Had Emma Watson known precisely what had passed between Mr. Howard and
Lord Osborne, on the morning preceding her last interview with the
former, a great deal of suspense, anxiety and doubt would have been
spared to her.
The young lord, in fact, had fallen deeply in love with her, and had
chosen to confide his affection to his former tutor in these terms.
"I say, Howard; what a remarkably nice girl Emma Watson is—and so
pretty."
"Undoubtedly, my lord," was the reply, given rather reluctantly, and
with evident embarrassment.
"I don't know that I ever liked any girl half so well," continued the
young lover; "don't you think she would make a famous wife?"
Another reluctant assent was Mr. Howard's reply.
"Do you know I mean to marry her?" this was a great effort; and having
made this declaration, he drew a long breath.
"You mean, my lord, to propose to her? or have you done so already?"
enquired Howard, in as steady a voice as he could command.
"Oh not yet; that's the worst part of it—confound it, I wish I could
get out of that. I say, Howard, you could not do it for me, could you?
would not that do as well?"
"I fear not," replied he, gravely; "I am afraid I could not trust
myself; I might make some blunder which would ruin the suit, and the
blame of miscarriage would fall on me."
"Well, I suppose I must do my best some day—she's so monstrous
good-natured, that I am not so much afraid of her as of many women;
but I would bet you a hundred to one, I shall make some unpardonable
blunder."
"But, my dear lord, have you considered what the consequences will be
if you take this step."
"The consequences, yes—that I shall have to marry her, of course."
"And do you imagine such a marriage will be at all agreeable to your
mother and sister? Will not Lady Osborne be shocked at your forming
such an alliance?"
"Perhaps she may—I dare say she will—but then you see, Howard, that
does not signify in the least, because, whenever I marry, she will
leave the Castle and go to the old Dower House, so her not liking my
wife will not signify in the smallest degree."
"You treat the idea of displeasing her very lightly, my lord."
"Well, but what would you have me do? I don't marry to please her
only; and it cannot matter to her what my wife was before; for when
she is my wife, she will be Lady Osborne, had she been even a
cook-maid before. It's much more consequence to me to have a woman I
like, than one whose pedigree is as long as my arm, if she is
disagreeable. As to Rosa, she likes Emma, and I dare say she would not
mind it at all; but at all events, she can marry somebody, and be
happy her own way, if she will only let me be happy mine."
The animation of Lord Osborne's love had quite made him eloquent, and
Howard listened to him with surprise. He saw he was bent on the step
proposed; one doubt, however, remained—would he be accepted? He
suggested this to his lordship.
"Why now that's just a question I cannot answer myself," replied he;
"if I only knew that I should have no anxiety at all. But I think she
is so very good-natured she will very likely accept me. Don't you?"
"As to her good-nature, my lord, I can answer without hesitation, but
as to her accepting you, that must depend on other things—on her
opinion of yourself perhaps in some degree. If she loves you, I dare
say she will not refuse you."
"Only think, Howard," cried he with enthusiasm, "how pleasant it would
be to be loved by her—to have her for one's wife—to say, 'Emma come
and ride with me'—'Emma I want you to walk,' and she doing it
immediately; always at hand to chat when one wanted, and never cross
or tired, or playing whist all the evening."
Mr. Howard smiled faintly at his companion's idea of domestic
felicity.
"She shall have such a beautiful house," he continued; "and she shall
go to court if she likes—all women like that—how well she will look in
my mother's diamonds—she must let her have them, I declare. I wish I
had made the offer and it was all settled now—don't you?"
Mr. Howard could not conscientiously say that he did.
"That's the worst part of it, and you say you will not help me. Do you
think it would do to send Tom Musgrove to make the proposals? Perhaps
she might not dislike that—Tom has a very winning way with the girls."
"I do not think it would do at all," replied Mr. Howard. "Independent
of her possibly considering such a reference to a third person
disagreeable, I know, that is I think, that she has a particular
dislike to Mr. Musgrove, which would make but an unfavorable
commencement for your suit."
"Indeed!—that's unlucky; I am sure I do not know what to do then,
there seems no alternative but addressing her myself, and that
certainly needs a great deal of courage; I had much rather leap that
ditch on Clapham Common—would not you—it's desperate work. Suppose she
should refuse me! a pretty confounded scrape I should be in then—what
should I do Howard, then?"
"Learn to bear it like a man, my dear lord!"
"That's easy talking. I say, don't you think a man must feel
preciously uncomfortable and foolish when a girl has refused him? If I
were to write, it would not be so bad quite."
His companion gave a quiet assent to this proposition.
"What should I say? that's the thing; I never know what words to use:
I say, I am in a complete dilemma, and must take some time to think
about it and make up my mind. I want you to promise to be my friend,
and faithfully keep my counsel."
