At the appointed hour, the carriage of Mrs. Wilson was ready to convey
herself and niece to the cottage of Mrs. Fitzgerald. John was left behind,
under the pretence of keeping Denbigh company in his morning avocations,
but really because Mrs. Wilson doubted the propriety of his becoming a
visiting acquaintance at the house, tenanted as the cottage was
represented to be. John was too fond of his friend to make any serious
objections, and was satisfied for the present, by sending his compliments,
and requesting his sister to ask permission for him to call in one of his
morning excursions, in order to pay his personal respects.
They found the cottage a beautiful and genteel, though a very small and
retired dwelling, almost hid by the trees and shrubs which surrounded it,
and its mistress in its little veranda, expecting the arrival of Emily.
Mrs. Fitzgerald was a Spaniard, under twenty, of a melancholy, yet highly
interesting countenance; her manners were soft and retiring, but evidently
bore the impression of good company, if not of high life. She was
extremely pleased with this renewal of attention on the part of Emily, and
expressed her gratitude to both ladies for their kindness in seeking her
out in her solitude. She presented her more matronly companion to them, by
the name of Donna Lorenza; and as nothing but good feeling prevailed, and
useless ceremony was banished, the little party were soon on terms of
friendly intercourse. The young widow (for such her dress indicated her to
be), did the honors of her house with graceful ease, and conduct ed her
visiters into her little grounds, which; together the cottage, gave
evident proofs of the taste and elegance of its occupant. The
establishment she supported she represented as very small; two women and
an aged man servant, with occasionally a laborer for her garden and
shrubbery. They never visited; it was a resolution she had made on fixing
her residence here, but if Mrs. Wilson and Miss Moseley would forgive the
rudeness of not returning their call, nothing would give her more
satisfaction than a frequent renewal of their visits. Mrs. Wilson took so
deep an interest in the misfortunes of this young female, and was so much
pleased with the modest resignation of her manner, that it required little
persuasion on the part of the recluse to obtain a promise of soon
repeating her visit. Emily mentioned the request of John, and Mrs.
Fitzgerald received it with a mournful smile, as she replied that Mr.
Moseley had laid her under such an obligation in their first interview,
she could not deny herself the pleasure of again thanking him for it; but
she must be excused if she desired they would limit their attendants to
him, as there was but one gentleman in England whose visits she admitted,
and it was seldom indeed he called; he had seen her but once since she had
resided in Norfolk.
After giving a promise not to suffer any one else to accompany them, and
promising an early call again, our ladies returned to Benfield Lodge in
season to dress for dinner. On entering the drawing-room, they found the
elegant person of Colonel Egerton leaning on the back of Jane's chair. He
had arrived during their absence, and immediately sought the baronet's
family. His reception, if not as warm as that given to Denbigh, was
cordial from all but the master of the house; and even he was in such
spirits by the company around him, and the prospects of Emily's marriage
(which he considered as settled), that he forced himself to an appearance
of good will he did not feel. Colonel Egerton was either deceived by his
manner, or too much a man of the world to discover his suspicion, and
everything in consequence was very harmoniously, if not sincerely
conducted between them.
Lady Moseley was completely happy. If she had the least doubts before, as
to the intentions of Egerton, they were now removed. His journey to that
unfashionable watering-place, was owing to his passion; and however she
might at times have doubted as to Sir Edgar's heir, Denbigh she thought a
man of too little consequence in the world, to make it possible he would
neglect to profit by his situation in the family of Sir Edward Moseley.
She was satisfied with both connexions. Mr. Benfield had told her General
Sir Frederic Denbigh was nearly allied to the Duke of Derwent, and Denbigh
had said the general was his grandfather. Wealth, she knew Emily would
possess from both her uncle and aunt; and the services of the gentleman
had their due weight upon the feelings of the affectionate mother. The
greatest of her maternal anxieties was removed, and she looked forward to
the peaceful enjoyment of the remnant of her days in the bosom of her
descendants. John, the heir of a baronetcy, and 15,000 pounds a year,
might suit himself; and Grace Chatterton, she thought, would be likely to
prove the future Lady Moseley. Sir Edward, without entering so deeply into
anticipations of the future as his wife, experienced an equal degree of
contentment; and it would have been a difficult task to discover in the
island a roof, under which there resided at the moment more happy
countenances than at Benfield Lodge; for as its master had insisted on
Denbigh becoming an inmate, he was obliged to extend his hospitality in an
equal degree to Colonel Egerton: indeed, the subject had been fully
canvassed between him and Peter the morning of his arrival, and was near
being decided against his admission, when the steward, who had picked up
all the incidents of the arbor scene from the servants (and of course with
many exaggerations), mentioned to his master that the colonel was very
active, and that he even contrived to bring water to revive Miss Emmy, a
great distance, in the hat of Captain Jarvis, which was full of holes, Mr.
