University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

With Harriet, now closely connected with
them by marriage as well as regard, the Baronet's
family maintained a most friendly intercourse,
and Mrs. Wilson, and Emily, a prodigious
favourite with her new cousin, had
consented to pass a day soberly with her, during
an excursion, of her husband to Windsor,
on business connected with his station. They
had, accordingly, driven round to an early
breakfast; and Chatterton politely regretting
his loss, and thanking their consideration for
his wife, made his bow.

Lady Harriet Denbigh had brought the
Baronet a very substantial addition to his fortune;
and as his sisters were both provided
for by ample settlements, the pecuniary distresses
which had existed a twelve-month
before had been entirely removed; his income
was now large; his demands upon it
small, and they kept up an establishment in
proportion to the rank of both husband and
wife.

“Mrs. Wilson,” cried their hostess, twirling
her cup as she followed with her eyes
the retreating figure of her husband to the
door, “I am about to take up the trade of
Miss Harris, and become a match maker.”

“Not on your own behalf so soon, surely,”
rejoined the widow, returning her animated
smile.

“Oh no, my fortune is made for life, or
not at all,” continued the other gayly, “but
in behalf of our little friend Emily here.”

“Me,” cried Emily, starting from a reverie,
in which the prospect of happiness to Lady
Laura was the subject, “you are very
good Harriet, and for whom does your consideration
intend me!” she added with a
faint smile.

“Who? why who is good enough for you,
but my cousin Pendennyss. Ah!” she cried
laughingly, as she caught Emily by the hand,
“Derwent and myself have both settled the
matter long since, and I know you will yield,
when you come to know him.”

“The Duke!” cried the other with a surprise
and innocence, that immediately brought
a blush of the brightest vermillion into her face,
as she caught the expression of her companion.

“Yes, the Duke,” said Lady Chatterton,
“you may think it odd for a discarded lover
to dispose of his mistress so soon in this way,
but both our hearts are set upon it. The Earl
arrived last night, and this day himself and
sister dine with us in a sober way: now my
dear madam,” turning to Mrs. Wilson “have
I not prepared an agreeable surprise for
you?”

“Surprise indeed,” said the widow, excessively
gratified at the probable termination
to her anxieties for this meeting, “but where
are they from?”

“From Northamptonshire, where the earl
has already purchased a residence, I understand,
in your neighbourhood too; so, you
perceive, he at least begins to think of the
thing.”

“A certain evidence, truly,” cried Emily,
“his having purchased the house. But was
he without a residence, that he bought the
Deanery.”

“Oh no! he has a palace in town, and
three seats in the country---but none in
Northamptonshire, but this,” said the lady,
with a laugh. “To own the truth, he did
offer to let George Denbigh have it for the
next summer, but the Colonel chose to be
nearer Eltringham; and I take it, it was only
a ruse in the Earl to cloak his own designs.
You may depend upon it, we trump't your
praises to him incessantly in Westmoreland.”

“And is Col. Denbigh in town,” said Mrs.
Wilson, stealing an anxious glance towards
her niece, who, in spite of all her efforts, sensibly
changed colour.

“Oh yes! and Laura as happy—as happy---as
myself,” said Lady Chatterton, with
a glow on her cheeks, as she attended to the
request of her housekeeper, and left the room.

Her guests sat in silence, occupied with
their own reflections, while they heard a
summons at the door of the house; it was
opened, and footsteps approached the door of
their own room. It was pushed partly open,
as a voice on the other side said, speaking to
a servant without,

“Very well. Do not disturb your lady.
I am in no haste.”

At the sound of its well known tones, both the
ladies almost sprang from their seats—here
could be no resemblance, and a moment removed
their doubts. The speaker entered.
It was Denbigh.

He stood for a moment as fixed as a statue.
It was evident the surprise was mutual. His
face was pale as death, as his eye first met the
countenances of the occupants of the room,
and then instantly was succeeded by a glow
of fire. Approaching them, he paid his compliments,
with great earnestness, and in a
voice in which his softest tones preponderated.

