Esmeralda waited. She was startled, but not frightened; she did
not forget that the horses were under her care, and she held
them firmly, and looked straight between their ears. The healthy
paleness of her face had flushed, but the color had gone again; the
long lashes veiled her eyes.
It was some time before Trafford spoke again; it seemed a long
time even to him. His own action and his own words had surprised
him almost as much as they had surprised Esmeralda; he was full of
remorse, for it seemed to him that he had taken advantage of her
youth and innocence and had acted and spoken as he would not have
done if she had been a girl of his own class and set. At last he
said in a grave voice:
“I have frightened you?”
“No, I am not frightened,” said Esmeralda, simply.
“I ought not to have done--said--what I did. I deserve that you
should be very angry with me. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” said Esmeralda; and she wondered whether she ought
to be.
“It was unpardonable,” he said. “And I do not deserve that you
should listen to what I have to say. But I hope you will.”
He paused. It was not easy to say what he wanted to say. He was
going to ask her to be his wife, and was going to do so without
saying that he loved her. For Trafford hated a lie--even to a woman.
“Miss Chetwynde,” he said,“we have known each other a very little
while; how many times is it that we have met?”
“Ten,” said Esmeralda, promptly but quietly.
“Only for a few weeks. Of me you can know scarcely anything, and
what I am going to ask you will seem to you presumptuous. I did not
mean to speak to you to-day--so soon, but I have done that which
makes it necessary that I should speak at once. Miss Chetwynde,
will you be my wife?”
Esmeralda did not drop the reins, did not remove her eyes from the
horses, but the blood rushed to her face, and her lips parted as if
he had deprived her of breath.
He saw that she was startled, and felt that he had been almost
brutal in his suddenness.
“Do not answer me yet,” he said, “for I feel that if you were to
do so, it would be ‘No;’ and I want you to say ‘Yes.’ Shall I take
the horses?”
Esmeralda shook her head.
“Although we have known each other for so short a time, I have
learned to value the prize I am striving for, and I know that if
you will say ‘Yes,’ you will make me very happy; and I will do my
best to make you happy. My whole life shall be devoted to you.”
He paused again. It was hard work, this proposing to a girl without
telling her that you loved her.
“It will be the study of my life to gratify your every wish. I
know that I am quite unworthy of you--that there are many men less
unworthy--but I will do my best to make you happy, if you will
trust yourself to me. I do not ask you if you care for me; that
could scarcely be, seeing how short a time you have known me, but
I will try to win your love, and I hope that I shall succeed. What
will you say?”
Esmeralda’s brows were drawn straight, and her lips closed. She
felt troubled and uncertain. She had only been made love to once
before--but how differently! Her heart was beating fast, for his
words, his voice, made sweet music in her ears.
“I don’t know,” she said, the troubled look more marked in her face.
“Think,” he said. “I can understand how much I have startled you,
and that you should not be ready to give me an answer. What can I
say to persuade you? I will say nothing more about myself; I will
only say that if you will consent to be my wife, you will not only
make me very happy, but all my people. They will be delighted to
welcome you as one of ourselves.”
“Your father?” she said in a low voice.
“My father,” he answered; “my uncle, Selvaine, whom you have seen,
and who likes and admires you very much. There is my cousin,
Lilias, who lives with my father at Belfayre. They will all be very
glad to welcome you. I think you would love my father and Lilias,
and I am sure that they would love you.”
“He is the Duke of Belfayre?” said Esmeralda.
“Yes,” said Trafford, looking at her questioningly.
“Why should he be glad if--if I were to be your wife? He is a great
nobleman, and I--I am a mere nobody. I have learned what that means
since I came to London. Why should he be glad if you married me?
He, and all of them, would feel that you ought to marry some great
lady equal to yourself.”
Trafford looked straight before him. He could not say to her that
her two millions made up for lack of rank and position.
“No,” he said, “they would not wish me to do anything of the kind.
They would think that I was extremely lucky in having won you.”
“You mean,” said Esmeralda, with perfect simplicity, “that you are
all so great and noble that it doesn’t matter how common the person
is you marry?”
It was so true that Trafford winced and colored.
“We are not so arrogant and foolish,” he said. “Believe what I
say--that they will be very glad.”
“They have not seen me,” said Esmeralda.
He smiled.
“If they had, it would have been unnecessary for me to assure you
of their delight and welcome.”
“Why?” said Esmeralda, innocently.
