_The Fête of Youth and Beauty_
ARUNDEL DACRE, though little apt to cultivate an acquaintance with
anyone, called on the young Duke the morning after their meeting. The
truth is, his imagination was touched by our hero’s appearance. His
Grace possessed all that accomplished manner of which Arundel painfully
felt the want, and to which he eagerly yielded his admiration. He
earnestly desired the Duke’s friendship, but, with his usual _mauvaise
honte_, their meeting did not advance his wishes. He was as shy
and constrained as usual, and being really desirous of appearing to
advantage, and leaving an impression in his favour, his manner was even
divested of that somewhat imposing coldness which was not altogether
ineffective. In short, he was rather disagreeable. The Duke was
courteous, as he usually was, and ever to the Da-cres, but he was not
cordial. He disliked Arundel Dacre; in a word, he looked upon him as
his favoured rival. The two young men occasionally met, but did not grow
more intimate. Studiously polite the young Duke ever was both to him
and to his lovely cousin, for his pride concealed his pique, and he was
always afraid lest his manner should betray his mind.
In the meantime Sir Lucius Grafton apparently was running his usual
course of triumph. It is fortunate that those who will watch and wonder
about everything are easily satisfied with a reason, and are ever quick
in detecting a cause; so Mrs. Dallington Vere was the fact that duly
accounted for the Baronet’s intimacy with the Dacres. All was right
again between them. It was unusual, to be sure, these _rifacimentos_;
still she was a charming woman; and it was well known that Lucius had
spent twenty thousand on the county. Where was that to come from, they
should like to know, but from old Dallington Vere’s Yorkshire estates,
which he had so wisely left to his pretty wife by the pink paper
codicil?
And this lady of so many loves, how felt she? Most agreeably, as all
dames do who dote upon a passion which they feel convinced will be
returned, but which still waits for a response. Arundel Dacre would
yield her a smile from a face more worn by thought than joy; and Arundel
Dacre, who was wont to muse alone, was now ever ready to join his cousin
and her friends in the ride or the promenade. Miss Dacre, too, had
noticed to her a kindly change in her cousin’s conduct to her father. He
was more cordial to his uncle, sought to pay him deference, and seemed
more desirous of gaining his good-will. The experienced eye, too, of
this pretty woman allowed her often to observe that her hero’s presence
was not particularly occasioned, or particularly inspired, by his
cousin. In a word, it was to herself that his remarks were addressed,
his attentions devoted, and often she caught his dark and liquid eye
fixed upon her beaming and refulgent brow.
Sir Lucius Grafton proceeded with that strange mixture of craft and
passion which characterised him. Each day his heart yearned more for the
being on whom his thoughts should never have pondered. Now exulting in
her increased confidence, she seemed already his victim; now awed by her
majestic spirit, he despaired even of her being his bride. Now melted
by her unsophisticated innocence, he cursed even the least unhallowed of
his purposes; and now enchanted by her consummate loveliness, he forgot
all but her beauty and his own passion.
Often had he dilated to her, with the skill of an arch deceiver, on the
blessings of domestic joy; often, in her presence, had his eye sparkled,
when he watched the infantile graces of some playful children. Then he
would embrace them with a soft care and gushing fondness, enough to melt
the heart of any mother whom he was desirous to seduce, and then, with
a half-murmured sigh, he regretted, in broken accents, that he, too, was
not a father.
In due time he proceeded even further. Dark hints of domestic infelicity
broke unintentionally from his ungoverned lips. Miss Dacre stared.
He quelled the tumult of his thoughts, struggled with his outbreaking
feelings, and triumphed; yet not without a tear, which forced its way
down a face not formed for grief, and quivered upon his fair and downy
cheek. Sir Lucius Grafton was well aware of the magic of his beauty, and
used his charms to betray, as if he were a woman.
Miss Dacre, whose soul was sympathy, felt in silence for this excellent,
this injured, this unhappy, this agreeable man. Ill could even her
practised manner check the current of her mind, or conceal from Lady
Aphrodite that she possessed her dislike. As for the young Duke, he
fell into the lowest abyss of her opinions, and was looked upon as alike
frivolous, heartless, and irreclaimable.
But how are the friends with whom we dined yesterday? Frequent were the
meetings, deep the consultations, infinite the suggestions, innumerable
the expedients. In the morning they met and breakfasted with Annesley;
in the afternoon they met and lunched with Lord Squib; in the evening
they met and dined with Lord Darrell; and at night they met and supped
at the Alhambra. Each council only the more convinced them that the
scheme was feasible, and must be glorious. At last their ideas were
matured, and Annesley took steps to break a great event to the world,
who were on the eve of being astonished.
He repaired to Lady Bloomerly. The world sometimes talked of her
Ladyship and Mr. Annesley; the world were quite wrong, as they often are
on this subject. Mr. Annesley knew the value of a female friend. By
Lady Bloomerly’s advice, the plan was entrusted in confidence to about a
dozen dames equally influential. Then a few of the most considered male
friends heard a strange report. Lord Darrell dropped a rumour at the
Treasury; but with his finger on the mouth, and leaving himself out
of the list, proceeded to give his favourable opinion of the project,
merely as a disinterested and expected guest. Then the Duke promised
Peacock Piggott one night at the Alhambra, but swore him to solemn
secrecy over a vase of sherbet. Then Squib told his tailor, in
consideration that his bill should not be sent in; and finally, the Bird
of Paradise betrayed the whole affair to the musical world, who were,
of course, all agog. Then, when rumour began to wag its hundred tongues,
the twelve peeresses found themselves bound in honour to step into the
breach, yielded the plan their decided approbation, and their avowed
patronage puzzled the grumblers, silenced the weak, and sneered down the
obstinate.
The invitations began to issue, and the outcry against them burst forth.
A _fronde_ was formed, but they wanted a De Retz; and many kept back,
with the hope of being bribed from joining it. The four cavaliers soon
found themselves at the head of a strong party, and then, like a
faction who have successfully struggled for toleration, they now openly
maintained their supremacy. It was too late to cabal. The uninvited
could only console themselves by a passive sulk or an active sneer;
but this would not do, and their bilious countenances betrayed their
chagrin.
The difficulty now was, not to keep the bores away, but to obtain a
few of the beauties, who hesitated. A chaperon must be found for one;
another must be added on to a party, like a star to the cluster of a
constellation. Among those whose presence was most ardently desired, but
seemed most doubtful, was Miss Dacre. An invitation had been sent to her
father; but he was out of town, and she did not like to join so peculiar
a party without him: but it was unanimously agreed that, without her,
the affair would be a failure; and Charles Annesley was sent, envoy
extraordinary, to arrange. With the good aid of his friend Mrs.
Dallington all was at length settled; and fervid prayers that the
important day might be ushered in by a smiling sun were offered up
during the next fortnight, at half-past six every morning, by all
civilised society, who then hurried to their night’s rest.