A Mad Love, Charlotte Mary Brame [read this if txt] 📗

handsome women and beautiful girls, but none to compare to her--not one.

He had intended to love her always with the same warmth and truth; he meant to be constant to her as the needle to the pole. He believed himself to be so; but insensibly the new life changed him--the gay, bright, glistening world influenced him.

After a time--even though he loved her just the same--after a time his thoughts ceased to dwell with such fervent interest on the pretty, simple home. After a time he began to feel his old keen sense of pleasure in all that the world had of the beautiful and bright; he began to feel an interest in its honors and titles.

"I have been lotus-eating," he said to himself; "there is nothing for it but to rouse myself."

In a short time he became very popular in Berlin. The young English noble, Lord Chandos, was as popular as any young sovereign, and there was little need to hurry home.

He went one evening to a very select ball given by the wife of the English embassador, Lady Baden. She smiled when she saw him.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, warmly. "I have what I know to be a most charming surprise. Will you go to the little _salon_, the third on the left? The door is closed, open it, and you will see what you will see."

Lord Chandos bowed and went in the direction she indicated. He did not expect to see anything particular, but he respected the caprices of _les grandes dames_. He opened the door carelessly enough and started back in amaze. There stood his father and mother, his mother's handsome face pale with anxiety, her jeweled arms outstretched, her fine eyes full of love.

"Lance," she said, "my dear son, how good it is to see you again!"

With the cautious avoidance of anything like a scene that distinguishes Englishmen, Lord Chandos turned first and carefully closed the door. Then the earl spoke:

"My dear boy," he said, "I am so pleased to see you!"

But there was no response for either on the face of their son. He bowed coldly, and his mother's jeweled arms fell by her side.

"This is a surprise, indeed," he said. "I should have considered some little notice more agreeable."

"Lance, you may say what you will to me," said the earl, "but remember, not one word to your mother."

"My mother was very cruel to me," he said, coldly, turning from her.

But my lady had recovered herself. She held out her hands with charming grace; she looked at her son with a charming smile.

"My dearest Lance," she said, "children call the physician who cuts off a diseased limb cruel, yet he is most merciful. I am even more merciful than he. I did what I did in the spirit of truest kindness to you, my son."

"Let there be no mention of the word kindness between us," he said. "You nearly broke the heart, and certainly ruined the life of the girl whom I loved. Mother, if that be what you call kindness, then I do not understand the English tongue."

"I did it for your sake, my dearest Lance," said my lady, caressingly.

"One would have thought that, loving the girl with my whole heart, for my sake you would have loved her also."

"Love plays but a poor part in life, Lance," said the Countess of Lanswell. "You have too much sense to mar one of the brightest futures a man has before him for the sake of sentimental nonsense called love."

"Mother," said the young lord, "I shall marry her on my twenty-first birthday. I shall not delay one hour. You understand that clearly?"

The Countess of Lanswell shrugged her graceful shoulders.

"You will certainly be able to do as you like then," she said; "but we need not quarrel over it in prospective; we can wait until the event happens; then it will be quite time enough to discuss what we shall do."

"I am quite resolved," said Lord Chandos. "No persuasion, no argument shall induce me to change."

"I have no arguments to use," said my lady, with a proud laugh. "When you are of age you shall do as you like, marry whom you will--no interference of mine will avail; but let us wait until the time comes. My object in coming here is to seek a reconciliation with you. You are our only son, and though you think me proud and cold, I still love and do not care to be at variance with you. Let us be friends, Lance, at least until you are of age."

She held out her hands again with a smile he could not resist.

"I tell you frankly," continued my lady, "that the young person has been to see me. We had quite a melodramatic interview. I do not wish to vex you, Lance, but she would make a capital fifth-rate actress for a tragedy in a barn."

"Come, my lady, that is too bad," said the earl.

The countess laughed.

"It was really sensational," she said. "The conclusion of the interview was a very solemn threat on her part that she would be revenged upon me, so that I must be prepared for war. But, Lance, let it be as it may, we must be friends. You will not refuse your mother when she asks a favor, and it is the first favor, mind."

"I cannot refuse," he replied. "I will be friends, as you phrase it, mother, but you must change your opinion about Leone."

"Another time," said my lady, with a wave of the hand. "Kiss me now, Lance, and be friends. Shake hands with your father. We are staying at the Hotel France. When the ball is over, join us at supper."

