The first carriages that rolled over the lawn to Bolton parsonage, on the
succeeding day, were those of the baronet and his sister; the latter in
advance.
"There, Francis," cried Emily, who was impatiently waiting for him to
remove some slight obstruction to her alighting, "thank you, thank you;
that will do."
In the next moment she was in the extended arms of Clara. After pressing
each other to their bosoms for a few moments in silence, Emily looked up,
with a tear glistening in her eye, and first noticed the form of Denbigh,
who was modestly withdrawing, as if unwilling to intrude on such pure and
domestic feelings as the sisters were betraying, unconscious of the
presence of a witness. Mrs. Wilson and Jane, followed by Miss Chatterton,
now entered, and cordial salutes and greetings flowed upon Clara from her
various friends.
The baronet's coach reached the door; it contained himself and wife, Mr.
Benfield, and Lady Chatterton. Clara stood on the portico of the building,
ready to receive them; her face all smiles, and tears, and blushes, and
her arm locked in that of Emily.
"I wish you joy of your new abode, Mrs. Francis." Lady Moseley forgot her
form, and bursting into tears, she pressed her daughter with ardor to her
bosom.
"Clara, my love!" said the baronet, hastily wiping his eyes, and
succeeding his wife in the embrace of their child. He kissed her, and,
pressing Francis by the hand, walked into the house in silence.
"Well, well," cried the dowager, as she saluted her cousin, "all looks
comfortable and genteel here, upon my word, Mrs. Ives: grapery--
hot-houses--everything in good style too; and Sir Edward tells me the
living is worth a good five hundred a year."
"So, girl, I suppose you expect a kiss," said Mr. Benfield who ascended
the steps slowly, and with difficulty. "Kissing has gone much out of
fashion lately. I remember, on the marriage of my friend, Lord Gosford, in
the year fifty-eight, that all the maids and attendants were properly
saluted in order. The lady Juliana was quite young then; not more than
fifteen: it was there I got my first salute from her--but--so--kiss me."
After which he continued, as they went into the house, "Marrying in that
day was a serious business. You might visit a lady a dozen times before
you could get a sight of her naked hand. Who's that?" stopping short, and
looking earnestly at Denbigh, who now approached them.
"Mr. Denbigh, sir," said Clara, "my uncle, Mr. Benfield."
"Did you ever know, sir, a gentleman of your name, who sat in the
parliament of this realm in the year sixty?" Mr. Benfield abruptly asked,
as soon as the civilities of the introduction were exchanged. "You don't
look much like him."
"That was rather before my day, sir," said Denbigh, with a smile,
respectfully offering-to relieve Clara, who supported him on one side,
while Emily held his arm on the other.
The old gentleman was particularly averse to strangers, and Emily was in
terror lest he should say something rude; but, after examining Denbigh
again from head to foot, he took the offered arm, and coolly replied--
"True; very true; that was sixty years ago; you can hardly recollect as
long. Ah! Mr. Denbigh, times are sadly altered since my youth. People who
were then glad to ride on a pillion now drive their coaches; men who
thought ale a luxury, drink their port; aye! and those who went barefoot
must have their shoes and stockings, too. Luxury, sir, and the love of
ease, will ruin this mighty empire. Corruption has taken hold of
everything; the ministry buy the members, he members buy the ministry;
everything is bought and sold. Now, sir, in the parliament in which I had
the honor of a seat, there was a knot of us, as upright as posts, sir. My
Lord Gosford was one, and General Denbigh was another, although I can't
say he was much a favorite with me. You do not look in the least like him.
How was he related to you, sir?"
"He was my grandfather," replied Denbigh, looking pleasantly at Emily, as
if to tell her he understood the character of her uncle.
Had the old man continued his speech an hour longer, Denbigh would not
have complained. They had stopped while talking, and he thus became
confronted with the beautiful figure that supported the other arm. Denbigh
contemplated in admiration the varying countenance which now blushed with
apprehension, and now smiled in affection, or even with an archer
expression, as her uncle proceeded in his harangue on the times. But all
felicity in this world has an end, as well as misery. Denbigh retained the
recollection of that speech long after Mr. Benfield was comfortably seated
in the parlor, though for his life he could not recollect a word he had
said.
The Haughtons, the Jarvises, and a few more of their intimate
acquaintances, arrived, and the parsonage had a busy air; but John, who
had undertaken to drive Grace Chatterton in his own phaeton, was yet
absent. Some little anxiety had begun to be manifested, when he appeared,
dashing through the gates at a great rate, and with the skill of a member
of the four-in-hand.
Lady Chatterton had begun to be seriously uneasy, and she was about to
speak to her son to go in quest of them, as they came in sight; but now
her fears vanished, and she could only suppose that a desire to have Grace
alone could keep one who bad the reputation of a Jehu so much behind the
rest of the party. She met them in great spirits, crying,
"Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began to think you had taken the road to
Scotland, you stayed so long."
"Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton," said John, pithily, "would go to
Scotland neither with me nor any other man, or I am greatly deceived in
her character. Glara, my sister, how do you do?" He saluted the bride with
great warmth and affection.
"But what detained you, Moseley?" inquired the mother.
"One of the horses was restive, and he broke the harness. We merely
stopped in the village while it was mended."
"And how did Grace behave?" asked Emily, laughing.
"Oh, a thousand times better than you would, sister; as she always does,
and like an angel."
The only point in dispute between Emily and her brother was her want of
faith in his driving; while poor Grace, naturally timid, and unwilling to
oppose any one, particularly the gentleman who then held the reins, had
governed herself sufficiently to be silent and motionless. Indeed, she
could hardly do otherwise had she wished it, so great was his impetuosity
of character; and John felt flattered to a degree of which he was himself
unconscious. Self-complacency, aided by the merit, the beauty, and the
delicacy of the young lady herself, might have led to the very results her
mother so anxiously wished to produce, had that mother been satisfied with
letting things take their course. But managers very generally overdo their
work.
