THE MOCK MARRIAGE.
When Lady Sherbrooke informed her son that she had invited Mr. Richards
and his family to spend the following week with them at their country
residence, and to help them make merry with a number of their friends,
his face had clouded instantly, and she saw that he was not pleased with
the arrangement.
“Have I done anything wrong, Archie?” she asked, much disturbed. “I
thought you would be pleased. They spoke of your spending several days
with them when you were in America, and I supposed you would be glad to
return the civility.”
His lips had curled slightly when she had mentioned that they had told
of his visit to Yonkers. He thought they should have preferred to keep
it to themselves, rather than boast of it in order to get a return,
under the circumstances.
But he said nothing of this, and answered, as brightly as he could:
“No, mother dear; you have done nothing wrong, and I will try and make
myself as agreeable as possible to your guests. But I must confess that
neither Mrs. nor Miss Richards is agreeable to me.”
“Why, Archie?”
“I would prefer to say nothing more just now, since they are coming to
visit us. Perhaps sometime I can tell you why,” he answered,
thoughtfully.
“I am sorry,” Lady Sherbrooke returned, regretfully, while she studied
her son’s face wistfully. “I wish I had known of this in season to have
avoided anything so extremely unpleasant. But they were so profuse in
their praises of you that I supposed of course that you reciprocated
their friendliness.”
“Never mind,” he said, lightly; “a week will not be very long. No doubt
Miss Richards—who, I admit, is a very brilliant girl—will be a great
addition to your party, and I would not have any little whim of mine mar
it for the world.”
“Archie, did you ever—” began his mother, with a startled, rueful glance
at him, as it suddenly came to her that there might be a more serious
reason for this than she had dreamed.
But he interrupted her, with a laugh.
“No, mother; I never did,” he said, with an amused gleam in his eyes.
“And now ask me nothing more at present, please; but when your guests
are all gone, I have a little story for your ear, and shall want a share
of sympathy and counsel from your wise head and great heart.”
Cheshire House, situated about a dozen miles out from London, and so
called because it overlooked a little village which, at that time, bore
that name, was filled to overflowing during the following week, and
everybody appeared to anticipate a season of intense enjoyment.
We cannot follow the gay company in all their enjoyments, but it was an
eventful time, during which the hospitable hostess and her lovely
daughter, assisted by Lord Carrol, spared no effort to make it a
memorable one; and when, right in the midst of it all, Ralph Meredith
came by special invitation, one, at least, of that merry number felt
that everything was complete, and nothing more to be wished for.
The last night of their stay there had been set apart for a great time.
Invitations had been sent in every direction through the county, bidding
all the young people to gather there and make merry in their own way.
The evening was to be spent in games, private theatricals, and
masquerade until twelve o’clock, after which hour they were to “trip the
light fantastic toe” as long as they liked.
It was a merry, merry time indeed, and everybody seemed to vie with his
neighbor to see who could contribute most to the enjoyment of the
occasion.
Vivien Sherbrooke and Josephine Richards were declared by each and all
to be the belles of the evening, notwithstanding they were entirely
different in the style of their beauty.
The former wore a dress of rose-colored silk, with overdress of tulle
looped with roses. Ropes of pearls were wound around her fair neck and
arms and twined in her shining brown hair. Her clear gray eyes gleamed
with a brighter luster than usual, a deeper flush was on her cheeks, and
her lips wreathed with happier smiles.
Josephine was in simple white, with not an atom of color to relieve it.
A peculiarly dainty dress of some soft clinging stuff fell in matchless
folds of grace around her lithe form, with rare, costly lace for
garniture, and great poppies, in which diamonds glistened like drops of
dew, fastened on her breast and in her hair.
This spotless toilet was wonderfully becoming to her clear, dark
complexion, and her mother’s heart swelled with pride as she looked upon
her and knew that she was the most distinguished-looking girl among all
that company of aristocrats.
“She cannot fail to win a high position in the world,” she said to
herself, as she saw several titled men hovering about her and hanging
upon her smiles. “If she fail to win Lord Carrol—if he remains blind to
her charms—there are plenty of others, thank Heaven, who _will_
appreciate her. There is his grace, the Duke of Anerby, who admires her
very much, and it would be very nice to be able to say ‘my daughter, the
Duchess of Anerby;’ but I’m afraid she loves Lord Carrol altogether too
well,” she concluded, with a sigh.