John having blown it off the head of the captain without hurting a hair,
in firing at a woodcock. This mollified the master a little, and he agreed
to suspend his decision for further observation. At dinner, the colonel
happening to admire the really handsome face of Lord Gosford, as
delineated by Sir Joshua Reynolds, which graced the dining-room of
Benfield Lodge, its master, in a moment of unusual kindness, gave the
invitation; it was politely accepted, and the colonel at once
domesticated.
The face of John Moseley alone, at times, exhibited evidences of care and
thought, and at such moments it might be a subject of doubt whether he
thought the most of Grace Chatterton or her mother: if the latter, the
former was sure to lose ground in his estimation; a serious misfortune to
John, not to be able to love Grace without alloy. His letters from her
brother mentioned his being still at Denbigh castle, in Westmoreland, the
seat of his friend the Duke of Derwent; and John thought one or two of his
encomiums on Lady Harriet Denbigh, the sister of his grace, augured that
the unkindness of Emily might in time be forgotten. The dowager and her
daughters were at the seat of a maiden aunt in Yorkshire, where as John
knew no male animal was allowed admittance, he was tolerably easy at the
disposition of things. Nothing but legacy-hunting he knew would induce the
dowager to submit to such a banishment from the other sex; but that was
so preferable to husband-hunting he was satisfied. "I wish," said John
mentally, as he finished the perusal of his letter, "mother Chatterton
would get married herself, and she might let Kate and Grace manage for
themselves. Kate would do very well, I dare say, and how would Grace make
out!" John sighed, and whistled for Dido and Rover.
In the manners of Colonel Egerton there was the same general disposition
to please, and the same unremitted attention to the wishes and amusements
of Jane. They had renewed their poetical investigations, and Jane eagerly
encouraged a taste which afforded her delicacy some little coloring for
the indulgence of an association different from the real truth, and which,
in her estimation, was necessary to her happiness. Mrs. Wilson thought the
distance between the two suitors for the favor of her nieces was, if
anything, increased by their short separation, and particularly noticed on
the part of the colonel an aversion to Denbigh that at times painfully
alarmed, by exciting apprehensions for the future happiness of the
precious treasure she had prepared herself to yield to his solicitations,
whenever properly proffered. In the intercourse between Emily and her
preserver, as there was nothing to condemn, so there was much to admire.
The attentions of Denbigh were pointed, although less exclusive than those
of the colonel; and the aunt was pleased to observe that if the manners of
Egerton had more of the gloss of life, those of Denbigh were certainly
distinguished by a more finished delicacy and propriety. The one appeared
the influence of custom and association, with a tincture of artifice; the
other, benevolence, with a just perception of what was due to others, and
with an air of sincerity, when speaking of sentiments and principles, that
was particularly pleasing to the watchful widow. At times, however, she
could not but observe an air of restraint, if not of awkwardness, about
him that was a little surprising. It was most observable in mixed society,
and once or twice her imagination pictured his sensations into something
like alarm. These unpleasant interruptions to her admiration were soon
forgotten in her just appreciation of the more solid parts of his
character, which appeared literally to be unexceptionable; and when
momentary uneasiness would steal over her, the remembrance of the opinion
of Dr. Ives, his behavior with Jarvis, his charity, and chiefly his
devotion to her niece, would not fail to drive the disagreeable thoughts
from her mind. Emily herself moved about, the image of joy and innocence.
