THE DUKE'S PLAN.
That was surely the most silent and somber dinner-party ever held at the
Castle. The four who sat down to the table owned to themselves that it
was a terrible mistake--they ought to have had some stranger present, if
only to break the ice. Even the servants wondered, as they looked from
one grave face to another, what unusual cloud had fallen over their
superiors. The duke looked as though years had passed over his head
since morning, when he went riding away, the picture of a prosperous,
genial, happy-hearted nobleman. His hair seemed to have grown grayer,
the lines on his face deeper; the stately figure stooped as it had never
done before; the star on his breast shone in mockery, and contrasted
cruelly with the worn, haggard face above.
The duchess, in her superb dress of black velvet, with its point-lace
and diamonds, looked unhappy. She had lost none of her dignity--women
reserve that under the most trying circumstances--but there was a
hesitation and faltering in her clear voice no one had ever heard
before.
Lord Linleigh did his best to restore something like cheerfulness. The
worst was over for him now; the story was told, and it was not given to
men of his race to feel dull for long. They had the happy faculty of
recovering from any blow, no matter how severe, in a marvelously short
space of time. His confession was made, the story told, the worst known,
and what had he to fear? Things would soon come right. He should take
his beautiful wife to Linleigh, and their daughter would soon join them;
the whole story would soon blow over, then who so happy as he? He was
not troubled with any extra amount of conscience, with any keen sense of
regret, so he told stories of his Indian life, and as far as possible
tried to improve the general aspect of things.
Lady Estelle had, perhaps in all her life, never looked more beautiful.
Her usual gentle languor had left her; there was a rich color on her
fair face, a light in her eyes--she, too, was relieved. The ordeal she
had dreaded for so many years was over at last--the punishment would
follow. She read her father's face too accurately to doubt that; still,
the worst was over.
Dinner was ended at last. The well-trained servants had quitted the
dining-room, the door was closed, and then the duke, looking very grave,
said:
"Her grace and myself have been talking over matters, and have decided
upon a certain course of conduct. I shall be happy if it suits your
views, if it does not, however deeply I may feel it, you must henceforth
both be strangers to me."
Lady Estelle looked wistfully at him; but his face was stern, and she
knew that just then all pleading would be vain.
"You owe me something, Estelle," he said. "You have dealt me a blow I
never thought to suffer, and you ought to sacrifice something to atone
to me for it."
"I will sacrifice almost anything," she said; "that is, anything except
my husband."
"I need not tell you," continued the duke, "that I feel the disgrace and
shame of the story I have just heard far more than you do who have told
it. I feel it so keenly, that if it were known, I should never again
show my face. I should never hold up my head again among my peers; in
fact, I could not endure to live and to know that such a history could
be told of my daughter. My wife feels it as keenly as myself, therefore
we have come to a fixed resolution."
"May I ask what it is?" said the earl.
"It is this--that the shameful secret be kept a secret still. I do not
question the validity of the marriage. I own that, as far as I can see
and understand, it was a perfectly legal ceremony; but with my consent
it shall never be known. I would rather--far rather, Heaven knows--see
the daughter whom I have loved so tenderly and so proudly, dead, than
have this known."
The Earl and Countess of Linleigh looked at each other. This was very
different to what they had expected to hear.
"I do not see," murmured the earl, "how it can possibly be avoided--it
must be known."
"I have thought of a plan which will obviate the necessity," said the
duke, in his most stately manner. "Permit me to explain it. I grant that
the existence of this unfortunate girl renders it doubly difficult.
Still, I protest, by the spotless name the Herefords have ever borne, by
my pride of race, by the nobility of my ancestry, by the honor of my
house--I protest against letting the world know how my daughter has
deceived me. But for the existence of this girl, I would propose that
the marriage be annulled. Respect must be paid to her rights; she is at
present your sole heiress, and the heiress of my daughter. In all
conscience, honor and loyalty, we are bound to recognize her rights."
"We cannot do otherwise," said the duchess, with a stately bend of her
head.
Lady Estelle looked up with an expression of relief.
"I must ask you," continued the duke, "to follow me attentively. I am
anxious to do two things--I wish to preserve the unsullied honor of my
house, and I wish to do justice to her whom I must, in spite of my
objection, call my grandchild. I propose to do it in this way: Let the
secret of this private marriage ever remain unknown and unsuspected. It
was known that Captain Studleigh admired Lady Estelle before he went
abroad; it will not seem strange to any one that, having succeeded to
the earldom, and finding her still with us, he seeks to marry her. Visit
Downsbury Castle when you will, my lord; you can speak of Lady Estelle
with all the rapture of a Studleigh. It will soon be rumored about that
you have renewed the old love. At the end of six weeks I will take my
daughter to Paris, you can follow us. I will not ask you to go again
through the religious ceremony--I have too much respect for religion to
suggest it; but you can go through the civil forms, with all the pomp
and splendor due to your own rank and ours. Every paper in England will
then have an account of the marriage of Lady Estelle Hereford with the
Earl of Linleigh, and I shall be saved the greatest disgrace--the
greatest shame that could have befallen me. Do you agree to my proposal,
Lord Linleigh? In making it there is nothing against your interest or my
daughter's--nothing against justice, loyalty, or honor; it is simply a
subterfuge to save the honor of a noble house. Do you agree?"
