To Esmeralda, Belfayre was a Palace of Delight. It was not so much
the magnificence, the luxury and regal splendor of the place, nor
its vastness which gave her so much pleasure, as the fact that
there she was indeed “in the country,” that she was within reach of
the sea--a never-ceasing wonder to her--and that she was surrounded
by animals--horses, dogs, cattle--with which she could make friends.
Trafford took her down to the stables on the morning after her
arrival, and Esmeralda went from stall to stall, loose box to loose
box, and was introduced to each horse in turn; and was so fearless
and full of admiration and delight that she won the heart of the
head groom, who waxed eloquent about her when she and Trafford had
gone off to see the House Farm.
“That’s the first lady as ever I saw that understood the points of
a horse,” he said to a circle of attentive listeners. “There’s a
good many of ’em as comes round and stands at a safe distance, and
says ‘Pretty dear!’ and ‘What a nice horse, Mr. Carter!’ but she’s
the first as really knows anything about ’em. The marquis ’ull have
a good wife, mark my words! And she can ride, too, I bet! I’ll
have that bay mare ready for her to-morrow, James--and when Miss
Chetwynde’s in the saddle, they’ll be as pretty a pair as there is
in the county.”
Esmeralda was as delighted with the farm as she had been with the
stables. The exquisite cleanliness and order in which the whole
place was kept amazed her.
“It’s like one of those toy farms one sees in the children’s
toy-shops,” he said. “How proud the farmer’s wife must be of it
all! Does it pay very well?”
Trafford smiled as he thought of the sum which the House Farm cost
to keep up.
“Not very well,” he said. “But we look upon it as a kind of model
and example to the farmers on the estate.”
“What would be the use of their following it, if they lost money by
it?” she said; and Trafford, amused by her shrewdness, laughed.
After they had inspected all the animals, and gone over the
spotless dairy, with its white tiles, and newest appliances in the
way of churns and milk coolers, they walked through the park, and
Trafford succeeded in finding some deer. Her frankly expressed
pleasure and delight in all she saw afforded him a singular
pleasure; it was as if he were playing cicerone to a child or a
school-girl. She was quite unembarrassed, and free from any shyness
at being alone with him, and did not seem to want or expect him to
make love to her in the very least, but talked to him as if he were
an old friend or a fellow school-girl.
Trafford felt the charm of this, and found himself enjoying his
walk as he had not enjoyed one for as far back as he could remember.
They talked of the palace and what she had seen, and avoided
anything personal until at last Trafford said:
“I was not wrong about the welcome you would receive from my father
and Lilias, Miss Chetwynde?” Then, before she could reply, he
added: “Will you let me call you Esmeralda?”
She looked at him frankly.
“Why, yes, if you like.”
“And you must call me Trafford,” he said.
She laughed.
“Very well. It is like the bargain Lilias and I made yesterday.
Yes, you were quite right. I don’t know why they were so kind
to me--a stranger. But they were kind, very. I think I was a
little frightened about meeting the duke. I don’t know what I
expected--something very grand and awful, but he was not at all
what I expected; and I think him the dearest old gentleman I have
ever seen. I don’t think I could ever be frightened of him.”
Trafford smiled.
“I am glad you like my father,” he said. “Of course you know he has
fallen in love with you? He talked of nothing else but you last
night, and sung your praises tremendously.”
“I’m glad he likes me,” she said, simply.
“And Lilias, too,” said Trafford. “You must tell me your secret of
winning all hearts, Esmeralda.”
She laughed.
“It must be their fault,” she said, naïvely.
They walked through the park to the cliffs, and Esmeralda stood
and gazed at the sea in a silence which Trafford did not break; he
watched her face, and thought its awed and rapt expression more
beautiful than the view which had called it forth.
On their way home they passed through the village, and Trafford
stopped at one or two of the cottages, and exchanged greetings
with some of the people. Esmeralda was struck by the mixture of
affection and respect with which the marquis was treated, and the
shy curiosity with which they received her. One woman offered her
a glass of new milk, and dusted a chair for her to sit on; and one
and all were anxious to make much of her and impress her favorably.
“Are all the villages and people in England like this?” she asked,
as they went on their way again.
“Yes, I think so, or nearly all,” said Trafford.
“You all seem as if you were one family, or as if it were a little
kingdom all to itself, and you were a king.”
“We are all one family, in a sense,” he explained. “You see, we
have known each other for generations. Some of the families have
been living here almost as long as we have, and few strangers come
here; if they do, they settle down and become like the rest after a
little time.”
“And you own all this?” she asked, pausing to look round. “All the
houses, all the farms, and the people?”
