_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._
Langford.
You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place
for the rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were
mistaken, for I have seldom spent three months more agreeably than
those which have just flown away. At present, nothing goes smoothly;
the females of the family are united against me. You foretold how it
would be when I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so uncommonly
pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for myself. I remember
saying to myself, as I drove to the house, “I like this man, pray
Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was determined to be discreet, to
bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as
possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no
one’s attentions but Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general
flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all
the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I
bestowed a little notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring;
but, if the world could know my motive _there_ they would honour me. I
have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of
maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on;
and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might
have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.
Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who
was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so
violently against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the
scheme for the present. I have more than once repented that I did not
marry him myself; and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I
certainly should: but I must own myself rather romantic in that
respect, and that riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all
this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and
Mrs. Mainwaring insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so
enraged against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be
surprized at her appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of
addressing him: but there your husband stands my friend; and the
kindest, most amiable action of his life was his throwing her off for
ever on her marriage. Keep up his resentment, therefore, I charge you.
We are now in a sad state; no house was ever more altered; the whole
party are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me. It is time
for me to be gone; I have therefore determined on leaving them, and
shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in town within this
week. If I am as little in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must
come to me at 10 Wigmore street; but I hope this may not be the case,
for as Mr. Johnson, with all his faults, is a man to whom that great
word “respectable” is always given, and I am known to be so intimate
with his wife, his slighting me has an awkward look.
I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village;
for I am really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is
my last resource. Were there another place in England open to me I
would prefer it. Charles Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his
wife. At Churchhill, however, I must remain till I have something
better in view. My young lady accompanies me to town, where I shall
deposit her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore street, till she
becomes a little more reasonable. She will made good connections there,
as the girls are all of the best families. The price is immense, and
much beyond what I can ever attempt to pay.
Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive in town.
Yours ever,
S. VERNON.