Esmeralda did not understand in the least. An ordinary girl,
brought up in London society, would have grasped the whole thing
and known that she was being married for her money. But Esmeralda
was not only innocent but, measuring the marquis by her own
standard, would have deemed him incapable of anything ignoble.
Where ignorance is bliss ’tis folly to be wise. And she was
blissfully happy! She understood now why she had turned away from
Norman Druce that night by the stream: she had not loved him. She
loved Trafford, and she loved him with the fullness of a girl’s
pure love, as sweet as it is unfathomable.
For a day or two she seemed living in a dreamland, in which she
could think of nothing but her new and strange happiness. The folk
at Belfayre, much as they had already admired her, were struck
by the expression of her face, the strange, deep light in her
wonderful eyes, and Lilias looked and spoke to her almost shyly, as
if Esmeralda’s happiness were something sacred.
But presently Esmeralda remembered Three Star, and remembered it
with a feeling near akin to remorse.
“I must write to Varley--Varley Howard, my guardian,” she said to
Trafford, one morning. “I must tell him all--all that has happened.”
“Yes, certainly,” said Trafford, to whom the facts and companions
of her past always seemed misty and almost mythical. “Do you think
he would come and pay us a visit? Ask him. We should all be glad to
see him; glad to see any friend of yours, Esmeralda.”
“May I?” said Esmeralda, delightedly. Then her face fell. “But I’m
afraid he would not come. He--he said he would not.”
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” said Trafford, in faint surprise.
“It’s nothing of a journey nowadays.”
Esmeralda looked at him wistfully. She saw that he did not
understand, and she would have liked to have explained to him; but
for Varley’s sake she kept silent.
She wrote a long letter to him, telling him all about Belfayre, and
the duke, and Lady Lilias, and of her engagement to Trafford; and
she begged Varley to come over to England. She sent her love to all
old friends, mentioning them by name, and she signed herself his
dear Esmeralda. “You told me that if I was ever unhappy I was to
come back to you and Three Star,” she added, in a postscript; “but,
Varley, dear, I am the happiest girl alive, and I’m afraid I shall
never come back to Three Star again. So you must come to me. Do
come! You would like the duke and Trafford--oh! you would be sure
to like him, and he you. He is just what you like, so brave, and
kind, and good!”
With the letter she sent a great case of presents. Dresses and
shawls for Melinda, tobacco for Taffy and the rest of the men, and
a diamond ring--one of the best--for Varley himself.
Varley did not acquaint the men with her engagement to the Marquis
of Trafford, but he conveyed her love to them; and, when the case
arrived, there was much rejoicing in Three Star.
“Who said our Esmeralda was a-going to forget her old pals?”
demanded Taffy, fiercely. “Let him stand out, and I’ll knock his
head off!”
As no one had made the assertion, no one came forward to have his
head knocked off; but heads ached the next morning from the whisky
that was drunk over that case.
Varley’s reply came in due course. He wished his Esmeralda all
the happiness in the world--as did all the camp--but he would not
come to England. He, too, put a postscript to remind her that her
promise still held good, and that, if ever she was unhappy, she was
to go straight back to Three Star, where loving hearts awaited her.
The letter brought tears to Esmeralda’s eyes. But it did not reach
her until she was back in London, and plunged into a whirl of
pleasure and gayety.
As Esmeralda, the girl from the wilds, she had made a sensation;
as Miss Chetwynde, the _fiancée_ of the Marquis of Trafford, and
future Duchess of Belfayre, she was at once raised to a position of
vast importance. She was sought after, and courted, and flattered
to an extent that would have turned most girls’ heads. But
Esmeralda managed to retain her simplicity and modesty through it
all.
Men raved about her and envied Trafford, and the women copied her
dresses, and even her peculiar accent, and envied _her_. Even her
strange backwood phrases became the fashion, and when she made a
slip in grammar, her auditors did not sneer, but smiled, as if she
had said something clever.
As Lady Wyndover said, “You may say what you like, wear what you
like, do what you like, when you own two millions, and are going to
be the Duchess of Belfayre.”
Her ladyship was in her glory. Her hall table was strewn with
cards, and all the big and most exclusive houses open to her; for
was she not the guardian of Miss Chetwynde?
And Trafford? It is hard to describe his condition. He had done his
duty, and was going to save the noble house of which he would some
day be the head. He had won one of the loveliest girls in England;
but he told himself that he still loved Ada Lancing.
They met, for the first time, after the announcement of his
engagement to Esmeralda, at a dance at the Countess of Blankyre’s.