“I am happy—very happy, to be so fortunate
in again meeting with such friends, and
so unexpectedly,”—he continued, after his
inquiries concerning the Baronet's family
were ended.

Mrs. Wilson bowed in silence to his compliment,
and Emily, pale as himself had been the
moment before, sat with her eyes fixed on the
carpet, without daring to trust her voice with
an attempt to speak.

After struggling with his mortified feelings a
moment, Denbigh rose from the chair he had
taken, and drawing near the sopha on which
the ladies were placed, exclaimed with fervour,

“Tell me, dear madam---lovely—too lovely
Miss Moseley, has one act of folly—of wickedness
if you please—lost me your good opinions
forever? Derwent had given me hopes

that you yet retained some esteem for my
character, lowered as I acknowledge it to be,
in my own estimation.”

“The Duke of Derwent? Mr. Denbigh!”

“Do not—do not use a name, dear madam,
almost hateful to me,” cried he, in a
tone of despair.

“If,” said Mrs. Wilson gravely, “you
have made your own name disreputable, I
can only regret it, but”—

“Call me by my title—oh! do not remind
me of my folly---I cannot bear it---and from
you”—he cried, interrupting her hastily.

“Your title!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilson in
a cry of wonder, and Emily turned on him a
face, in which the flashes of colour and succeeding
paleness, were as quick, and almost as
vivid, as the glow of lightning, while he caught
this astonishment in equal surprise.

“How is this; some dreadful mistake I
am yet in ignorance of,” he cried, taking the
unresisting hand of Mrs. Wilson, and pressing
it with warmth between both his own, as he
added, “do not leave me in suspense.”

“For the sake of truth—for my sake—for the
sake of this suffering innocent, say, in sincerity,
who, and what you are?” said Mrs. Wilson in a
solemn voice, and gazing on him in dread of
his reply.

Still retaining her hand, he dropped on his
knees before her, as he answered,

“I am the pupil—the child of your late
husband—the companion of his dangers—

sharer of his joys and griefs—and would I
could add, the friend of his widow. I am the
Earl of Pendennyss.”

Mrs. Wilson's head dropped on the shoulder
of the kneeling youth—her arms were
thrown in fervor around his neck, and she
burst into a flood of tears: for a moment, both
were absorbed in their own feelings, but a cry
from Pendennyss, aroused the aunt to the situation
of her niece.

Emily had fallen back senseless on the sofa
which supported her.

An hour elapsed, before her engagements
admitted of the return of Lady Chatterton to
the breakfast parlour, where she was surprised
to find the breakfast equipage yet standing,
and her cousin, the Earl; looking from one to
the other in surprise, the lady exclaimed,

“Very sociable, upon my word; how long
has your lordship honoured my house with
your presence, and have you taken the liberty
to introduce yourself to Mrs. Wilson and
Miss Moseley.”

“Sociability and ease are the fashion of the
day.—I have been here an hour, my dear
coz, and have taken the liberty of introducing
myself to Mrs. Wilson and Miss Moseley,”
replied the Earl gravely, although a smile of
great meaning lighted his handsome features,
as he uttered the latter part of the sentence,
which was returned by Emily with a
look of archness and pleasure, that would have
graced her happiest moments of juvenile joy.

There was such an interchange of looks,
and such a visible alteration in the appearance
of her guests, that it could not but
attract the notice of Lady Chatterton; after
listening to the conversation between them
for some time in silence, and wondering
what could have wrought so sudden a change
below stairs, she broke forth with saying,

“Upon my word, you are an incomprehensible
party to me—I left you ladies alone,
and find a beau with you. I left you grave—
if not melancholy—and find you all life and
gayety. I find you with a stranger, and you
talk with him about walks and rides, and
scenes and acquaintances; will you, madam,
or you, my lord, be so kind as to explain
these seeming inconsistencies?”

“No,” cried the Earl gayly, “to punish
your curiosity, I will keep you in ignorance;
but Marian is in waiting for me at your
neighbour's, Mrs. Wilmot, and I must hasten
to her—you will see us both by five,”
and rising from his seat he took the offered
hand of Mrs. Wilson, and pressed it to his
lips: to Emily, he also extended his hand,
and received hers in return, though with a
face suffused with the colour of the rose.
Pendennyss held it to his heart for a moment
with fervor, and kissing it, precipitately left
the room to hide his emotions. Emily concealed
her face with her hands, and dissolving
in tears, sought the retirement of an adjoining
apartment.