He looked at her, almost asking himself if such
self-unconsciousness could really exist.
“Is there no looking-glass at Lady Wyndover’s?” he asked. “Has no
one told you that you are very beautiful?”
Esmeralda did not blush, and her brows did not relax.
“But there are so many beautiful women,” she said. “I have seen
scores of them in the ball-rooms, great lady friends of yours.
There is Lady Ada Lancing, for instance.”
He winced again.
“But you are not only beautiful,” he said; “you are--charming.
Every one feels that. I felt it the first night we met. My people
would be quick to appreciate it also. My uncle, Selvaine, thinks
you--but I will not tell you what he says of you. He shall tell you
himself. Will you be my wife, Esmeralda?”
She looked from side to side, like a timid animal at bay.
“I do not know what to say!” she said in a very low voice.
“You mean that you do not care for me?” he asked, almost humbly.
She looked at the horses’ ears again, and her lips trembled.
“I am not so presumptuous--so idiotically conceited--as to dream
that you should,” he went on. “But you may care for me in time. All
I will ask you now is that you will try to do so; that you will let
me try to win you for my wife. Will you do that?”
There was a long pause. Though she scarcely realized that he had
not spoken one word of his own love for her, she felt, in the
innocence of her heart, that there was something wanting. He had
asked her to be his wife. He had told her that his great people
would welcome her and love her; but he had not knelt at her feet,
and told her that he loved her, and implored her to love him,
as Norman Druce had done. At that moment the scene by the river
in the moonlight at Three Star rose before her. She was silent
so long that Trafford grew almost anxious. Was she going to say
‘No’--this waif of the wilds? He stretched out his hand, and laid
it pleadingly on her arm.
The blood rose to her face again; his touch moved her more than all
his words had done.
“Well,” he asked, “will you try?”
“Yes,” she replied in a low voice.
He took her left hand from the reins and carried it to his lips. He
felt it tremble as he touched it.
“You have made me very happy,” he said; “I trust that you will soon
make me happier, by telling me that you will be my wife.”
They were silent for a minute or two. A strange feeling took
possession of her. She did not know that she was happier, that
her heart was beating with a subtle joy; but the sky seemed bluer
and brighter, the birds sung more blithely, the sunlight grew
more brilliant, and suffused her with a deeper warmth. His touch
seemed to linger on her arm, and her hand burned where his lips had
pressed it.
“Esmeralda!” he said, presently.
She started lightly, as if he had awakened her from a dream.
“I should like you to see my father and Lilias. Will you go down
and stay with them at Belfayre?”
She was silent a moment.
“Shall I?” she said.
“Yes; do,” he replied. “You will see then that what I have said is
quite true. I should like you to go. I think you would be happy
there. You are always longing for the country, you know.” He smiled.
“I will go if you wish it, and they would like me to?” she said.
“There is no question of that,” he said. “Will you go at once?”
“Yes, if you wish it,” she responded again.
There was another silence. If he had loved her it would have been
so easy to talk; but he did not know what to say, and he could not
make the silence eloquent with caresses.
“You must take your habit with you,” he said; “and I will choose a
horse for you, and I will send down this pair, so that you can ride
and drive as often as you please. We must try and make you happy.”
Esmeralda smiled.
“I am nearly always happy,” she said.
“Yes, I think you are,” he assented in a low voice; and her
innocence smote him with a feeling of guilt and shame--it was as if
he were deceiving a child.
They had turned down a hill, and were approaching West Wickham.
The horses were going at a rattling pace; but he noticed, with an
admiration that he could not withhold, that she kept them in hand
firmly and with perfect ease.
“You drive well,” he said. “You must be very strong.”
His praise brought the light to her eyes.
“I am strong,” she said. “But they are not hard to drive. I have
ridden and driven young colts that get up on their hind legs and
waltz all round the place; these are quite tame. But they are good
horses,” conscientiously. “I’ve never driven a pair so handsome as
this.”
“You shall drive as many as you like,” he said. “I’ll get you a
pair.”
“No, don’t,” she said; “or, if you do, you must let me pay for
them. I’m very rich, you know.” She laughed easily.
He bit his lip, and looked at her. Did she know how poor he was?
But a glance at her face showed him that she spoke quite innocently.
They pulled up at the door of the inn, and he got down. He stood,
with his arms out, to help her alight, and, as he took her hands,
he, half unconsciously, pressed them tightly. She blushed.
They found Lady Wyndover half asleep.