“My father does,” he said, with a smile. “But not the people,
Esmeralda.”
“It is almost as if you did,” she said, shrewdly. “They all look at
you and speak to you as if you were a kind of prince. It must be
rather nice to be like that.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say: “You have only to say
the word, and you can share in this proprietorship,” but he held
himself in hand. He did not want a decided refusal; and something
told him he had not won her yet, and that the “No” would certainly
be forthcoming.
When they reached home they found the duke up and awaiting them;
for he rarely left his own apartments until late in the afternoon.
He greeted Esmeralda warmly, and even affectionately, and looked up
at her face, glowing with her long walk, with unstinted admiration.
“I hope Trafford has not tired you, my dear!” he said. “Come and
tell me what you have seen.” And he motioned her to a chair beside
him.
Esmeralda told of the stables, and the farms, and the sea; and his
grace nodded his head and smiled at her enthusiasm; but he was not
quite satisfied.
“Trafford did not show you the ruins of the old priory, or the
lake,” he said. “I can’t think how he forgot those! Will you
come for a drive this afternoon with me and see them? There is a
pony-phaeton low enough for me to climb into.”
Esmeralda said that she would be delighted, and the old man looked
round with a pleased smile.
“I feel extraordinarily well and strong to-day,” he said; and he
chatted to her all through lunch, taking the greatest interest in
the dishes that were brought to her, and nibbling his toast, and
sipping his beef tea contentedly, as he watched her dispose of a
hearty meal; for Esmeralda had not learned to be ashamed of her
appetite.
The pony-phaeton was brought round after lunch. There was only
room for two, and a small groom behind; and Esmeralda begged to be
allowed to drive.
“You will be quite safe, sir,” said Trafford, who, with the two
ladies and Lord Selvaine, saw them off.
“I will trust myself with Miss Chetwynde anywhere,” said his
grace, gallantly. Though it was a warm afternoon, he was wrapped
up in furs, as if it were winter, and he leaned back in the easy
carriage with an air of pride and enjoyment in his strength and his
companion which caused Lord Selvaine to smile.
“A case of ‘I came, I saw, I conquered!’” he said, blandly. “I
never saw a man so hopelessly in love! If the duke were, say, ten
years younger, I wouldn’t give much for your chances, my dear
Traff.”
Trafford smiled at the jest, and looked after the carriage
thoughtfully.
The duke was delighted with Esmeralda’s driving.
“You must have a pony-carriage and pair, my dear,” he said, as if
he were speaking of a box of hairpins. “I will tell Trafford to get
them at once. This is too old and shabby for you; it does very well
for me, but it is not smart enough for you.”
“Oh, no, no!” said Esmeralda. “It is quite good enough. Do not buy
a new one.”
“But why not?” he asked, with surprise. “Why should I not have that
pleasure? There is the priory.” He nodded to some stately ruins,
and Esmeralda drove up to them and looked at them with interest.
“Selvaine shall tell you its history,” said his grace. “He is the
historian of the family, you know, and is never so pleased as when
he is relating some story connected with it. Dear, dear, how out of
repair the fencing has got! I must tell Helby to replace it with
some of the new iron railing. Now we will drive to the lake. Turn
down this lane to the left. Are you sure you are warm enough, my
dear?”
“Oh, yes,” said Esmeralda. “Do you feel it cold?” She saw that his
fur collar had slipped down a little, and she pulled it up and
arranged it round him more closely.
The duke was much touched by her thoughtfulness.
“Thank you--thank you, my dear!” he said, gratefully.
They drove on and presently came to the lake. It was a large
piece of water surrounded by firs. A flock of ducks rose as they
approached, and a heron sailed away above their heads. The place
was weird-looking for all its prettiness, and Esmeralda gazed at it
in silence, and with a creepy feeling.
“It reminds me of Australia--I don’t know why,” she said. “How
silent and far away it seems.”
“Some persons think it rather dismal,” he said. “But that, I think,
is because of the story connected with it.”
Emeralda was always ready for a story, and turned to him eagerly.
“What is it? Something very dreadful?”
“Well, yes,” he said, hesitatingly. The courtly old man was almost
sorry to have referred to anything that was grewsome in her bright
young presence.
“Please tell me!” she said.
“Must I? I am not sure that I ought to do so. You will always
remember it when you come here. One of the Traffords committed
suicide here.”
“Oh!” said Esmeralda. “A man?”
“No, a woman,” said his grace. “It is a very sad story. She was the
wife of a Marquis of Trafford--my great-great-uncle. It was a very
unhappy marriage. The marquis was poor, and married her for her
money; it was what is called a ‘a marriage of convenience.’ They
are seldom anything but unhappy arrangements, and generally prove
terribly inconvenient. She was in love with her husband, but he
detested her. But though he, no doubt, treated her with coldness, I
am quite sure he was not guilty of actual cruelty; no Trafford has
had that crime laid to his charge.”
