Esmeralda went to her own room. She seemed in a dream. Every word
Trafford had spoken came back to her; the touch of his hand was
still with her. She felt happy, and yet--and yet there was still
something wanting. She looked in the glass curiously, critically.
Lord Trafford had said that she was beautiful. She compared herself
with some of the ladies whom she had seen, and, with her lack of
vanity, she thought that there were many more beautiful than she
was. That he had asked her to be his wife filled her with surprise:
she did not think of her two millions.
They went out that night to a dance, and Trafford was there, and
came up to her soon after she arrived. He did not refer to what
had passed between them, but he hovered about her, and danced with
her several times. She noticed that the men who usually thronged
about her drew back, and left her with Lord Trafford, as if he had
a claim upon her. He saw her to her carriage, and at parting he
raised her hand to his lips. The caress lingered with her until she
fell asleep.
Two days afterward she received a letter. It was from Lady Lilias,
asking her and Lady Wyndover to go and stay at Belfayre. It was a
short note, but a very friendly one, and Esmeralda took it to Lady
Wyndover.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
“Why, certainly!” exclaimed Lady Wyndover. “My dear child, you are
the luckiest girl I ever heard of. Write and tell Lady Lilias that
you will come on Thursday. That will give us four days, and Cerise
can do wonders in four days--if she likes.”
They started for Belfayre on Thursday, and when they reached
Waterloo, they found Lord Trafford waiting for them.
“I am glad you have come,” he said, as he held Esmeralda’s hand.
Then he went and looked after the heavy baggage, also paid the
excess, which was inevitable, and presently joined them in the
first-class carriage which he had engaged.
Esmeralda had not left London since her arrival there with Mr.
Pinchook, and the thought of leaving its smoky atmosphere filled
her with delight. As they left the grimy town she looked from her
window with eager pleasure, and when the green fields took the
place of the crowded streets, she drew a long breath, and exclaimed:
“The country at last!”
Trafford arranged the blind for her so that she could look out
without getting the glare of the sun in her eyes, and when,
presently, she took off her hat, still gazing out of the window, he
took it from her and carefully placed it upon the rack above. His
attention was peculiar in its character, and was more marked than
it would have been if he had loved her. It seemed to him that he
would owe her so much, if she consented to be his wife, seeing that
he could not give her what was her due--his heart. She appeared to
forget her companions, and was quite absorbed in the scenery which
they passed, every now and then uttering an exclamation of wonder
and delight, as some object strange to her colonial experience
caught her attention. Lady Wyndover and Trafford watched her as
people watch a wayward but very precious child; and with Lady
Wyndover’s affection was mingled no little respect for Esmeralda’s
coming rank, for, notwithstanding Esmeralda’s repeated assertion,
Lady Wyndover insisted upon regarding the engagement as an
accomplished fact.
A few days ago she would have told Esmeralda that ladies do not
remove their hats in the train, but she felt that the future
Duchess of Belfayre could commit any solecism with impunity.
Trafford took up a book and tried to read, but his eyes were drawn
from a rather dull page to the lovely face in front of him, and he
caught himself asking, of course, inaudibly, whether she would come
to care for him.
At the end of the journey, which had seemed terribly long to Lady
Wyndover, but very short to Esmeralda, they found the chariot and
the footman awaiting them, and the usual fuss ensued; if anything,
it was more marked than usual. Trafford did not walk this time, but
rode in the carriage with the ladies, and, as they passed along,
pointed out the various points of local interest, and was rewarded
by Esmeralda’s exclamation of delight at her first glimpse of the
sea.
“Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!” she cried. “And it is all in such
order, like a big garden. And why do all the people touch their
hats, and bob down to the ground as we pass?”
Trafford smiled.
“It’s a habit they have,” he said. “They don’t mean to be servile;
in fact, they’re rather an independent crew, but they just do it
out of politeness, and because they have known us all their lives.”