She came late, as usual, and Trafford made his way to her. He
noticed, with a pang of remorse, that she was thinner, and that her
face was more ethereal-looking even than it had been.
She greeted him with the quiet nonchalance which we favor nowadays,
the quietude and repose which must be observed though our hearts
are breaking: and not until they had taken two or three turns
round the room did she speak; then she said:
“So it is done, Trafford?”
“Yes; it is done,” he said, gravely. She drew a long breath, and he
felt her hand close tightly upon his.
“I was right!” she said. “I knew that if you got her down to
Belfayre you would succeed. Did you find it difficult?”
The question jarred upon him.
“Do not let us go into details,” he said.
She was silent for a moment, then she looked across the room at
Esmeralda, who was dancing with one of her many admirers.
“How happy she looks!” she said. “She is positively radiant!” Her
lips curled with something like a sneer. “A shop-girl could not
look more elated; it is as if she were saying aloud, ‘I am to be
the Duchess of Belfayre!’”
Trafford’s brows came down.
“You do her an injustice, Ada,” he said. “She sets no value on the
title or the position. No one could think less of it than she does.”
She laughed scornfully.
“How blind men are! Do you think that, with all her innocence, she
is ignorant of the worth of a dukedom? No girl out of her teens can
be. But I beg your pardon; I would not dispel the delusion.”
“What delusion?” he asked.
“That she is in love with you,” she said, with almost vulgar
frankness. “You think that she would have consented to marry you if
you had been a commoner, and just a mere nobody?”
He was silent, but he glanced at Esmeralda under his knit brows.
“Trust me that, with all her seeming simplicity, she knows the
worth of the bargain she has made. Do you think that you are the
first man who has made love to her?”
His face grew dark.
“You are unjust to her,” he said.
She laughed bitterly.
“And you take up her defense,” she said. “Has it come to that
already?”
“For God’s sake, be silent!” he said, almost fiercely. “What is
done is done. You know how necessary, how inevitable it was. You
yourself advised--yes, drove me to--the doing of it. Do not make
my duty harder and more difficult than it is.”
“Is it so hard, so difficult?” she murmured, with a thrill of
gratification. “Forgive me, Trafford! You can not know, understand,
what I feel, what I suffer! Yes, I advised you, I helped you.
But--but all the same, I--I am a woman, and, ah! do not forget
that--that I love you! Can I help envying her the wealth that gives
you to her? Don’t expect too much of me!”
“Forgive me, Ada,” he murmured, penitently; but, even as he spoke,
he looked across the room at Esmeralda, and her face, radiant with
happiness, smote him with remorse.
“When is the wedding to be?” asked Ada, as they promenaded.
“I don’t know. Soon,” he said.
She sighed heavily. “Yes, it must be soon,” she said. “I think I
shall be almost glad when it is over. I shall have done with life
then--done with it forever. Take me to her; I want to speak to her.
Oh, do not be afraid,” she said, with a curl of her lip, as he
seemed to hesitate. “I have nothing but pleasant things to speak to
your future bride, Lord Trafford.”
He led her to Esmeralda, who was surrounded by a circle of
admirers, and Lady Ada tactfully contrived to get Esmeralda to
herself.
“I have not wished you happiness, Miss Chetwynde,” she said, with a
smile that cost her much.
“Thank you,” said Esmeralda, with a flash of her eyes and a sudden
blush.
“And in wishing you happiness I am quite confident of the
fulfillment of my wish,” said Ada. “You see, I know Lord Trafford
so well. Any girl would be happy as his wife.”
“Yes, I think so,” said Esmeralda, slowly, and with her usual
startling candor. Lady Ada looked at her.
“You are very confident!” she said, with a smile.
Esmeralda waited a moment to grasp the significance of the sentence.
“You mean that I am sure of being happy,” she said. “Why shouldn’t
I be? Wouldn’t you be happy if you were going to marry the man
you--cared for?”
Lady Ada’s smile grew ghastly in its artificiality.
“And you care for him so much?” she said.
The color rose to Esmeralda’s face. “Don’t women generally care for
the men they are going to marry?” she asked, naïvely.
Lady Ada laughed.
“Not always. Sometimes a girl has to marry for--well, for all sorts
of reasons other than love for her future husband; and then--” She
paused, stopped by Esmeralda’s direct and questioning glance.
“But that is not the case with you,” she continued. “It will be
quite a love match, will it not?”
Esmeralda thought her question over before replying.