“What a time you’ve been,” she said, rubbing her eyes very
delicately. “I declare, I was nearly dozing! Have you enjoyed
yourself, Esmeralda?”
“Very much,” said Esmeralda, demurely. “It was a lovely view, and
Lord Trafford let me drive.”
Lady Wyndover looked at her curiously. The girl’s face vibrated
strangely; her eyes were bright; her usually ivory-white face had
taken to itself a rose-like flush.
They started.
“Good heavens. Are you going to let Esmeralda drive?” asked Lady
Wyndover.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Trafford. “She can manage them quite as
well as I can.” Lady Wyndover sighed, and wrapped herself in her
furs.
On the way to town Trafford and Esmeralda said little. Both seemed
lost in thought. Every now and then he glanced at her, and her
beauty, so to speak, won upon him. If it had not been for the
remembrance of Ada, with her strained face and anguished eyes,
Esmeralda’s loveliness would have filled him with delight; but he
could not forget the woman who loved him, even in the presence of
this lovely girl whom he had asked to be his wife.
They reached Grosvenor Square, and he took his leave. Once more
he pressed Esmeralda’s hand, and once again the color rose to her
face. She stood at the door, and watched him drive away, then she
followed Lady Wyndover to her _boudoir_.
“Oh! dear, how glad I am to be home!” said Lady Wyndover. “Put more
coals on, Barker, and bring me my fur wrap. How any one can find
any pleasure in driving in an open carriage amazes me! Come near
the fire and thaw, dear.”
“I am not cold,” said Esmeralda. The blood was dancing through
every vein. She stood in the center of the room, bold upright.
“Lady Wyndover, I want to tell you something. Lord Trafford has
asked me to marry him,” she said.
Lady Wyndover uttered a cry of delight, and sprung to her feet.
“Really! My dear child, I am delighted!”
Esmeralda knit her brows.
“Why?”
Lady Wyndover sunk into her chair and laughed again.
“Why? My dear Esmeralda, how can you ask? The Marquis of Trafford
has actually proposed to you! Oh! I am delighted!”
“Why?” asked Esmeralda again.
“Why? My dear child, how _can_ you ask? Lord Trafford is the best
_parti_ in London. He is not only the Marquis of Trafford, but he
will be the Duke of Belfayre. The dukedom is one of the oldest
in England. Belfayre is one of the most magnificent places in
Europe--in the world! My dear Esmeralda, you have done splendidly!
I am proud of you!”
Esmeralda knit her brows.
“When did he do it? When you were alone, I suppose? I half thought
he would, and that is why I didn’t go with you. Come and let me
kiss you, dear! To think that you will be Duchess of Belfayre! Oh!
I am so happy!”
“But it is not settled,” said Esmeralda. “It is all undecided. I
only said I--I would think it over.”
Lady Wyndover looked at her in amazement.
“My dear girl!” she said; “don’t you understand? If you marry Lord
Trafford, you will be the Marchioness of Trafford, and, presently,
the Duchess of Belfayre, for the present duke can not last much
longer!”
“I know,” said Esmeralda, pushing her hair from her brow. “But I do
not care about all that. I don’t want to be a duchess particularly.
I--I am quite happy as I am.”
Lady Wyndover stared at her.
“A duchess!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you understand? Oh! how glad I
am! Duchess of Belfayre! Are you sure it isn’t quite settled?”
“No; I said I’d see,” said Esmeralda.
Lady Wyndover emitted a kind of moan.
“How innocent you are!” she exclaimed. “You ought to have said
‘Yes’ at once! My dear child, Lord Trafford is the great catch. He
has been most ‘difficult,’ as the French say. It is a great triumph
for you to have caught him so soon.”
Esmeralda frowned again.
“He has asked me to go down to see his relations,” she said.
“Then it is settled!” exclaimed Lady Wyndover. “Oh! I’m so happy!
Fancy! Duchess of Belfayre! My dear child, you don’t realize what
it means! You’ll be one of the leaders of society! One of the most
powerful women in London--and London is everything! With your money
and his rank you can become a queen of society! Oh! I am so glad!”
Esmeralda looked at her dreamily.
“I may not marry him,” she said. “It is not settled. I am to go
down to Belfayre to--to see--”
Lady Wyndover clapped her hands softly.
“Ah! yes!” She understood. “I must go to Madame Cerise to-morrow.
You’ll want ever so many new dresses. Oh! my head’s in a whirl!
Think of it--Duchess of Belfayre!”