And in that way the solemn reconciliation was effected.


CHAPTER XXIII.


A SHREWD SCHEME.

There had been nothing very sentimental in the reconciliation scene between parents and son. The earl and Lord Chandos walked home through the quiet streets of Berlin, while my lady drove. They smoked the cigar of peace, while Lord Chandos reported his social triumphs to his father. No more passed between them on the most important of all subjects--his love, his marriage, and the lawsuit; they spoke of anything and everything else. The only words which went from the heart of the father to the heart of the son, were these:

"I am glad you have made friends with my lady, Lance. She has pined after you, and she is so proud. She says nothing, but I know that she has felt the separation from you most keenly. I am glad it is all right; you must not vex her again, Lance."

"I will not, if I can help it," replied the young lord; and so the conversation ended.

Lord Chandos was a clever man, but he was in the hands of a far more clever woman. When a woman has the gift of strategy, she excels in it, and the countess added this to her other accomplishments. She was a magnificent strategist. Her maneuvers were of the finest; quite beyond the power of one less gifted to detect. A man in her skillful hands was a toy, to be played with as she would. The strongest, the wisest, the most honest, the best, were but wax in her hands. She did just as she would with them, and it was so cleverly done, so skillfully managed, that they never had the faintest idea my lady was twining them around her little fingers. She had two modes of strategy. One was by grand moves, one alone of which was enough to carry a nation. The other means was by a series of finest possible details of intrigue.

She said to herself that her son's marriage with this person should be set aside in some fashion or other, and in the end she prevailed. That was by one grand move.

She was equally resolved that her son should marry Lady Marion Erskine, the beauty, the belle, the wealthiest heiress of the season, and by a series of fine, well-directed maneuvers, she was determined to accomplish that.

The fates were propitious to her. Lady Marion Erskine was the niece and ward of Lady Cambrey, and Lady Cambrey, though guardian of one of the wealthiest heiresses in Europe, was herself poor and almost needy. She was a distant relative of Lady Marion's mother, who had asked her to undertake the charge of her child, and Lady Cambrey had been only too pleased to undertake it. It was arranged that she should remain with Lady Marion Erskine until her marriage, and Lady Cambrey was wise enough to know that she must find her future fortune from the marriage. She must use all her influence in favor of the lover who offered the greatest advantages, and Lady Lanswell was the only woman in England who had the wit to find it out.

That was the darling wish of her life, that her son should marry Lady Marion Erskine, the belle, beauty and heiress; and she saw the beginning of her tactics from this fact, that Lady Cambrey's influence would go with the most munificent lover.

They had one interview in London. The countess had invited Lady Cambrey to a five-o'clock tea.

"We have hardly met this year," said the countess. "We are staying in London for a week or two, though it is quite out of season, and I am so pleased to see you. Is Lady Erskine in town?"

"No; I merely came up to give orders for the redecoration of Erskine House; Lady Marion is tired of it as it is."

"I call it a special providence that you should be in town just now," said Lady Lanswell; "I was quite delighted when I heard it. There is nothing I enjoy more than a cup of tea and a chat with a congenial friend."

This from the countess, to whom champagne and politics were baby play, was refreshing. Lady Cambrey was delighted, and before long the two ladies had opened their hearts to each other. The countess, in the most ingenuous manner possible, told her friend the sad history of her dear boy's entanglement and infatuation; how, in his simplicity, he had positively married the girl, and how, fortunately, the law had freed him.

"You know, my dear Lady Cambrey," she said, "it might have been his ruin, but now, thank Heaven," she added, piously, "it is all over, and my boy is free. I have looked all round England to find a suitable wife for him, and there is no one I should like him to marry half so well as Lady Marion Erskine. You see that I show you the cards in my hands very freely."

"It would be a very good match," said Lady Cambrey, thoughtfully.

"If you use your influence, you will not find me ungrateful," continued the countess; "indeed, I should consider myself bound to assist you in every way--my home, carriages, purse, would always be at your services."

"You are very kind," said Lady Cambrey, and in those few words they perfectly understood each other.

The mother knew that she had virtually sold the honor and loyalty of her son, as Lady Cambrey had sold the free will of her niece.

Then they enjoyed a cup of tea, after which my lady became more confidential.

"Promise," she said, "to persuade Lady Marion to spend the winter in Rome and I shall be quite