And I hope successfully, my lord,” observed
the lady, “Miss Harris' brother, does
appear to have grown desperate in her attacks,
which were formerly much more masqued
than at present. I believe it is generally the
case, when a young woman throws aside
the delicacy and feelings which ought to be
the characteristics of her sex, and which teach
her studiously to conceal her admiration, she
either becomes in time, cynical and disagreeable
to all around her from disappointment,
or presevering in her efforts; as it were, runs
a muck for a husband. Now, in justice to
the gentlemen, I must say, baronet, there are
strong symptoms of the Malay, about Caroline
Harris.”

“A muck---a muck”---cried the marquess,
as, in obedience to the signal of his sister, he
rose to withdraw.

Jane had retired to her own room, in mortification
of spirit she could ill conceal, during
this conversation, and felt a degree of humiliation,
which almost drove her to the desperate

resolution of hiding herself forever from
the world: the man she had so fondly enshrined
in her heart, to be so notoriously unworthy,
as to be the subject of unreserved
censure in general company, was a reproach
to her delicacy---her observation---her judgment---that
was the more severe, from being
true; and she wept in bitterness over her
fallen happiness, with a determination never
again to expose herself to a danger, against
which, a prudent regard to the plainest rules
of caution would have been a sufficient safeguard.

Emily had noticed the movement of Jane,
and waited anxiously the departure of the
visiters to hasten to her room. She knocked
two or three times before her sister replied to
her request for admittance.

“Jane, my dear Jane,” said Emily, soothingly,
“will you not admit me?” Jane could
not resist any longer the affection of her sister,
and the door was opened; but as Emily
endeavoured to take her hand, she drew back
coldly, and cried---

“I wonder you, who are so happy, will
leave the gay scene below for the society of
a humbled wretch like me;” and overcome
with the violence of her emotion, she burst
into tears.

“Happy!” repeated Emily in a tone of anguish---“Happy,
did you say, Jane?---Oh
little do you know my sufferings, or you
would never speak so cruelly to me.”

Jane, in her turn, surprised at the strength

of Emily's language, considered her now
weeping sister, for a moment, with commisseration,
and then her thoughts recurring to her
own case, she continued with energy,

“Yes, Emily, happy; for whatever may
have been the reason of Denbigh's conduct,
he is respected; and if you do, or did love
him, he was worthy of it.---But I,” said Jane
wildly, “threw away my affections on a
wretch—a mere impostor—and I am miserable
forever.”

“No, dear Jane,” rejoined Emily, having
recovered her self possession—“not miserable
—nor for ever. You have many—very many
sources of happiness yet within your reach—
even in this world. I—I do think, even our
strongest attachments may be overcome by
energy, and a sense of duty. And oh! how
I wish I could see you make the effort.” For a
moment the voice of the youthful moralist had
failed her, but her anxiety on behalf of her
sister overcame her feelings, and she ended the
sentence with great earnestness.

“Emily,” said Jane, with obstinacy, and
yet in tears, “you don't know what blighted
affections are:---To endure the scorn of
the world, and see the man you once thought
near being your husband, married to another,
who is showing herself in triumph before you,
wherever you go.”

“Hear me, Jane, before you reproach me
further, and then judge between us.” Emily
paused a moment, to acquire nerve to

proceed, and then related to her astonished
sister the little history of her own disappointments.
She did not affect to conceal
her attachment to Denbigh. With glowing
cheeks she acknowledged, that she found
a necessity for all her efforts, to keep her rebellious
feelings yet in subjection; and as she
recounted generally his conduct to Mrs. Fitzgerald,
she concluded by saying: “But, Jane,
I can see enough to call forth my gratitude;
and although, with yourself, I feel at this
moment as if my affections were sealed forever,
I wish to make no hasty resolutions, or
act in any manner as if I were unworthy of
the lot Providence has assigned me.”

“Unworthy? no!—you have no reasons for
self-reproach. If Mr. Denbigh has had the
art to conceal his crimes from you, he did it
to the rest of the world also, and has married
a woman of rank and character. But how
differently are we situated. Emily—I—I
have no such consolation.”

“You have the consolation, my sister, of
knowing there is an interest made for you
where we all require it most, and it is there
I endeavour to seek my support,” said
Emily, in a low and humble tone. “A review
of our own errors takes away the keenness
of our perception of the wrongs done us,
and by placing us in charity with the rest of
the world, disposes us to enjoy, calmly, the
blessings within our reach. Besides, Jane,
we have parents, whose happiness is locked

up in that of their children, and we should—
we must overcome those feelings which disqualify
us for our common duties, on their
account.”

“Ah!” cried Jane, “how can I move about
in the world, while I know the eyes of all are
on me, in curiosity to discover how I bear my
disappointments. But you, Emily, are unsuspected.
It is easy for you to affect gayety
you do not feel.”

“I neither affect or feel any gayety,” said
her sister, mildly. “But are there not the
eyes of one on us, of infinitely more power to
punish or reward, than what may be found in
the opinions of the world? Have we no duties?
For what is our wealth---our knowledge---
our time given us, but to improve our own,
and the eternal welfare of those around us?
Come, then, my sister, we have both been deceived—let
us endeavour not to be culpable.”

“I wish, from my soul, we could leave
Bath,” cried Jane. “The place—the people
are hateful to me.”

“Jane,” said Emily, “rather say you hate
their vices, and wish for their amendment.
But do not indiscriminately condemn a whole
community, for the wrongs you have sustained
from one of its members.”

Jane allowed herself to be consoled, though
by no means convinced, as to her great error,
by this effort of her sister; and they both
found a temporary relief by the unburthening
of the r hearts to each other, that in future

brought them more nearly together, and was
of mutual assistance in supporting them in
the promiscuous circles they were obliged
to mix in.

With all her fortitude and principle, one of
the last things Emily would have desired was
an interview with Denbigh; and she was happily
relieved from the present danger of it,
by the departure of Lady Laura and her brother,
to the residence of the Colonel's sick
uncle.

Both Mrs. Wilson and Emily suspected
that a dread of meeting them had detained
him from his intended journey to Bath, and
neither were sorry to perceive, what they considered
as latent signs of grace, which Egerton
appeared entirely to be without. “He
may yet see his errors, and make a kind
and affectionate husband,” thought Emily;
and then, as the image of Denbigh rose in
her imagination, surrounded with the domestic
virtues, she roused herself from the
dangerous reflection, to the exercise of duties,
in which she found a refuge from unpardonable
wishes.