"I see no objection," said the earl, cautiously.
"I shall dower my daughter right royally," said the duke--"as
munificently as though she were marrying the man whom I should have
chosen for her."
"It would save an immense deal of scandal, and rumor, and remarks," said
the duchess, gravely; "it would save us from a thousand taunts and
jeers. We have been so proud of you, Estelle!"
"But the child," said the earl--"she cannot be ignored after that
fashion."
"Certainly not. My plan you will find best for her as well as for you. I
have told you before that I cannot and will not submit to the
degradation of hearing this story laughed at by half London. This is
what I propose for the child: You, my Lord Linleigh, were in your youth
famed for eccentricity. Tell the world openly, as you please, that you
were married before you went abroad, and lost your wife. That is
perfectly true, and you will not find many questions asked. Add that,
unable to burden yourself with the care of a child in India, you were
compelled to leave her with friends of your wife--every word of which is
literally, strictly, and perfectly true. The only secret that I charge
you to guard as you would guard your life, is this--the name of your
wife. You will not find people curious to know it. They will conclude
that you married some poor, pretty girl, and not tease you with
questions. You can claim your daughter at once, and take her home with
you."
The earl looked quite content, but there was a pitiful expression on the
face of Lady Estelle that was painful to see.
"I understand," she said; "but, papa, if we do this she will never know
who is her mother. She will never know that she is my child."
"It is not needful," was the stern reply. "I should think that any
mother would shrink from letting her child know such a history as yours.
She will be with you--under your charge--you can do all a mother's part
toward her, and yet save the honor of our name."
The face of Lady Estelle grew crimson as she listened.
"My marriage was a legal one, papa," she said.
"Certainly, but not an honorable one. I do not, however, insist upon it;
you can please yourself. You know the alternative--if you make the true
story of her birth known, I shall leave England, and never look on the
faces of my old friends again."
"I do not see, Estelle," said the duchess, in a grave, cold voice, "what
difference it can possibly make to you. If you acknowledge her as your
daughter twenty times over, you could not do more than let her live in
your house, and take charge of her. You can do that now."
"Oh, mamma, it will be so hard!"
"I do not think you will find it so. You must remember that, with the
unfortunate training the child has had, it is quite impossible that she
can be any credit to you. You should have looked better after her
education, had you ever intended to acknowledge her. Spare me this
disgrace; do not let the world know that a girl brought up in the
kitchen at Brackenside is my grandchild. I must confess that, even under
the circumstances, bad, painful, as they were, I cannot imagine why you
acted so with the child."
"I wanted her to be good and happy in a simple fashion. I never dreamed
that these events would happen."
"I think," said the duchess, "that you should be willing to adopt your
father's suggestion. It is by far the most sensible one."
"I quite agree with it," said Lord Linleigh. "Then the chief burden
falls upon me--I have but to own to a private marriage, as your grace
suggests. It is doubtful whether any one cares to inquire the name of my
wife. I was but Captain Studleigh, and a Mrs. Studleigh is of no note.
Even if the girl herself should question me, I should merely say that I
prefer not to mention her mother's name."
"It will be far the best plan. The girl has a Studleigh face; claim her
at once, and let her take her station as your daughter and mistress of
your house until you take Estelle home."
"I think it will be the best plan," said the earl.
"If I were in your place," continued the duke, "I should not go to the
farm; I should at once return to Linleigh Court; and when you reach
there, send for the farmer, his wife, and your child--it will make far
less sensation. They are honest people, too, and if you ask for silence
they will keep it. It is not probable that any one will ever see her
again who knew her here. The farmer and his wife have shown good tact
and good sense in keeping friends and acquaintances at a distance."
"I am sure you are right," said Lord Linleigh. "Estelle, do you
consent?"
She was silent for some few minutes; they saw her face quiver with pain.
Then she left her seat and went round to her father, and knelt down by
his side.
"Dearest," she said to him, "I owe you this reparation. The dearest wish
of my heart was to hear my child call me mother. I renounce that wish
for your sake--I promise to do as you suggest. Will you, in turn,
forgive me?"
Perhaps he was glad of the opportunity; for, bending over, he kissed her
face, and she saw tears in his eyes. The duchess came round and joined
the little group, but even in that moment Lady Estelle felt that the
full pardon of her stately mother would indeed be difficult to win.