HER LOVER.
It has never been fully explained how it was that a person so thoroughly
experienced in the world as Lady Germaine should have permitted an
acquaintance between Lady Jane and Mr Winton to ripen under her roof.
That she should have introduced them to each other was nothing, of
course; for in society every gentleman is supposed the equal of every
other gentleman, though he has not a penny and his next neighbour may be
a millionaire; and Lady Jane was gracious in her high-minded, maidenly
way, as a princess should be, to everybody, to the clergyman, and even
to the clergyman’s sons, dangerous and detrimental young persons who
have to be asked to country houses, a perpetual alarm to anxious parents
who have daughters. No _hauteur_, no exclusiveness was in Lady Jane. She
was as much withdrawn above the young squire as the young curate, and
there was no reason why Mr Winton, who was very personable, very well
thought of, and in no sense of the word detrimental, should not pay his
homage to the Duke’s daughter. But there it should have stopped. When
she saw that there was even the remotest chance that it might go
further, Lady Germaine’s duty was plain. She should have said firmly,
“Not in my house.” It was not to be supposed, indeed, that she could
stop the course of mutual inclination, prevent Mr Winton from making
love to Lady Jane, or Lady Jane from listening. But what she could, and
indeed ought to, have done, was to say plainly, “Meet where they will,
it must not be in my house.” Her duty to the Duke demanded this course
of action. But it must be confessed that Lady Germaine was very
independent--too independent for a woman--and that what she would not
recognise was, that she had any duty at all to the Duke. He might be the
head of society in the county, but what did Lady Germaine care? She
laughed openly at the county society, and declared that she would as
soon throw in her lot among the farmers of the district as among the
squires, and that the Duke was an old--the pen of the historian almost
refuses to record the language this daring lady used--an old humbug. She
ventured to say this and lived. The Duke never knew how far she went,
but he disapproved of her, and considered her an irreverent person. He
would have checked his daughter’s intimacy with her had he been able.
But the Duchess did not see any harm in it. Her Grace’s opinion was that
a little enlivenment was what Jane wanted, and that even a slight
exaggeration of gaiety would do her no harm. