"BE KIND TO HER, AS THOUGH YOU WERE HER OWN CHILD."
The atmosphere seemed clearer to Lady Doris Studleigh when the kindly
farmer and his wife were gone; she wanted nothing to remind her of what
she chose to call that miserable period of her life. She was always
vexed that the earl had spoken so frankly of them as her foster-parents.
There was no need, surely, for all the house to know that she had been
brought up at a farm. She would have been surprised if she could have
known the amount of respect that the servants, one and all, felt for
Mark Brace. No person could know him without feeling for him the
greatest possible liking; his honesty, the simple, rugged grandeur of
his character, attracted all. She, who measured men by the length of
their pedigree and purses, was quite unable, even in her own mind, to do
justice to Mark Brace. He might be as chivalrous as Bayard, self-denying
as Sir Philip Sydney, brave as the Black Prince, but, for all that, he
was only a farmer. Therefore it was a relief to her when he was gone.
She felt more at ease in her father's house when they were gone.
When Lord Linleigh, after seeing them off from the station, had returned
to the Court, he sent for his daughter to the library.
"Now, my darling," he said, "it is quite time we had a little serious
talk together. How strange it seems to me to have a grown-up daughter
like you. Sit down; I have so much to say to you. To begin with, do you
find yourself at home?"
"I have never felt more at home in my life," she replied, calmly; "and I
think it is because I am in my right place at last."
"Most probably so. Now, Doris, there are several things that you want,
and must have at once--a Parisian waiting-maid, and a wardrobe suited to
your position. Do you ride?"
"Yes; it is one of my favorite amusements."
"That is right; you must have a horse and groom; there will be a
carriage also at your disposal. But over your wardrobe we must have some
advice. You will require everything, just as though you were being
married."
"That is certain," she replied, with a quiet smile; "but I do not think
I shall need advice. I am quite competent myself to select what I want."
"But, my dear child, how can you be?"
"You forget that I went out as governess, and so had the opportunity of
studying those things. Trust me and see. I shall go at once to Madame
Francois, the head court milliner, and you will be satisfied, I am sure,
with the result."
"I shall be delighted, I am sure, if that be the case," said the earl.
"Then you will want jewels. Studleigh jewels are very fine ones--I
suppose we have the finest jewels in the world."
"Why will they not do for me, then?" she asked.
"Because they must go to my wife. The family jewels are always the
property of the reigning Countess of Linleigh."
"But, papa, there is no reigning Countess of Linleigh," she said, with a
little laugh.
"No, my dear--not just at present; but I hope that there soon will be."
His face flushed slightly, and he looked confused for a few moments.
Then he said:
"That is another of the things I want to speak to you about. I ought,
perhaps, to tell you that I think of marrying again."
There was a few minutes of dead silence. She did not quite like it; it
was not what she had expected. She had anticipated being mistress of
Linleigh Court. The earl continued:
"It will be much happier for me, Doris, and decidedly better for you.
You labor under great disadvantages at present, although I acknowledge
your beauty, your grace, and your tact to be perfect; still, you
require, before you make your _debut_ in the great world, to spend some
little time in the society of a well-trained woman of the world."
She was quick enough to know that this was perfectly true.
"You are right, papa," she said, and the admission pleased him.
"It will also be greatly to your advantage, Doris," he continued. "When
you make your _debut_ in the great world, you will find the
_chaperonage_ of a lady essential to you. Still, my child, although
there are many advantages for you, do not let me mislead you. It is not
for your sake I am going to marry; it is for my own, because I really
love the lady who will soon, I hope, be Countess of Linleigh."
She made a violent effort to conquer herself. There was nothing to be
gained, she knew, by opposition--everything by cheerful acquiescence.
She went to him and clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed his
face.
"I hope you will be happy, papa," she said--"I hope you will be very
happy."
"Thank you," he replied, cheerfully; "I do not doubt it, darling. I
think we shall all be happy together. Guess, Doris, who it is that I
hope soon to bring here."
"I can't guess, papa. I do not know the ladies of your world."
"You know this one," he said, laughingly, while she, half-frightened,
said:
"How can I?"
"You have been to Downsbury Castle, have you not?"
A sudden light came over her face, then she laughed.
"Can it be Lady Estelle Hereford?" she cried. "Oh, papa, you will never
forgive me for calling her tame."
"I have forgiven you. Do you not think you will be very happy with her?"
"I am sure I shall like her very much; she is so fair, so well-bred, so
gentle. How little I dreamed, papa, on that day I was sitting so near to
her, that she would be my step-mother--that I should ever live with her.
I am so glad!"
She did not understand why his face quivered, as with pain. He drew the
bright golden head down to his breast.
"My darling," he said, gently, "you shall have all the love, the care,
the affection that a father can show his child--you shall have
everything your heart desires and wishes for, if you will do one thing
in return."
"I will do anything in return," she said.
And for once there was something like deep feeling in her voice.
"I want you to be kind to this wife of mine, Doris. She is not very
strong: she has been petted and spoiled all her life. Be kind to her as
though--as though you were her own child, or her own younger sister.