“You mean that they have known you,” said Esmeralda. “They can’t
know me; and they can’t see you where you sit.”
“They will know you presently,” he said in a low voice.
Her long lashes swept her cheek, and she was silent for a moment
or two, but as they passed through the lodge gates, she exclaimed
again:
“What beautiful trees! And the road, it is like a garden path,
like those paths in Kensington Park.” When the palace came in view
she uttered no sound, but her eyes opened, and her lips parted
with wonder and amazement. Lady Wyndover, also, was startled and
surprised by the vastness and beauty of the place, though she, of
course, had heard and read of it.
“And you live here?” said Esmeralda. “Why, it is big enough for an
army. And those footmen might be soldiers,” she added, as they came
out of the hall, and stood ready to receive the visitors.
“There have been soldiers here more than once,” said Trafford. “We
held the place against Cromwell’s troops, and for a pretty long
spell, too. I will show you a bit of the old castle to-morrow.”
He helped them to alight, and he held Esmeralda’s hand as they
went up the marble steps, and across the terrace into the hall. As
they entered, Lady Lilias’s small figure was seen coming down the
stairs. She came forward, and welcomed them in her grave little
fashion; but Trafford saw a flash of surprise pass across her face
as she saw Esmeralda.
“I am very glad you have come,” she said to them both, but letting
her eyes rest on Esmeralda’s face. “Are you very tired? And will
you have some tea before you go upstairs?”
A gypsy-table was already laid in the hall.
“I am not at all tired,” said Esmeralda. “Why should I be?”
Lady Lilias gave a little inaudible sigh of satisfaction as she
heard the sweet, clear voice.
“It is such a long journey,” she said. “But you look very strong;
and I am very glad that you are not very tired.”
Lady Wyndover declared for tea at once, and Lady Lilias gave it
them. Esmeralda watched her curiously and with pleasure. She
had never seen any one so small, so dainty, and with such a
self-possessed and matronly air behind her youth. As they were
drinking their tea and chatting, Lord Selvaine came in. He greeted
Esmeralda as an old friend, and with a little _empressement_, which
indicated his consciousness of her new importance.
“The duke begged me to say how sorry he was that he could not be
down to receive you,” he said; “but he is feeling a little tired
this afternoon. He hopes to see you at dinner.”
“Would you like to go upstairs now?” said Lilias. “Your maids have
gone to your rooms.”
She herself, as a special mark of welcome, escorted them. Esmeralda
was amazed at the size of her rooms, and the magnificence of their
appointments; and Barker, when the door had closed, could not help
exclaiming:
“Oh, miss! What a wonderful place! I’ve never dreamed of anything
like it!”
When Lord Selvaine and Trafford were left alone, they stood for a
moment or two in silence. Trafford stood erect on the rug, with his
hand upon the hound’s head; Lord Selvaine toyed with his cup and
spoon.
“Well!” he said, at last. “You’ve done it, Traff?”
“Yes,” said Lord Trafford, very gravely. “I have proposed to Miss
Chetwynde.”
“And she has accepted you? Thank the Lord!”
“You are a little too previous,” said Trafford, rather grimly.
“She has not accepted me. She has asked for time to consider the
proposal.”
Lord Selvaine smiled.
“The same thing, my dear Traff--at least, I trust so. The woman who
hesitates is won.”
“Do not be too sure,” said Trafford. “It is as likely as not that
she will refuse me in the end.”
Lord Selvaine smiled again; and the smile seemed to irritate
Trafford.
“Do not be too confident,” he said. “Miss Chetwynde is-- I do not
think you understand her, Selvaine.”
“As long as you do, it does not matter,” said Lord Selvaine.
“Ah!” said Trafford. “I did not say that I myself understood her.
She is unlike any woman I have ever met; and she will follow the
dictates of her own heart.”
“Which you must lose no time in gaining,” said Lord Selvaine, not
quickly, but slowly and softly.
