GOLDEN DREAMS.
It was impossible for Lord Loughton to wear deep mourning for his wife
without provoking sundry inconvenient inquiries, so he simply put a
narrow band round his hat, and wore gloves stitched with black. "I've
lost an old and very dear friend," he remarked, incidentally, here and
there. "Some one I knew when I was abroad many years ago. Quite cut me
up to hear that he was gone."
Over the solitary pipe in which he indulged the last thing before
going to bed he often found his thoughts wandering off in the
direction of Miss Tebbuts. Here were twenty thousand pounds ready to
drop into his hands for, without self-flattery, in which, to do him
justice, he rarely indulged, he fully believed that if he were to ask
the lady to become Countess of Loughton he need not fear a refusal. It
was true, he had promised Flicker that in consideration of his
augmented income all thoughts of matrimony should be banished from his
mind. But circumstances when he made that promise were different with
him from what they were now, and, in any case, such a promise could
hardly be held to be finally binding. Should he decide to become a
Benedick once more, he would give due notice to the countess.
Everything should be fair and above-board. He often chuckled to
himself when he tried to picture the dismay and rage with which the
dowager would greet any notice of his impending marriage. And yet the
real fun of the affair lay, not in the fact of his contracting a
second marriage, but in the much more significant fact of his having a
grown-up son and heir ready to his hand. What the dowager would say
and do in case it ever came to her ears that there was already in
existence a strapping young man of five feet eleven inches who was
entitled to call himself Lord Shoreham if he only knew it, was more
than even the earl could imagine. The news would almost be enough to
kill her. He would be amply revenged on her for all her slights and
insults one of these days.
Then again, provided he made up his mind to go on with his matrimonial
scheme, it would hardly do for either Miss Tebbuts or her friends to
be made aware of the existence of Clement. Were that fact to come to
their ears, the twenty thousand pounds might not so readily drop into
his hands. After the marriage it would not matter how soon he
introduced his son to them. They might then digest their
disappointment as they best could. Their feelings in the matter would
be nothing to him.
His frequent conversations with money-making Mr. Wingfield tended more
than anything else to direct his thoughts into the channel of
matrimony. "With five thousand to start with, you ought to be worth
fifty thousand at the end of five years," was one of the several
maxims with which Mr. Wingfield was in the habit of making our
impecunious peer's mouth water. As a sort of corollary to the doctrine
he was in the habit of preaching, the merchant on one occasion lent
the earl three hundred pounds in order that the latter might
participate, to an infinitesimal extent, in one of the many "good
things" that seemed as plentiful as blackberries in those halcyon days
of unlimited confidence. At the end of two months the earl sold out,
by the advice of his friend, realizing thereby, on his original
investment of three hundred pounds, a clear profit of as much more. It
was no wonder that the earl began to court his City friends more and
more, and that he came to find his most interesting reading in the
money articles of his favorite newspaper.
One grain of justice we must do him. In all his dreams of wealth and
prosperity to come he had Clement's future at heart almost as much as
his own. It should not be his fault if Clement did not come into
fortune as well as title. In so far he was unselfish, and no farther.
If only Clem would supplement his father's efforts by making a rich
marriage, then would all be well. The earldom of Loughton, in the
hands of the junior branch of the family, might ultimately shine with
a lustre equal to that which had emanated from it in days gone by.
It was during the time these thoughts were fermenting in his mind that
the earl was surprised by a visit from Miss Collumpton and Mr.
Slingsby Boscombe. They had been summoned to Ringwood by the countess,
who was anxious to see for herself how matters were progressing with
the two young people. When the present detestable individual who held
the title should die--and surely Providence would be considerate
enough to remove him before long--then Slingsby would be Earl of
Loughton, and, what with his own fortune and that of Cecilia, he would
be in a position to make a very respectable figure as a nobleman. The
marriage of these two was the last pet scheme of the dowager's life,
but we know already what small likelihood there was of its fulfilment.
Cecilia and Slingsby, knowing for what purpose they had been summoned
to Ringwood, agreed between themselves, before their interview with
the countess, what each of them should say.
Keen-sighted as the old lady usually was, they contrived to hoodwink
her most effectually. They walked and talked and sat together, and
seemed full of private confidences with each other. When the countess
spoke about Slingsby to Cecilia, the latter said, with a smile, "Yes,
we are very good friends, are we not? I always did like Slingsby."
"But it's a question of something more than liking. You know what I
mean?"
"Quite well, aunt."
"You know how I have set my heart on this matter. I hope you are not
going to disappoint me."
"As I said before, aunt, Slingsby and I are the best of friends. We
understand each other thoroughly; is not that enough?"
"I suppose I must make it so. But young people nowadays do their
courting so frigidly that one can never tell when they are in earnest
and when they are not."
It was not without certain qualms of conscience that Cecilia consented
to deceive her aunt thus. It was only at Slingsby's earnest entreaty
that she agreed to do so. He had committed the imprudence of a secret
marriage, and was most anxious that his father should have no
suspicion of the fact, otherwise his allowance would be stopped, and
his wife and himself reduced for a couple of years to come to a
condition of genteel pauperism.
When Cecilia and Slingsby set out from Ringwood on the morning of
their visit to Laurel Cottage they had no intention of adventuring so
far. It was only when they had been riding for an hour that Slingsby
said, "Now that we have come so far we may as well go on to Brimley
and hunt up his lordship. What say you, Cis?"
"I should like it of all things. Only, we have never been introduced
to him."
"I don't suppose he will mind that in the least. We are his relations,
and it's only right that we should know each other."
"Then let us go. But the dowager will be dreadfully annoyed if she
hears of it."
"Who's to tell her? Not you or I."
The earl received them with much _empressement_, and made them stay to
luncheon. Slingsby was greatly taken with him; the earl had always had
a happy knack of making himself agreeable to young men. To Cecilia he
was an enigma. There was about him a certain indefinable something
which seemed familiar to her. It was not his features, nor his voice,
nor his walk, nor anything on which she could definitely fix, that put
her in mind of some other person whom she had at some time met. It
seemed to her rather as if she must have known the earl when she was a
very little girl--though that was an impossibility--or else that she
must have met him in some previous state of existence, and have not
quite forgotten him in this.
"Surely these young people must abound with generous instincts," said
the earl to himself. "It would be a pity not to develop and encourage
them." So he showed them round the garden, which was really a charming
little spot, and came to the stable and coach-house last of all. "I
have no use for these," said the earl, with a doleful shake of his
head. "I am thinking of advertising them as being to let."
"But is not your lordship fond of riding and driving?"
"Yes; no one more so. But then, I am a poor man. Even a hack for
riding is a luxury beyond my reach."
A meaning look passed between Cecilia and Slingsby, which the earl's
quick eyes did not fail to note.
About a fortnight later the railway people at Brimley advised the earl
that a brougham and two horses had arrived at the station, and awaited
his orders there. The next post brought a pretty little note from
Cecilia, in which she requested, on the part of herself and Mr.
Boscombe, the earl's acceptance of a brougham and horse, together with
a cob for riding. The earl smiled grimly as he read the note. "Two
good children--very," he muttered. "I suppose they intend to make a
match of it. I hope they won't regret their generosity when they find
out that there is such a person in existence as Clement Fildew
Lorrimore, otherwise Lord Shoreham."