Will you, Doris? Promise me that, and you will give me the greatest
happiness that it is in your power to confer upon me."
"I do promise," cried Doris. "I cannot say that I will love her as my
mother, but I will be everything that is gentle and obedient."
"Thank you, my darling! Only do that, and you will see what return I
will make to you. There is another thing, Doris, I wish to speak to you
about. You heard and agreed with what I said to Mrs. Brace, that I wish
your lover, Earle Moray, to understand that I shall consider the
engagement between you as binding as though you had always remained at
the farm."
"You are very kind, papa," she said; but this time there was no ring of
truth and tenderness in her voice.
"It is but just, Doris. I shall make his advancement in the world my
chief study. Money can be no object in your marriage--you will in all
probability have a large fortune--still I should like the man you marry
to hold some position in the world. From what you tell me of Earle
Moray, I should imagine that he is a man of great talent. If so, there
can be little difficulty."
"He has something more than talent," said Doris, proudly; "he has
genius."
"My dear child, you will know, when you are as old as I am, that talent
and industry are worth any amount of genius."
"I am sure that he has industry, papa," she said.
"Then, if he has industry and genius, his fortune is sure," said the
earl. "As soon as we have a Countess of Linleigh to do the honors, we
must ask Earle Moray to come and see us."
Of all things, that was what she desired most, that he should see her in
her true place, surrounded by all the luxury and magnificence that
belonged to her station. It was the strongest wish of her heart.
"Can we not ask him before then, papa?"
"No; there, you see, Doris, the laws of etiquette and ceremony step in.
Until you have some lady to _chaperone_ you, we cannot receive any young
gentlemen visitors. That will be one convenience of a step-mother."
"Yes," she replied: "but the traditional step-mother generally
interferes in the love affairs of the household. However, I feel quite
sure Lady Estelle will never interfere with mine."
"The Duke of Downsbury goes to Paris this week," continued the earl,
"with the duchess and Lady Estelle. I thought of following them."
"That will be very nice for you, papa," she said.
"It is really some comfort to have a daughter whom one can consult about
such matters. I want to marry as soon as I can; but marrying a duke's
daughter in England is a tremendous undertaking, Doris. The amount of
ceremony and form to be gone through with is something dreadful. I
should not mind about that; but, you see, the great embarrassment is
this--the duke is very particular, and he would naturally think it too
soon after the late earl's death for me to make any great public
sensation--that is the difficulty."
"Yes, that is a difficulty," said Doris.
"All that would be obviated entirely if I went to Paris, and could
obtain their consent to a quiet ceremony at the embassy, or something of
that kind."
"It would be a very wise course, papa."
"So I think, my dear, and I shall start for Paris next week. I may be a
month absent. Now comes the great difficulty of all, Doris--what is to
be done with you?"
"I can remain here," she said.
"Not alone, my dear, not alone--it would not do. I thought if I were to
ask that nice daughter of Mark Brace's she would stay with you; then I
should feel quite at my ease."
"I should be much pleased," said Doris.
It would indeed be a triumph to show Mattie, upon whom she had always
looked down, the difference that really existed between them.
"Then all our difficulties are silenced," said the earl. "I have often
heard people say how difficult their daughters are to manage; but if
they are like you, Doris, there cannot be such great difficulty."
She laughed, wondering to herself if he would say the same in a year's
time.
"You understand, Doris, that it will not do for you to go into society
at all just yet. You must neither receive or pay visits. No young lady
does anything of that kind until she has been presented at court."
"When does my presentation take place, papa?"
"If all goes well, I think next May. Lady Estelle or the duchess will
present you; then you may consider yourself fairly afloat--until then,
solitude. You can spend the intermediate time in the acquisition of all
kinds of little accomplishments; not that you are deficient, for you are
a perfect wonder to me. The next thing to be done, Doris, is that you
must choose a suit of rooms for yourself. I give you permission to
choose which you will; and when we go to London, you shall go to Mantall
& Briard's, the famous decorators and house-furnishers, and choose
anything you like. It will amuse you during my absence to superintend
the fitting-up of four rooms--it will give me a fair idea of your
taste."
They went together through Linleigh Court. Until then Doris had no just
idea of the immense extent of the place--she was amazed at it. And the
rooms were all so light, so sunny, so bright, she was quite at a loss
which to choose. One suit delighted her very much--four large, lofty
rooms, with ceilings superbly painted, looking south, so that the warmth
and brightness of the sun was always on them. The windows were built
after the French fashion--long, reaching from the floor to the ceiling,
and opening on to balconies filled with flowers. The great charm to
Doris of these rooms was, that the boudoir opened on to a balcony, and a
small flight of steps led from the balcony to the ground, so that she
could go from her own rooms to the gardens without passing through the
house.
"That is very nice," said the earl, "for young ladies who love the early
dew and the flowers. Do you think it safe, Doris? Suppose you forgot to
fasten the door leading on to the balcony?"
It was an evil fate that led Lady Doris to choose that suit of rooms.