All these unaccountable movements, filled

Lady Chatterton with an amazement;
that would have been too painful for further
endurance; and Mrs. Wilson knowing
that concealment with so near a connection
would have been impossible, if not unnecessary,
entered into a brief explanation of
the Earl's masquerade, (although ignorant
herself of its cause, or the means of supporting
it,) and his present relation with her
niece.

“I declare it is provoking,” cried Lady
Chatterton gayly, but with a tear in her eye,
“to have such ingenious plans as Derwent
and I had made, all lost from the
want of necessity of putting them in force.
Your demure niece, has deceived us all
handsomely; and my rigid cousin too—I will
rate him soundly for his deception.”

“I believe he already repents sincerely of
his having practised it,” said Mrs. Wilson
with a smile, “and is sufficiently punished
for his errors by its consequence--a life of
misery to a lover, for four months, is a serious
penalty.”

“Yes,” said the other archly in reply,
“I am afraid his punishment was not confined
to himself alone; he has made others
suffer from his misconduct. Oh! I will rate
him famously, depend upon it I will.”

If any thing, the interest felt by Lady
Chatterton for her friend, was increased by
this discovery of the affections of Pendennyss,
and a few hours were passed by the
three, in, we will not say sober delight, for

transport would be a better word—Lady
Chatterton declared she would rather see
Emily the wife of the Earl than her brother,
for he alone was good enough for her---and
Mrs. Wilson felt an exhiliration of spirits in
this completion of her most sanguine wishes,
that neither her years, her philosophy or her
religion even, could entirely restrain: the face
of Emily was a continued blush, her eye sparkled
with the lustre of renewed hope, and her
bosom was heaving with the purest emotions
of happiness.

At the appointed hour the rattling of
wheels announced the approach of the Earl
and his sister, to fulfil their engagements.

Pendennyss came into the room with a
young woman of great personal beauty,
and extremely feminine manners, leaning on
his arm. He first announced her to Mrs.
Wilson as his sister, Lady Marian Denbigh,
who received with a frank cordiality that
made them instantly acquainted. Emily,
although confiding in the fullest manner, in
the truth and worth of her lover, had felt an
inexplicable sensation of pleasure, as she had
heard the Earl speak of his sister by the
name of Marian---love is such an unquiet,
and generally such an engrossing passion,
that few avoid unnecessary uneasiness while
under its influence, unless so situated as to
enjoy a mutual confidence.

As this once so formidable Marian approached
to salute her, and with an extended

hand, Emily rose from her seat, with a
face illumined with pleasure, to receive
her---Marian viewed her for a moment
intently, and folding her arms around her,
whispered softly as she pressed her to her
heart, “my sister, my only sister.”

Our heroine was affected to tears, and
Pendennyss gently separating the two he
loved best in the world—they soon became
calm and attentive to the society they were in.

Lady Marian was extremely like her brother,
and had a family resemblance to her cousin
Harriet, but her manners were softer and
more retiring, and she had a slight tinge of a
settled melancholy—when her brother spoke,
she was generally silent, not in fear but in
love—she evidently regarded him amongst
the first of human beings, and all her love was
amply returned.

Both the aunt and niece studied the manners
of the Earl closely, and found several
shades of distinction between what he was,
and what he had been—He was now the
perfect man of the world, without having
lost the frank sincerity, which inevitably
caused you to believe all he said.—Had
Pendennyss once told Mrs. Wilson with
his natural air and manner, “I am innocent,”
she would have believed him, and an earlier
investigation would have saved them months
of misery—but the consciousness of his deception
had oppressed him with the curse of
the wicked—to whatever degree we err, so it

be proportionate in any manner to our habits
and principles—a guilty conscience; and
imagining her displeasure to arise from a detection
of his real name by the possession of
his pocket book—his sense of right would
not allow him to urge his defence.

