JOSEPHINE’S AMBITION.
Mrs. Richards’ vision of magnificence bade fair to be realized; for,
upon arriving in London in November, she and her family were most
courteously received by the firm of Compton & Bailey, who assured her
that her credentials and proofs of her relationship to Sir Charles were
incontestable.
“I do not see, madam, anything to prevent you from taking possession of
the property,” Mr. Compton said, in his most affable tones. “Your
identity is proved beyond a question as the cousin or half-cousin of Sir
Charles, and, as far as we have been able to learn, you are the only
living relative. Lord William Thornton—Sir Charles’ father—had a younger
brother, but he left his home years ago to go as a missionary to the
heathen, and has never been heard of since; so it is reasonable to
suppose that he also is dead, and, as he was unmarried, of course left
no issue. It will take a month or so to get things in order for you, and
if at the end of that time everything remains as it is now, you can then
take possession of your estate, and I am very happy to offer my
congratulations upon your good fortune.”
Mrs. Richards’ face glowed with pride and happiness; Josephine was
jubilant, while Mr. Richards was too astonished to be able to really
appreciate this sudden turning of fortune’s wheel in their favor.
The rent-roll of Halowell Park was fifty thousand pounds or more per
annum; then there was a fine residence in London, and a sea-side resort
at Cowes.
It was, indeed, a fortune, coming just at that time of need, calculated
to turn one’s head, so to speak.
“It is too good to be true,” Mr. Richards said, with a doubtful shake of
the head. “Ellen, we don’t _deserve_ any such good fortune,” he added,
remorsefully, as his mind went back to their treatment of Mr. Rosevelt
and Star.
“Nonsense, George!” she retorted, scornfully. “We deserve whatever we
can get, and I mean to enjoy this windfall to the utmost. I reckon that
jade will find it hard work to outshine us after this, and Uncle Jacob’s
grand airs won’t trouble me in the least in the future. I shall go down
to Halowell Park this week, see for myself what kind of a place it is,
and what repairs and improvements are needed on the estate,” she
concluded, ready to spend money with her accustomed energy and
lavishness.
Accordingly, in a few days they repaired thither, and were charmed with
the grand old place.
On their return to London they visited the late Sir Charles’ town house,
and found that in keeping with the estate in Devonshire, and surely
their prospects appeared to be as bright as they or any one could wish.
One evening Mr. Compton, the lawyer, who was one of the first among his
profession in the city, invited them to his mansion to meet some of his
friends, and they were introduced to a number of people who frequented
the highest circles in the great city.
Among others, they met Lady Sherbrooke and her charming daughter,
Vivien, and who, they were not long in discovering, greatly to their
joy, were the mother and sister of Lord Carrol.
Mrs. Richards was exultant over this piece of good luck, as she deemed
it, and tried to make herself very agreeable to her ladyship, while
Josephine sought to ingratiate herself with the younger lady.
“I had the pleasure of meeting your son, Lord Carrol, when he was in
America,” Mrs. Richards remarked, during her conversation with the young
lord’s mother.
“Indeed!” she said, looking interested at once, for her children were an
all-absorbing topic at any time with her.
“Yes; we first met him at Long Branch, a fashionable watering-place, and
he afterward favored us with a visit of a few days at our country-seat,
in Yonkers.”
Mrs. Richards was determined to make the most out of the advantages she
had enjoyed.
“Ah, yes, I believe he has told me something about it,” the lady
responded, while she thought that if such was the case she must arrange
in some way to return the compliment thus paid to her idolized son.
If they were successors to Sir Charles Thornton, they would occupy no
mean position in the social world, she reasoned, and it would be no more
than right to cultivate their acquaintance, while she could but
acknowledge that Mrs. Richards was quite a superior appearing woman, and
Josephine possessed beauty of a very brilliant type.
The half hour that she spent conversing with Mrs. Richards only served
to strengthen the good opinion she had at first formed, and before they
left Mr. Compton’s she had arranged with them to spend a portion of the
following week at their estate in Cheshire.
This was more than Mrs. Richards had expected, but she plumed herself
upon her tact in managing things so cleverly, and looked forward to the
visit with no small amount of interest.
The next day, through Lady Sherbrooke’s influence, she received cards
for a grand reception at Lady Tukesbury’s, who resided in a palatial
mansion in Piccadilly, and she felt assured that they were now fully
launched upon a brilliant career.
Of course they accepted the invitation, she appearing in black velvet,
point lace, and diamonds, while Josephine was resplendent in rich white
silk and scarlet verbenas, and created quite a sensation in
“Japonica-dom,” greatly to her mother’s delight and her own
satisfaction.
“Who is she? Where did she come from?” was whispered on all sides.
“An American? Ah! that accounts for her brilliant style of beauty, then.
Inherit Sir Charles Thornton estates, do they? In that case they will be
quite an acquisition to society,” were the opinions expressed and the
conclusions arrived at by people who were careful in such matters; and
then seekers for introductions—and seekers for fortunes—pressed forward
for an introduction to the beautiful young heiress.
But notwithstanding Josephine enjoyed herself, and felt no small degree
of pride at receiving these attentions from lords and baronets, she
found herself looking everywhere for one familiar form, one dark,
handsome face, which she had never forgotten, and which she knew she
should recognize anywhere and under any circumstances.
“Mamma, I wonder if Lord Carrol is here?” she whispered, when once
during the evening they happened to be together.
“I don’t know; I will ask Lady Sherbrooke if I have an opportunity,” she
replied.