Lady Lilias came down the stairs, and went straight to Trafford.
“Oh, Trafford, how beautiful she is!” she said in a low voice.
“And what a sweet voice! And she is like a girl, too! I have never
seen such lovely eyes, and such beautiful colored hair; it is like
bronze and gold, or an autumn leaf! I am sure she is good and
sweet-tempered; and I am not surprised--”
She did not finish the sentence, but pressed his arm, and looked
into his face with a little blush.
Trafford had to explain again.
“As I wrote and told you, Lilias, nothing is settled,” he said,
gravely; and Lilias smiled, as Lord Selvaine had done.
When Esmeralda had finished dressing--it had been hard work for
Barker, for her mistress had broken away from her several times to
gaze from the window at the superb view, and had been more than
usually impatient--there came a gentle knock at the door, and in
answer to Esmeralda’s “Come in!” Lilias’s soft voice said: “May I?”
Esmeralda opened the door.
“Oh, yes; come in!” she said.
“I came to see if there was anything you wanted,” said Lilias,
regarding Esmeralda with a frank admiration: she looked still more
lovely in her evening dress.
Esmeralda looked round the room with a smile.
“Does it look as if there was anything I could possibly want that
isn’t here?” she asked. “There is everything. Is it time to go down
yet? I don’t feel as if I could ever leave these beautiful rooms
and that view.”
“I am very glad you are pleased,” said Lilias. “We want you to
be very happy while you are here, and I hope you will be, Miss
Chetwynde.”
“Then don’t call me ‘Miss Chetwynde,’” said Esmeralda.
Lady Lilias blushed with pleasure.
“I will call you Esmeralda, dear,” she said, yielding up her heart
at once; “and you will call me Lilias? I hope we shall be great
friends; indeed, I feel as if I had known you for a long time;
Trafford’s letter told me so much about you. But I did not expect
to see--”
Esmeralda smiled, and knit her brows.
“What did you think I was like?” she asked.
“I knew that you must be very nice,” said Lilias, “or Trafford
would not have-- But I did not know that you were so young and so
pretty.”
Esmeralda laughed slightly.
“I might say the same of you,” she said. “I thought that ‘Lady
Lilias’ was quite a woman. How do you manage this great place?”
“I have been used to it all my life,” said Lilias. She smiled and
blushed. “You will not find it so difficult when you have tried.”
Esmeralda looked at her in her direct way.
“I don’t know yet that I shall ever try,” she said, very quietly.
Lilias began to see now that Esmeralda was different to the girls
with whom Lady Lilias had associated. Not one of them would have
spoken so openly and frankly. She did not like Esmeralda the less.
“Oh, I hope so! I hope so!” she said; “for Trafford’s sake.”
“You are very fond of him?” said Esmeralda, after a pause. The two
girls were standing by the window, and the bright sunlight only
served to accentuate Esmeralda’s fresh loveliness.
“Oh, yes--yes,” said Lilias. “We have been together all our lives;
we are just brother and sister.”
It flashed upon Esmeralda that Lady Ada had said almost the same
thing.
“No one who knows Trafford could help loving him,” said Lilias,
her soft gray eyes glowing. “He is everything that is noble and
good. There is no one so unselfish. We all worship him. You think
me extravagant?” she added, with a blush. “But I am always so when
I think or speak of Trafford, for he has been my _beau ideal_
since I can remember. Even as a boy he was brave, and manly, and
self-sacrificing; he was always ready to give up anything, however
dearly he prized it. All our people regard him as a kind of hero
and king.” She laughed a little. “It is scarcely too much to say
that any one of them would die for him.”
Esmeralda looked at her thoughtfully.
“I’ve read of that sort of thing,” she said. “Yes, I can understand
it,” she added, almost to herself.
“But you must forgive me for singing his praises so wildly,” said
Lilias, with sweet humility. “And it must be unnecessary; for you
know him.”
“I’ve only seen Lord Trafford a few times,” said Esmeralda, almost
gravely.