"Grace _is_ a good girl," said her gratified mother; "and you found her
very valiant, Mr. Moseley?"
"Oh, as brave as Cæsar," answered John, carelessly, in a way that was not
quite free from irony.
Grace, whose burning cheek showed but too plainly that praise from John
Moseley was an incense too powerful for her resistance, now sank back
behind some of the company, endeavoring to conceal the tears that almost
gushed from her eyes. Denbigh was a silent spectator of the whole scene,
and he now considerately observed, that he had lately seen an improvement
which would obviate the difficulty Mr. Moseley had experienced. John
turned to the speaker, and they were soon engaged in the discussion of
curbs and buckles, when the tilbury of Colonel Egerton drove to the door,
containing himself and his friend the captain.
The bride undoubtedly received congratulations that day more sincere than
those which were now offered, but none were delivered in a more graceful
and insinuating manner than the compliments which fell from Colonel
Egerton. He passed round the room, speaking to his acquaintances, until he
arrived at the chair of Jane, who was seated next her aunt. Here he
stopped, and glancing his eye round, and saluting with bows and smiles the
remainder of the party, he appeared fixed at the centre of all attraction.
"There is a gentleman I think I have never seen before," he observed, to
Mrs. Wilson, casting his eyes on Denbigh, whose back was towards him in
discourse with Mr. Benfield.
"It is Mr. Denbigh, of whom you heard us speak," replied Mrs. Wilson.
While she spoke, Denbigh faced them. Egerton started as he caught a view
of his face, and seemed to gaze on the countenance which was open to his
inspection with an earnestness that showed an interest of some kind, but
of a nature that was inexplicable to Mrs. Wilson, who was the only
observer of this singular recognition; for such it evidently was. All was
now natural in the colonel for the moment; his color sensibly changed, and
there was an expression of doubt in his face. It might be fear, it might
be horror, it might be a strong aversion; it clearly was not love. Emily
sat by her aunt, and Denbigh approached them, making a cheerful remark. It
was impossible for the colonel to avoid him had he wished it, and he kept
his ground. Mrs. Wilson thought she would try the experiment of an
introduction.
"Colonel Egerton--Mr. Denbigh."
Both gentlemen bowed, but nothing striking was seen in the deportment of
either. The colonel, who was not exactly at ease, said hastily--
"Mr. Denbigh is, or has been in the army, I believe."
Denbigh was now taken by surprise in his turn: he cast a look on Egerton
of fixed and settled meaning; then carelessly observed, but still as if
requiring an answer:
"I am yet; but I do not recollect having had the pleasure of meeting with
Colonel Egerton on service."
"Your countenance is familiar, sir," replied the colonel, coldly; "but at
this moment I cannot tax my memory with the place of-our meeting, though
one sees so many strange faces in a campaign, that they come and go like
shadows."
He then changed the conversation. It was some time, however, before either
gentleman entirely recovered his ease--and many days elapsed ere anything
like intercourse passed between them. The colonel attached himself during
this visit to Jane, with occasional notices of the Misses Jarvis, who
began to manifest symptoms of uneasiness at the decided preference he
showed to a lady they now chose to look upon, in some measure, as a rival.
Mrs. Wilson and her charge, on the other hand, were entertained by the
conversation of Chatterton and Denbigh, relieved by occasional sallies
from the lively John. There was something in the person and manners of
Denbigh that insensibly attracted those whom chance threw in his way. His
face was not strikingly handsome, but it was noble; and when he smiled, or
was much animated, it invariably communicated a spark of his own
enthusiasm to the beholder. His figure was faultless; his air and manner,
if less easy than those of Colonel Egerton, were more sincere and
ingenuous; his breeding was clearly higher; his respect for others rather
bordering on the old school. But in his voice there existed a charm which
would make him, when he spoke, to a female ear, almost resistless: it was
soft, deep, melodious, and winning.
"Baronet," said the rector, looking with a smile towards his son and
daughter, "I love to see my children happy, and Mrs. Ives threatens a
divorce if I go on in the manner I have commenced. She says I desert her
for Bolton."
"Why, doctor, if our wives conspire against us, and prevent our enjoying a
comfortable dish of tea with Clara, or a glass of wine with Frank, we must
call in the higher authorities as umpires. What say you, sister? Is a
parent to desert his child in any case?"
"My opinion is," said Mrs. Wilson, with a smile, yet speaking with
emphasis, "that a parent is _not_ to desert a child, in any case or in any
manner."
"Do you hear that, my Lady Moseley?" cried the good-humored baronet.
"Do you hear that, my Lady Chatterton?" echoed John, who had just taken a
seat by Grace, when her mother approached them.
"I hear it, but do not see the application, Mr. Moseley."
"No, my lady! Why, there is the honorable Miss Chatterton almost dying to
play a game of her favorite chess with Mr. Denbigh. She has beaten us all
but him, and her triumph will not be complete until she has him too at her
feet."
And as Denbigh politely offered to meet the challenge, the board was
produced, and the parties were seated. Lady Chatterton stood leaning over
her daughter's chair, with a view, however, to prevent any of those
consequences she was generally fond of seeing result from this amusement;
every measure taken by this prudent mother being literally governed by
judicious calculation.
"Umph," thought John, as he viewed the players, while listening with
pleasure to the opinions of Grace, who had recovered her composure and
spirits; "Kate, after all, has played one game without using her feet."