He gave the required promise, and then ventured to ask if his lordship
had in his own opinion any ground, from Miss Watson's conduct and
manners, to expect a favorable result to his proposals. Lord Osborne
flattered himself that he had; she was always very kind and cordial,
smiled most sweetly, and gave him all the encouragement he could
expect.
"Though you know after all, Howard," he added in conclusion, "she may
still refuse me."
Mr. Howard did know this, and this knowledge was in fact his chief
comfort under the infliction of such a discussion.
If he had previously entertained any doubt as to the state of his own
feelings, this conversation must have enlightened him. Once or twice
on previous occasions he had been seized with a temporary jealousy of
Lord Osborne's place in her estimation, but from this moment the fit
came strongly on him.
He was one of those individuals who never feel any confidence in their
own merit, who estimate every one in some respect above themselves,
and are continually mistrusting the influence which they really
possess over their friends. Had he been properly aware of his own
worth, his knowledge of Emma Watson's character would effectually have
preserved her from the imputation he now mentally cast on her, of
preferring the young lord to himself. Had phrenology then been in
fashion, it is possible that the origin of this weakness would have
been discovered in the absence of the bump of self-esteem; but this
not being the case, and in consequence, his head never having been
phrenologically examined, I cannot answer for more than the entire
absence of the quality, and Mr. Howard cannot be brought forward in
evidence of any phrenological theory whatever.
He felt now that he must withdraw his attentions and give up
his dearest plans, to allow a fair field to Lord Osborne's
attempts—though, in doing so, he might lose her entirely. He had, for
a moment, entertained the idea of explaining his wishes to his rival
and asserting an equal right to compete for her hand. But he could not
bring himself to confess his own attachment to a young man like his
pupil; he could not depend on the secret being preserved, and he
shrunk from profaning his love by making it the possible joke of Tom
Musgrove and his associates. No, he would withdraw from the
competition—he would not be the means of depriving her of wealth and
rank—if she valued them—and if not—if, as was possible, his lordship
should be refused, then, with hope and joy, he would return to try his
fate in the same adventure.
For this end it was, in part, that he determined to obtain a holiday;
he had long begun to feel that he ought to go for another reason, but
Emma Watson's attractions had kept him stationary. The other reason
arose from the sentiments which the dowager Lady Osborne began to make
very apparent to him. His modesty had long resisted the idea and
denied the fact, when, as often happened, he was charged by young men
of his acquaintance with designs upon the well-jointured widow.
But even his modest estimation of himself was forced to yield before
the conviction which her looks, her manners, and her language conveyed
to his mind.
Most unwelcome this conviction certainly was, as it could end, he
thought, in nothing but a positive rupture between his family and the
Osbornes; and unless he had the power of obtaining another home, it
would certainly render them exceedingly uncomfortable. He knew the
dowager to be of a vindictive disposition when she considered herself
injured or insulted, and both to his own family and that of his
beloved Emma, he foresaw nothing but evil from the prospect before
then. If Emma should accept the son, the rage of his mother would
certainly be intense, and if she refused him and accepted Mr. Howard
instead, there was but little probability she would be better pleased.
All hopes of further advancement from the family patronage would be at
an end, and he was not sure that upon the small income his present
living afforded him, it would be prudent to marry, as his sister and
her little boy were quite dependent on himself. There were Charles'
maintenance at a public school, and his subsequent expenses at the
university to be looked forward to and provided for; he had engaged to
do this, voluntarily engaged himself, and now that he came seriously
to reflect on his position and ties, on the expenses of a married man,
and the probabilities of any better future provision, he began to
wonder what infatuation had before closed his eyes, and hurried him on
against his better judgment, to an affection which threatened so much
of care and difficulty. Yet it was hard, very hard to give up the
charming hopes with which he had flattered his fancy; he did not feel
equal to such a sacrifice; he did not feel positively called to it.
For the present he would quit her, but he would make no desperate
resolves for the future: when he came nearer that part of his path, he
should be better able to tell in which direction his duty would guide
him.
When he unexpectedly found himself in Emma's presence, and alone with
her, his contending feelings had almost deprived him of self-control,
and he had been scarcely conscious what he said or did, though on
quitting her, he carried away a decided conviction that he had behaved
extremely ill, and no doubt she was disgusted with him. With this
pleasing notion he returned to his house, and his sister soon saw that
there was something the matter, by the absence of his mind, and the
air of depression which hung over him.
He told her he wanted to leave home for a time, that he thought it
would do them both good, that he had been talking to Lord Osborne
about it, that he must apply to her ladyship, and that he expected her
to refuse. Mrs. Willis was a good deal puzzled by all this, but could
obtain from him no more satisfactory answer. Playfully she accused him
of having been refused by some lady, which of course he denied; then
of having affronted some one by refusing her, which met with a similar
answer. Her invention and imagination seemed to go no farther, and she
was obliged to be quiet and watchful.