If Denbigh were near her, she was happy; if absent, she suffered no
uneasiness. Her feelings were so ardent, and yet so pure, that jealousy
had no admission. Perhaps no circumstances existed to excite this usual
attendant of the passion; but as the heart of Emily was more enchained
than her imagination, her affections were not of the restless nature of
ordinary attachments, though more dangerous to her peace of mind in the
event of an unfortunate issue. With Denbigh she never walked or rode
alone. He had never made the request, and her delicacy would have shrunk
from such an open manifestation of her preference; but he read to her and
her aunt; he accompanied them in their little excursions; and once or
twice John noticed that she took the offered hand of Denbigh to assist her
over any little impediment in their course, instead of her usual
unobtrusive custom of taking his arm on such occasions. "Well, Miss
Emily," thought John, "you appear to have chosen another favorite," on her
doing this three times in succession in one of their walks. "How strange
it is women will quit their natural friends for a face they have hardly
seen." John forgot his own--"There is no danger, dear Grace," when his
sister was almost dead with apprehension. But John loved Emily too well
to witness her preference of another with satisfaction, even though
Denbigh was the favorite; a feeling which soon wore away, however, by dint
of custom and reflection. Mr. Benfield had taken it into his head that if
the wedding of Emily could be solemnized while the family was at the
lodge, it would render him the happiest of men; and how to compass this
object, was the occupation of a whole morning's contemplation. Happily for
Emily's blushes, the old gentleman harbored the most fastidious notions of
female delicacy, and never in conversation made the most distant allusion
to the expected connexion. He, therefore, in conformity with these
feelings, could do nothing openly; all must be the effect of management;
and as he thought Peter one of the best contrivers in the world, to his
ingenuity he determined to refer the arrangement.
The bell rang--"Send Johnson to me, David."
In a few minutes, the drab coat and blue yarn stockings entered his
dressing-room with the body of Mr. Peter Johnson snugly cased within them.
"Peter," commenced Mr. Benfield, pointing kindly to a chair, which the
steward respectfully declined, "I suppose you know that Mr. Denbigh, the
grandson of General Denbigh, who was in parliament with me, is about to
marry my little Emmy?"
Peter smiled, as he bowed an assent.
"Now, Peter, a wedding would, of all things, make me most happy; that is,
to have it here in the lodge. It would remind me so much of the marriage
of Lord Gosford, and the bridemaids. I wish your opinion how to bring it
about before they leave us. Sir Edward and Anne decline interfering, and
Mrs. Wilson I am afraid to speak to on the subject."
Peter was not a little alarmed by this sudden requisition on his
inventive faculties, especially as a lady was in the case; but, as he
prided himself on serving his master, and loved the hilarity of a wedding
in his heart, he cogitated for some time in silence, when, having thought
a preliminary question or two necessary, he broke it with saying--
"Everything, I suppose, master, is settled between the young people?"
"Everything, I take it, Peter."
"And Sir Edward and my lady?"
"Willing; perfectly willing."
"And Madam Wilson, sir?"
"Willing, Peter, willing."
"And Mr. John and Miss Jane?"
"All willing; the whole family is willing, to the best of my belief.'"
"There is the Rev. Mr. Ives and Mrs. Ives, master?"
"They wish it, I know. Don't you think they wish others as happy as
themselves, Peter?"
"No doubt they do, master. Well, then, as everybody is willing, and the
young people agreeable, the only thing to be done, sir, is."
"Is what, Peter?" exclaimed his impatient master observing him to
hesitate.
"Why, sir, to send for the priest, I take it."
"Pshaw! Peter Johnson, I know that myself," replied the dissatisfied old
man. "Cannot you help me to a better plan?"
"Why, master," said Peter, "I would have done as well for Miss Emmy and
your honor as I would have done for myself. Now, sir, when I courted Patty
Steele, your honor, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
sixty-five, I should have been married but for one difficulty, which your
honor says is removed in the case of Miss Emmy."
"What was that, Peter?" asked his master, in a tender tone.
"She wasn't willing, sir."
"Very well, poor Peter," replied Mr. Benfield, mildly "you may go." And
the steward, bowing low, withdrew.
The similarity of their fortunes in love was a strong link in the
sympathies which bound the master and man together and the former never
failed to be softened by an allusion to Patty. The want of tact in the
man, on the present occasion, after much reflection, was attributed by his
master to the fact that Peter had never sat in parliament.