She managed to get near her ladyship soon after, and asked:
“Is your son out of town, Lady Sherbrooke?”
“No; he is not out of town. He had another engagement to-night, but he
said he would drop in in season to take us home,” Lord Carrol’s mother
returned. “Ah! there he is now,” she added, as she saw him approaching,
and her face lighted with both pride and pleasure.
He appeared to be greatly surprised to find Mrs. Richards there, but
greeted her politely, although she felt the restraint in his manner
which he could not quite conceal.
She beckoned to Josephine, who was not far distant, and presented her,
with a feeling of pride in her brilliant beauty that she did not try to
hide.
He shook hands with her, though his face flushed as he remembered the
awkward position in which she had placed him at Yonkers by
misrepresenting the motive of his visit there.
“You did not come to see us again before leaving America, after all,”
she said, in tones of playful reproach, when they had exchanged
greetings.
“No; my time was so fully occupied that I found it impossible to make
any calls,” he returned, a shade of sadness coming into his fine eyes as
he thought of _how_ his time had been employed and the unhappiness it
had caused him.
“You received my little package, I perceive,” Josephine said, glancing
at the cameo upon his hand, and with a flush rising to her cheeks.
“Yes; did you not receive my acknowledgment of it?” he asked, in
surprise.
“No; I have never heard anything from you,” she answered, with downcast
eyes.
“But I wrote, thanking you. You must have thought me lacking in
courtesy,” Lord Carrol said, regretfully.
“No—but—Lord Carrol, there has been a misunderstanding about that jewel
from the first. I really do not know what you believe regarding it, for
your note was somewhat ambiguous, and I trust you will allow me to
explain more fully to you sometime how I happened to have it,” Josephine
replied, with an appealing glance at him from her brilliant dark eyes.
He bowed somewhat coldly in return. He could not forget that his darling
had said that she _stole_ it from her—that one little treasure which she
had prized more than anything else in the world, and there could be no
excuse for, no explanation of, an act so cowardly and cruel, he thought.
“I presume you have heard that we have come to reside in England,” the
artful girl continued, desiring to change the topic of conversation, yet
determined to keep him by her side.
“So I have been told. How do you like England and English people so
far?” he asked.
“Very much. We have been down to Halowell Park, where we expect to
reside most of the year, and it is delightful there. I hope now that we
shall sometime see your home, of which you have told us so much. We
intend to become familiar with all of England.”
“I little thought that day at Long Branch, when Mrs. Richards was
telling me that you were relatives of Sir Charles Thornton, that you
would eventually become his heirs,” Lord Carrol said, ignoring her
evident desire that he should invite her to visit his home, and little
dreaming that such an invitation had already been given by his mother.
“Mamma thought of it, however, although she did not really expect
anything of the kind. Do you remember her asking you if Sir Charles had
any family?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she knew that there were very few relatives, and she did wonder
then who would inherit the estates if he should die childless. But it
seems like some romantic tale to me. I can scarcely realize it even
yet.”
“How does English society compare with American, in your opinion?” Lord
Carrol asked, glancing over the brilliant throng around them.
“I am sure, my lord, I should not presume to judge upon so short an
experience,” Josephine answered, modestly, yet her glance told him that
she admired one Englishman excessively.
“_I_ should judge,” he said, smiling, “if I could form any opinion from
the court which I saw you holding as I entered, that you would be
considered quite an acquisition in London circles.”
He did not say that _he_ should consider her such, and a thrill of pain
shot through her heart at his indifference; but she appeared to take it
as a personal compliment from him, and answered, with a shy look:
“Thank you; I find it very pleasant to be here, at all events.”
Her tone, her glance, and the emphasis which she threw into that last
sentence, would have turned half the heads in that room, but they did
not move him in the least.
He was constantly thinking of a fair, sweet face, framed in gold; of
azure eyes, with white lids and long, curling lashes, and smiling coral
lips, with the gleam of small white teeth between; of his bright,
beautiful Star—the light of his life.
He was thinking of that day when they drove on the beach at Coney
Island, when he had told her of his love, and won her promise to be his
wife; how she had called him “Archie” in those sweet, low tones, which
had made his heart thrill with an ecstasy it had never known before;
while this proud, brilliant girl had no power to stir even a feeling of
friendship in his breast.
She kept him at her side for half an hour or more, and then she was
obliged to release him, and fulfill an engagement to dance.
But her heart was full of a passionate longing to win his love; he had
never appeared so grand and manly to her before; and as she stood before
her glass that night, after her return from Lady Tukesbury’s reception,
and removed the flowers from her hair and bosom, she said, while she set
her small white teeth resolutely together:
“I will move heaven and earth to win him; I will bend all my energies to
become Lady Carrol. A whole year has passed and he has not married;
there was not even any one present to-night to whom he paid particular
attention, and it cannot be possible that he is still grieving for that
milk-and-water beauty, Star Gladstone. No; I have the field clear to
myself, and I swear I will yet be Countess of Carrol.”
“But suppose he is not to be won—suppose you fail in what you have sworn
to accomplish by fair means or foul?” whispered something within, with
such startling distinctness that it almost seemed like a human voice.
“If I fail!” she repeated, growing white to her very lips. “If I
_cannot_ win the man whom I love with my whole soul, then”—and there was
a look of wretchedness, almost of despair, in her midnight eyes at the
thought—“then I will marry some poor fool who shall lose his head over
my pretty face, and be lady somebody else.”