“You mean that he didn’t beat her?” said Esmeralda, much interested.
“Er--just so,” said the duke. “They lived together unhappily for
some years, until one night the unfortunate lady stole from the
house and threw herself into the lake here. They found her next
day, with a smile on her face--the first she had worn since her
marriage, they said.”
Esmeralda stared at the lake and shuddered. She could almost see
the white figure floating on the top of the silent water.
“Why did she not leave him--run away?” she said, almost to herself.
The duke shrugged his shoulders.
“A Marchioness of Trafford could scarcely do that,” he said,
simply. “It was almost better for her to have done what she did;
but let us go now, my dear; I am afraid I have saddened you with
my dismal story. Let us get into the sunshine again.” And he, too,
shuddered slightly.
Esmeralda glanced over her shoulder at the lake as they drove away,
and the thought of the woman who had preferred death to a loveless
life haunted her for more than a mile. Then they came in sight
of the sea, and the vision of the white figure fled before the
glorious view.
The duke leaned forward and waved his ebony stick round the bay.
“Beautiful, is it not? There are few finer bays in England. Look
straight below you, my dear. You see how the coast curves? That is
where the new watering-place, that I told you of last night, is to
be. There--just by that jutting rock--will be the pier, and the
esplanade will run round the curve, with the houses, in a terrace,
at the back. It will make a capital seaside town, will it not?”
“Yes,” said Esmeralda. “And are you going to build it?”
“Yes,” assented the duke, placidly, as if he had the money at his
bankers. “It will be rather a large undertaking, and it will cost
a great deal of money; but I hold that it is reprehensible to let
money lie idle while it could be used in providing employment for
hundreds of deserving persons. And it will improve the property
also. I shall not see it, but Trafford, I trust, will do so,
and”--he looked at her with a little smile--“you, too, my dear.”
Esmeralda colored. She felt rather surprised. The Belfayres could
not be poor, as Norman Druce had said, if they were going to spend
all this money.
As they drove home, this impression deepened, for the duke spoke
of other improvements, and always in the tone of a man who was
possessed of unlimited wealth; and he found fault with the
steward, Mr. Helby--and even Trafford himself--for neglecting
certain improvements.
“You must rouse them to a sense of their duty, my dear,” he said,
with a smile.
When they drove up to the palace, Trafford came out to help them to
alight, and the duke, as he leaned on his son’s arm, said:
“I have had a most delightful drive, Trafford. Miss Chetwynde is a
famous whip. I want you to send to London for a phaeton and pair
for her.”
“I have done so,” said Trafford, quietly.
“I am glad. I have been showing Miss Chetwynde the site for the
new town, and she quite agrees with me that it would be a great
improvement. Don’t you think we ought to commence it at once, my
dear?”
Trafford glanced at Esmeralda gravely; but, quite innocently, she
said:
“Oh, yes; I would begin at once.”
“You see!” exclaimed the duke, triumphantly; and he patted her
shoulder approvingly.
Lilias, fearing that Lady Wyndover and Esmeralda would find
Belfayre dull, had invited some people to dine that night, and
Esmeralda made her first acquaintance with a country dinner-party.
It was a stately, not to say solemn, affair. There were three or
four of the neighboring county families, a couple of officers
from Belmont, and the rector and his wife. The county families
had heard of and read about “Miss Chetwynde, the heiress,” and
were consumed with curiosity respecting her, and were amazed--and
doubtless rather disappointed--at not finding her to be a kind of
female cowboy. They were also much startled and impressed by her
beauty, and before the evening was over, Esmeralda had won the
golden opinion of the male portion of the party. The men grouped
themselves around her very much as they were in the habit of doing
in London, and Trafford looked on from a distance with his usual
gravity.
The duke was not present at dinner, but he came into the
drawing-room afterward for half an hour, and witnessed Esmeralda’s
little triumph, and nodded and smiled at her as she left her court
of admirers, and seating herself beside him, talked to him of their
drive in her frank, unaffected way.
“I congratulate you, Trafford,” said one of the guests, an old
peer, and close friend and neighbor of the family. “It is scarcely
necessary to wish, you happiness; you have secured that already.”
And Trafford smiled in the proper manner. He had received a letter
from Lady Ada that evening. It was only a line or two.
“Write to me. Tell me whether you have asked her. I must know,
though your answer will probably make me more wretched than I am
already; and I am miserable enough, God knows!
ADA.”