There could not be much doubt regarding Josephine’s sentiments toward
his lordship, for, as they stood for a few moments together beneath an
arch of evergreen which had been erected at one end of the hall, her
face was raised to his, as she listened to what he was saying, with a
tender, almost rapt expression, and her eyes were humid with the love
which filled her heart for him.
He thought that she had never appeared to so much advantage as now.
During all her stay at Cheshire House she had been more kind and gentle,
more womanly than he had ever seen her before; and now he lingered by
her side, realizing how very beautiful she was, and feeling almost as if
he had wronged her in the past by judging her so harshly, and his manner
involuntarily became more gracious and friendly toward her.
She saw it, and it made her heart bound with a wild hope, and she became
so radiant, so fascinating and bewildering, that he wondered if he had
indeed been nourishing an unjust prejudice against her.
Lady Sherbrooke saw them standing there, apparently oblivious of
everything and everybody else, and an anxious look shot into her face,
for she had studied Miss Richards during her unguarded moments the past
week, reading her character like an open book with her womanly
intuition, and she knew that she would never make a good man happy; she
would never yield that wifely self-sacrifice which was necessary to
domestic enjoyment; and seeing how passing fair she was to-night, she
dreaded her influence over her idolized son, notwithstanding what he had
already told her.
Suddenly one merry sprite appeared to be possessed by a novel idea of
some kind, and went flitting about the room, whispering, laughing, and
making signs at the pair under the evergreen arch.
The company, who were mostly young people, appeared to join in with her
proposals, whatever they were, and at length she danced gayly up to Lord
Carrol and Josephine, saying, eagerly:
“Archie”—she had known him all her life, and being intimate in the
family, felt privileged to address him thus—“Archie, we have been
arranging such capital fun, and we want you to agree to help us in it.”
“Certainly I will assist you. You know you are to do exactly as you like
to-night, and get all the enjoyment you can out of this occasion.”
“Oh, you are perfectly delightful! Isn’t he, Miss Richards?” returned
the merry girl, with a glance at Josephine, and the look which that
young lady shot at him, half startled but wholly admiring, together with
the flush which leaped into her cheeks, answered the question better
than any words could have done.
“Well, granted that I am all that,” Lord Carrol said, laughing, “what
next?”
“We are going to have a mock marriage; everybody has agreed that it will
be something new under the sun, and we’re just in the mood for a wedding
or any event equally exciting. It is almost on the stroke of twelve, and
it will be just the thing to wind up with before we begin our dancing.”
“Don’t you think it will seem like trifling with a serious subject?”
Lord Carrol asked, rather gravely.
“Oh, no. Of course we do not mean anything wrong; it is only for a
little fun, and we do so want a bride to lead off in the dance,” replied
the thoughtless girl.
“Well,” the young man returned, lightly, “anything you like, only do not
let the ceremony be too tedious, for I am ready for my dance, and I
believe I shall ask you to be my first partner, Minnie. But who are you
going to have for victims?” he concluded, unsuspicious of the trap he
was walking into.
“Oh, you’re to be groom, and Miss Richards the bride. She is the only
one in the room who is dressed all in white, as a bride should be, and
this green arch is just the place for the ceremony to be performed.”
Lord Carrol felt anything but comfortable over this arrangement. He
glanced at Josephine to see how she would take it. But she stood with
downcast eyes, looking the picture of lovely confusion, a beautiful
color in her face, while he noticed that the hand which held her fan
trembled visibly.
“Lord Henderson said he would play parson and pronounce the banns,” the
merry child rattled on, “and he is so portly he will make a first-rate
one. Now, Archie, you and Miss Richards go into the anteroom yonder, so
as to come in like a real bridal party. Wait, there is that lovely lace
shawl of Lady Orton’s; she will lend it, I know, for a vail, and it will
be just the thing. Now don’t stand there like a pair of bashful lovers,
for it is only play, you know,” she added, saucily, “but do as I tell
you, and I will arrange everything, then bring the vail;” and giving her
two victims a gentle push, the excited girl whisked away to another part
of the hall.