“You’ll see more of him, now you’re here,” said Lady Lilias. “And I
am sure--” She checked herself. “What a pretty dress that is!” she
said, looking at Esmeralda, rather than the dress. “I suppose it is
the very latest fashion. You must have beautiful taste.”
Esmeralda glanced down indifferently at her superb costume.
“It’s Lady Wyndover,” she said. “She knows all about this kind of
thing, and spends nearly all her time studying it. I don’t know
anything. How should I? We didn’t wear evening dress at Three
Star, and didn’t see any fashions. Three Star is the place I came
from,” she went on quickly, and as if she were repeating a lesson:
she had said the same thing so often. “Don’t you know that I came
from the diggers’ camp, that I was quite poor until Mr. Pinchook
found me; that I don’t know anything, and scarcely have learned to
behave properly? Though I think I’m learning,” she added, simply.
The sensitive Lilias was almost shocked.
“Oh, don’t say that!” she said. “You should not say such things of
yourself; it is not just! You behave like--like any one else, and
no one would know--not that it matters whether they did or not.”
“Doesn’t it?” said Esmeralda. “I thought it did. Everybody in
London seems to be so proud of being a lord or a lady, and to look
down upon everybody who isn’t.”
“Then we are different to people in London,” said Lilias, smiling.
“But I think you are mistaken,” she added, quickly. “At any rate,
no one would think of looking down upon you. I have to look up a
long way,” she said, naïvely.
“Yes, you _are_ small,” said Esmeralda. “You are like a little
girl. I believe I could carry you in my arms like a child.”
With a little laugh and a merry flash of the beautiful eyes, she
took Lilias in her arms, and raised her aloft. Lilias, taken by
surprise, crimsoned, then laughed, too.
“Oh, you’re as strong as a giant!” she said.
Esmeralda held her for a moment or two with perfect ease; then,
as she put her down, she kissed her on the lips. Lilias uttered a
faint cry of delight, and returned the kiss.
“Ah! I do not wonder at Trafford,” she said, and ran out of the
room.
Soon after Esmeralda heard the great bell in the old tower clang
out the dinner-hour, and Lady Wyndover came to her. Her ladyship
was all in a little flutter of excitement and delight.
“Isn’t it a wonderful place, Esmeralda?” she exclaimed. “Are you
ready? Let me look at you. Why, your lace is all awry, and your
hair is tumbled--that stupid Barker!”
“It’s not Barker’s fault,” said Esmeralda. “It doesn’t matter; I
shall do. Lady Lilias and I have been romping.”
“Lady Lilias been--romping--with you?” exclaimed Lady Wyndover,
with wonder and something like awe.
“Why not?” said Esmeralda; “she’s only a girl!”
Lady Wyndover was incapable of speech. To her, Lady Lilias, one of
the great Belfayres, was an object of respect; and this wild girl
from the woods had already been romping with her!
They went down to the great drawing-room. Lilias, Trafford, and
Selvaine were already there. Trafford came forward, and said a few
words to Esmeralda.
“My father will be here presently,” he said. “He is looking forward
to seeing you.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and the duke entered, leaning on
the arm of his valet. Trafford went forward to take the man’s
place, and the duke peered round the room, and was led up to Lady
Wyndover, and bid her welcome.
“This is my father, Miss Chetwynde,” said Trafford, taking him up
to her.
The duke looked at her with curiosity veiled behind his kind and
courtly smile; then he extended his long, white hand, and held
hers, as he said in his low, slow voice, which had a ring of
Trafford’s in it:
“I’m very glad to see you, Miss Chetwynde. I hope you have forgiven
me for not being present to receive you, but I am an old man, and
am obliged to hoard my strength. Trafford has told me a great deal
about you, and I am very, very pleased to see you. It is very kind
of you to leave London and come to us, and I hope--I do hope--that
you will not find it dull. We will do our best to amuse you and
make you forget all that you lose by coming to us.”
