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

from him.

The Duke of Lester was soon there. Anything in which his niece was interested was of vital consequence to him; he had no particular liking for Lady Cambrey, and always regretted that the young heiress had been given into her charge rather than in that of his amiable wife. He went to Granada, delighted with the news; he had heard so much of the talents of Lord Chandos that he was charmed with the idea of his belonging to the family. It had been a sore and heavy trial to the duke that he had no son, that so many honors and such great offices should die with him. It was from that motive that he had always felt an especial interest in the marriage of his beautiful young niece.

"If she marries well," he had said to himself more than once, "her husband must stand to me in the place of a son."

If he had to choose from the wide world, he would prefer Lord Chandos from his singular talent, activity, and capability for political life. He knew, as every one else did, that there had been some little drawback in the young lord's life, some mysterious love-affair, and he had not interested himself in it; he never did take any interest in matters of that kind. Evidently if, at any time, there had been a little _faux pas_, it was remedied, or so worldly-wise a woman as Lady Lanswell would never have introduced him to his niece.

So the Duke of Lester, all amiability and interest, gave the finishing touch to Lord Chandos' fate. When he had once spoken of the matter, there was no receding from it without a scandal that would have horrified all England. The duke's first words settled the whole matter; he held out his hand in frankest, kindliest greeting to Lord Chandos.

"I hear very pleasant intelligence," he said; "and while I congratulate you, I congratulate myself that I am to have the good fortune of an alliance with you."

Lady Lanswell stood by, and there was a moment's pause; perhaps she never suffered such intensity of suspense as she did during that moment, for her son's face grew colorless, and he looked as if he were going to draw back. The next minute he had recovered himself, and returned the duke's greeting: then, and only then, did the countess give a great sigh of relief; there could be no mistake, no drawing back from anything which the duke sanctioned.

That same day there was a family meeting; the earl and countess, Lord Chandos, the Duke of Lester, Lady Marion Erskine, and Lady Cambrey; they all dined together, and the duke discussed with the countess the time of the marriage.

There was little said, but that little was binding; there could be no retreat. In the autumn, about September, the countess thought; and she suggested that they should not return to England for the marriage; it could take place at the Embassy at Paris. There would be plenty of time for discussing these details; the thing now was to settle the engagement. It gave great delight; the earl, it is true, had some little scruple, which he ventured to express to his wife.

"I ought to add my congratulation," he said; "but I am in doubt over it. This seems a very suitable marriage, and Lady Marion is a most charming girl. But what about that other girl, my lady?"

"That has nothing to do with us," she replied, haughtily. "I am prepared to be very liberal; I shall not mind a thousand a year; she shall have nothing to complain of."

Lord Lanswell did not feel quite so sure, but as he never had had any management of his own affairs, it was too late to begin now. My lady would probably bring a hornet's nest about her ears--that was her own business; if he were any judge, either of looks or character, that young girl, Leone, would not be so lightly set aside.

However, he said nothing. Lord Lanswell had learned one lesson in his life; he had learned that "Silence was golden."

The matter was settled now; the duke had given his sanction, expressed his delight; several of the highly connected and important families belonging to the Lanswells and the Lesters had sent in their congratulations; everything was in trim.

There was no need for the duke to remain; he would join them in Paris for the wedding. No word was spoken on the subject between Lady Lanswell and himself, but there was a certain tacit understanding that the wedding must not take place in England, lest it should be disturbed.

The duke returned to England, taking back with him a sincere liking and a warm admiration for Lord Chandos; he was impatient for the time to come when he should be able to claim him as a relation of his own. The remainder of the party stayed at Granada; there was plenty to interest them in and about that charming city.

Some few days after his departure, Lord Chandos sought his mother. She had felt anxious over him of late. He looked like anything but a happy lover; he was thin, worn, and the face that had been so bright had grown shadowed and careworn. My lady did not like it. Any man who had won such a prize as Lady Erskine ought to feel delighted and show his pleasure.

So argued my lady, but her son did not seem to share her sentiments. She sat on this morning, looking very stately and beautiful, in a dress of moire antique, with a morning-cap of point lace--a woman to whom every one involuntarily did homage.