“Well, Miss Richards, Miss Shelton intends to have everything her own
way, and I do not see but what we shall be obliged to help her carry out
her plans.” Lord Carrol said, trying to speak lightly, and to make the
best of a very—to him—disagreeable situation.
“You certainly do resemble a bride in your dress,” he added, “more than
any one else in the room, and, if agreeable to you, we will assist in
the little piece of folly just to please the child.”
Little piece of folly!
If he could but have known of the tumult that was raging within her at
the mere thought of such a ceremony in connection with him, he would not
have called it that—it would have been sacrilege!
She was trembling like a leaf, and she knew that that marriage service,
though but the meaningless freak of a wild girl, would seem as solemn to
her as if he were really to make her his wife.
That was “folly” without doubt, but she loved him so that she could not
help the feeling.
He offered her his arm, and they retired to the anteroom together, and
Lord Carrol could not help perceiving the strange thrill which pervaded
the girl’s whole frame as her hand came in contact with his arm.
But they were not left long alone, for Minnie Shelton soon came tripping
in with an exquisite point lace shawl hanging over her arm.
“Everybody is on the _qui vive_,” she said, breathlessly, “and we must
not keep them waiting. Sit down, Miss Richards, on this divan, and let
me pin this shawl on your head; it will make a lovely bridal vail.
There, Lord Carrol, isn’t she charming?” she asked, after she had
dextrously arranged it in graceful folds. “Doesn’t she look like a
_real_ bride?”
“I think your efforts have been eminently successful to make her appear
like one,” he answered, smiling; and certainly Josephine was as lovely
as it was possible for any one to be.
“I only hope, my lord, that when you _do_ get married you’ll find
somebody half as beautiful,” retorted the saucy elf. “There, you’ll do;
now go, for they are all waiting, and the parson is ready to pronounce
the banns.”
Lord Carrol felt very uneasy, but he offered his arm to Josephine again,
and her hand fell upon it, white and soft as a snow-flake.
They passed out into the great ball-room and paused under the green
arch, while murmurs of surprise and admiration greeted them from every
side, for the addition of the lace shawl to Josephine’s already charming
toilet had greatly enhanced her appearance.
Two or three young girls, led by Minnie Shelton, advanced and took their
station by her side to act as bride-maids, and then Lord Henderson, clad
in a long white robe improvised for the occasion, came forward and read
the marriage service.
When the ring was called for, the gay girl who had planned all this
reached behind the bride and tucked one into Lord Carrol’s hand.
He was strangely impressed, a feeling of awe, a chill, creeping over him
as he felt it and thought of its significance. But he took it and put it
on the finger of the mock bride, repeating, “with this ring I wed thee,
and all my goods endow thee,” feeling as if he were going through a
mockery almost too horrible to endure.
Josephine, too, trembled visibly, while the hand that he held was as
cold as ice.
She would have given the world to have been able to control herself, for
she feared that the company would suspect something of the tumult in her
heart, but she could not.
However, when the ceremony was over, the gay crowd came forward,
brimming with mirth, and in the jollity that followed, these impressions
in a measure passed away.
There were laughter and compliment on every lip, shaking of hands and
congratulation on every side, until at length Minnie Shelton put a stop
to it by coming forward and saying:
“The musicians are all ready, Lord Carrol; you’ll have to dance the
first quadrille with your bride; I’ll claim you for the second. Hasn’t
it been a lovely wedding, though?—just as if it had been real, you
know—and we’ve had all the fun without any flurry. My!” perking her
restless head on one side and eying Josephine out of her bright eyes
like some pretty bird, “don’t I hope I may make as charming a bride when
somebody comes to marry me!”
There was a general laugh at this sally, for Miss Minnie was a favorite
with everybody.
“Now come, please; and, Lord Henderson, if you have no objection, I’d
like you for a partner, and we will be the happy couple’s _vis a vis_.”
Without waiting for his consent, she slipped her little hand within his
arm and led him along after Lord Carrol and Josephine, who could do
nothing but obey her commands.