He had lost that air of embarrassment and
alarm, which had so often startled the aunt,
even in her hours of greatest confidence, and
which had their original in the awkwardness
of disguise—But he retained his softness
—his respect, his modest diffidence of his opinions—although
somewhat corrected now,
by his acknowledged experience and acquaintance
with man.

Mrs. Wilson thought the trifling alterations
in manner to be seen were great improvements;
but it required some days and a few
tender speeches to reconcile Emily to any
change in the appearance of the Earl, from
what she had been fond to admire in Denbigh.

Lady Marian had ordered her carriage
early, as she had not anticipated the pleasure
she had found, and was engaged to accompany
her cousin, Lady Laura, to a fashionable
route that evening. Unwilling to be
torn from his newly found friends, the Earl
proposed the three ladies should accompany
his sister to Annerdale House, and then accept
himself as an escort to their own residence.
To this, Harriet assented, and leaving
a message for Chatterton, they entered

the coach of Marian, and Pendennyss mounting
the dickey, they drove off.

Annerdale House was amongst the best edifices
of London. It had been erected within
the preceding century, and Emily for a moment
felt as she went through its splendid
apartments, that it threw a chill around her
domestic affections; but the figure of Pendennyss
by her side, reconciled her to a magnificence
she had been unused to—he looked
the lord indeed, but with so much modesty
and softness, and so much attention to herself,
that before she left the house, Emily began
to think it very possible to enjoy happiness
even in the lap of splendour.

The names of Colonel Denbigh and Lady
Laura, were soon announced, and this formidable
gentleman made his appearance—he
resembled Pendennyss more than the Duke
even, and appeared about the same age.

Mrs. Wilson soon saw she had no grounds
for pitying Lady Laura, in the manner she
had done since their acquaintance. The
Colonel was a polished, elegant man, of
evident good sense, and knowledge of the
world—and apparently devoted to his wife—
He was called George frequently by all his
relatives, and he, not unfrequently, used the
same term himself, in speaking to the Earl—
something was said of a much admired bust
—and the doors of a large library opened, to
view it. Emily was running over the backs
of a case of books, until her eye rested on
one; and half smiling and blushing, she turned

to Pendennyss, who watched her every movement,
as she said, playfully:—“Pity me, my
Lord, and lend me this volume.” “What is it
you would read,” he asked, as he bowed his
cheerful assent. But Emily hid the book
in her handkerchief. Pendennyss noticing
an unwillingness, though an extremely playful
one, to let him into the secret, examined
the case, and perceiving her motive, smiled,
as he took down another volume and
said—

“I am not an Irish, but an English peer,
Emily. You had the wrong volume.” Emily
laughed, as with deeper blushes, she found her
wishes detected—while the Earl, opening the
volume he held—the first of Debrett's Peerage;
pointed, with his finger, to the article
concerning his own family, and said to Mrs.
Wilson, who had joined them at the instant—

“To-morrow, dear madam, I shall beg
your attention to a melancholy tale, and which
may, in some slight degree, extenuate the offence
I was guilty of, in assuming, or rather
maintaining an accidental disguise.” As he
ended, he went to the others, to draw off their
attention while Emily and her aunt examined
the paragraph. It was as follows:—

“George Denbigh—Earl of Pendennyss
—and Baron Lumley, of Lumley Castle—
Baron Pendennyss—Beaumaris, and Fitzwalter,
born—, of —, in the year of
—; a bachelor.” The list of Earls and

Nobles occupied several pages, but the closing
article was as follows:—

“George, the 21st Earl, succeeded his mother
Marian, late Countess of Pendennyss,
in her own right, being born of her marriage
with George Denbigh, Esqr. a cousin-german
to Frederic, the 9th Duke of Derwent.”

“Heir apparent. The titles being to heirs
general, will descend to his lordship's sister,
Lady, Marian Denbigh, should the present
Earl die without lawful issue.”

As much of the explanation of the mystery
of our tale is involved in the foregoing paragraphs,
we may be allowed to relate in our
own language, what Pendennyss made his
friends acquainted with, at different times,
and in a manner, suitable to the subject and
his situation.