“Yes; I think so.”
“Therefore, you will be happy,” said Lady Ada. “When is the wedding
to be? I ask because I am going to ask a favor of you.”
“What is it?” said Esmeralda in her outspoken fashion.
“I want to be one of your bride-maids,” said Ada, smiling still,
but with close-set lips. “Of course, I don’t know whom you have
chosen, and, if you have already made your selection, you must not
mind saying ‘No’ to me; but, if you have not, please let me be one.”
“I don’t know when I am going to be married,” said Esmeralda in a
lower voice, and with her eyes bent on the ground. “And I have not
chosen any bride-maids. I don’t know any one. I shall be glad if
you will be one. But I don’t know anything about it.”
“Thanks,” said Lady Ada. “I don’t suppose the wedding is very far
off. Why should you wait? And I shall be pleased to be one of your
bride-maids. Lady Lilias will be one, of course?”
“I hope so,” said Esmeralda, her eyes brightening at the thought.
“Then that is settled,” said Ada. She drew a long breath at the
prospect of the ordeal before her. She scarcely knew why she had
proffered the request; but some women are given to self-torture,
and she was one of them; besides, in any case, she would have to be
present at the wedding, for her absence would provoke remark; and,
being present, she might as well take part in it. She arose, and
left Esmeralda, almost abruptly, soon afterward.
As she had said, there was no reason why the wedding should not
take place at an early date; indeed, there was every reason, on
Trafford’s side, for a speedy marriage; the million was sadly
wanted at Belfayre.
He waited for a week or two, and then, one morning, when they were
riding together in the park, he said to her:
“Esmeralda, will you be my wife very soon?”
She did not start, and scarcely blushed, but looked at him a little
timidly.
“Yes, if you wish it,” she said in a low voice.
The “if you wish it” smote him keenly.
“I do wish it,” he said. “We have not been engaged long, I know,
and, if you would rather wait, we will do so. It shall be exactly
as you wish. It ought to be so. But there is no reason why we
should wait until the autumn or the winter. My father is very
anxious that the wedding should take place--he is very fond of you,
as you know, and is looking forward to the day when he can really
call you his daughter.”
“And I am very fond of him,” said Esmeralda. “I would do anything
to please him.”
“But you must please yourself,” said Trafford. “We all think of you
and seek your happiness.”
“Very well,” said Esmeralda. “I will be married whenever you
please.”
“You are very good to me!” he said, and, under cover of stroking
her horse’s mane, he touched her hand.
Then she blushed, for his lightest caress had power to thrill her.
“Lady Ada has offered to be one of my bride-maids,” she said.
His hands tightened on his reins, and his brows darkened.
“Lady Ada?” he said. “Why did she do that?--I mean, it was very
kind of her.”
“Yes,” she said, innocently. “But why were you surprised?”
“I don’t know,” he said, evasively. “It was a stupid speech. Most
girls like to play the part; she will play it very well.”
When she got home, she told Lady Wyndover, and that lady was thrown
into a state of mild excitement.
“We could manage it in three weeks,” she said. “But not a day less.
I must see Cerise at once.”
Esmeralda laughed.
“I hope you are not going to order a great many more dresses,” she
said. “I’ve more now than I can wear, and Barker doesn’t know what
to do with them; she says every place is choked up.”
“There will be plenty of room for them at Belfayre,” said Lady
Wyndover, with a sigh of profound satisfaction. “Of course, you
will live there. The duke is an old man, and will be glad to have
you and Trafford with him. He is so fond of you, dear. Of course,
I don’t know what plans you’ve made about the honey-moon, but you
might spend it at that pretty little place of mine in Surrey. You
haven’t seen it yet. It really is a charming place; quite a box, of
course; but it will be quite large enough for you two. I think it’s
a mistake for a newly married couple to go to a big house, with
a mob of servants; they want to be alone, to moon about, and all
that. But, perhaps, you would like to go on the Continent.”
Esmeralda laughed again.
“I don’t think Trafford has made any plans; but you seem to have
thought it all out.”
“My dear, I thought it all out from the beginning,” said Lady
Wyndover, with a smile. “You don’t know how hard and cleverly I’ve
worked to bring about this match of yours.”
Esmeralda looked rather startled.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why should you?” and her brows
came straight.
Lady Wyndover was always a little frightened when Esmeralda wore
that expression.
“Never mind, dear,” she said. “You have been the sweetest and
dearest of girls, and I am very fond and very proud of you,” and
she kissed her affectionately.