Lord Chandos looked at her with wonder and admiration; then he sighed deeply as he remembered why he had sought her. He sat down near her, the very picture of dejection and misery.

"Mother," he said, abruptly, "I have behaved like a villain and a coward. In what words am I to excuse myself?"

My lady's face darkened.

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," she said. "Will you explain yourself?"

"I have perjured myself. I have broken the most solemn vows that a man could make. I have forsworn myself. Tell me in what words am I to tell my guilt, or excuse it?"

A contemptuous smile stole over the face of my lady.

"Are you troubling yourself about that tempestuous young person, Leone? Shame on you, when you have won the sweetest woman and the wealthiest heiress in England for your wife!"

His voice was broken with emotion as he answered her:

"I cannot forget that I believed her to be my wife once, and I loved her."

My lady interrupted him.

"My dear Lance, we all know what a boy's first love is. Ah, do believe me, it is not worth thinking of; every one laughs at a boy's love. They take it just as they take to whooping-cough or fever; it does not last much longer either. In another year's time you will laugh at the very mention of what you have called love. Believe me," continued her ladyship, proudly, "that Lady Marion is the wife Heaven ordained for you, and no other."

The handsome young head was bent low, and it seemed to my lady as though a great tearless sob came from his lips. She laid her hand on his dark, crisp waves of hair.

"I do sympathize with you, Lance," she said, in a kind voice; and when Lady Lanswell chose to be kind no one could rival her. "You have, perhaps, made some little sacrifice of inclination, but, believe me, you have done right, and I am proud of you."

He raised his haggard young face to hers.

"I feel myself a coward and a villain, mother," he said, in a broken voice. "I ought to have gone back to that poor girl; I ought not to have dallied with temptation. I love Leone with the one love of my heart and mind, and I am a weak, miserable coward that I have not been true to her. I have lost my own self-respect, and I shall _never_ regain it."

My lady was patient; she had always expected a climax, and, now it had arrived, she was ready for it. The scorn and satire gave place to tenderness; she who was the most undemonstrative of women, caressed him as though he had been a child again on her knees. She praised him, she spoke of his perfidy as though it were heroism; she pointed out to him that he had made a noble sacrifice of an ignoble love.

"But, mother," he said, "I have broken my faith, my honor, my plighted word," and her answer was:

"That for a great folly there could only be a great reparation; that if he had broken his faith with this unfortunate girl he had kept it, and his loyalty also, to the name and race of which he was so proud, to herself and to Lady Marion."

Like all other clever women, she could argue a question until she convinced the listener, even against his own will, and she could argue so speciously that she made wrong seem right.

He listened until he was unable to make any reply. In his heart he hated and loathed himself; he called himself a coward and a traitor; but in his mother's eyes he was a great hero.

"There is one thing I cannot do," he said; "I cannot write and tell her; it seems to me more cruel than if I plunged a dagger in her heart."

Lady Lanswell laughed.

"That is all morbid sentiment, my dear Lance. Leave the matter with me, I will be very kind and very generous; I will arrange everything with her in such a manner that you will be pleased. Now promise me to try and forget her, and be happy with the sweet girl who loves you so dearly."

"I will try," he said, but his young face was so haggard and worn that my lady's heart misgave her as she looked at him.

"I have done all for the best," she murmured to herself. "He may suffer now, but he will thank me for it in the years to come."


CHAPTER XXXIV.


A PALE BRIDEGROOM.

The writing of that letter was a labor of love to Lady Lanswell. She did not wish to be cruel; on the contrary, now that she had gained her wish, she felt something like pity for the girl she had so entirely crushed. Lord Chandos would have been quite true to his first love but for his mother's influence and maneuvers. She knew that. She knew that with her own hand she had crushed the life and love from this girl's heart. Writing to her would be the last disagreeable feature in the case. She would be finished with them, and there would be nothing to mar the brightness of the future.

My lady took up a jeweled pen; she had paper, white and soft, with her crest at the head; every little detail belonging to her grandeur would help to crush this girl for whom she had so much contempt and so little pity. She thought over every word of her letter; it might at some future day, perhaps, be brought against her, and she resolved that it should be a model of moderation and fairness. She had learned Leone's name, and she began:

"MY DEAR MISS NOEL,--My son has commissioned me to write to you,
thinking, as I