Her beauty had by this time dawned upon him, and not only her
beauty, but her girlishness. His smile grew more paternal, and he
patted her hand, which he still held.
Esmeralda’s heart was touched by the warmth of his greeting. She
felt her eyes grow dim, and unconsciously her hand fluttered in the
old man’s as she caught Trafford’s eyes fixed upon her with a “Did
I not tell you so?” expression.
“Dinner is served, my lady,” said the stately butler.
Trafford took the duke to Lady Wyndover, and then offered his arm
to Esmeralda; Lord Selvaine and Lilias brought up the rear.
Though Esmeralda was by this time growing accustomed to luxury
and splendor, she was almost startled by the magnificence of the
dining-room. For this occasion the famous Belfayre gold plate had
been produced; and the table, furnished with the precious metal,
and decorated by Lilias’s own hands, was a noteworthy spectacle.
Esmeralda was placed on the duke’s right, and his grace exerted
himself to entertain the two ladies as he had not done for years;
but after awhile he devoted himself to Esmeralda. He could see
her loveliness more distinctly in the soft candle-light, and the
Belfayres were quick to appreciate feminine beauty. He noticed,
as Lilias had done, the sweetness and clearness of her voice, and
her unconventional frankness and candor charmed him. She was not
awed for a moment by her surroundings--as it must be confessed Lady
Wyndover was--and she talked freely. Trafford heard his father’s
rare laugh more than once, and once he saw his grace bend forward,
and lay his hand upon Esmeralda’s.
The dinner seemed to Esmeralda interminable, and, after a time,
she grew tired of saying, “No, thank you,” to the long array of
dishes and wines which the noiseless servants offered her. The duke
himself cut some grapes for her, and selected some of the largest
of the hot-house strawberries, and was so engaged with her that he
did not notice Lilias’s attempts to signal for the ladies to leave
the room. They could hear him talking to Esmeralda as if he had
known her for years.
“I must tell you all about our scheme for making a watering-place
of the bay, my dear,” he said. It had come to “my dear,” instead of
“Miss Chetwynde,” already. “I will come into the drawing-room for
a little while, and you must tell me about that queer place, Five
Stars--Three Stars. How amusing it must have been! You must have
enjoyed your visit there immensely.” He had quite failed to grasp
the fact that she had been brought up in a diggers’ camp.
Lady Lilias at last succeeded in rising, and his grace, as he rose,
watched Esmeralda with an interested and even an affectionate
smile, as she left the room. Then he sunk into his chair and nodded
smilingly at Trafford.
“My dear Trafford, she is charming!” he said--“perfectly charming!
I do not know that I have ever met any one so fresh and intensely
interesting. Chetwynde? There are the Chetwyndes of Warwickshire; I
knew some of them--but they were stupid people--quite stupid!”
“Miss Chetwynde is not a Warwickshire Chetwynde--fortunately,” said
Lord Selvaine, blandly.
Trafford looked at his plate.
“Ah! probably she belongs to the Suffolk branch?” said the duke.
“She really is witty!” He chuckled as if he were recalling
something Esmeralda had said. “And so exceedingly beautiful,
too--not that that matters!”
“All women should be beautiful,” said Lord Selvaine.
“All women _are_, my dear Selvaine,” said the duke, with delicious
courtliness. “But few are as beautiful as Miss Chetwynde. My dear
Trafford, I congratulate you with all my heart. You have shown
excellent taste--as you always do. My dear boy, you have made me
very happy. I could almost say that I am as happy as you must
be--though that is impossible.”
Trafford looked straight before him at the opposite wall. And at
that moment he did not look very happy, for there rose before him
the face of Ada Lancing, and he seemed to hear her voice, hoarse
with agony.
Lord Selvaine, as he watched him covertly, saw the handsome face
grow pale, and the hand that held the wine-glass close so tightly
that the slender stem snapped in two.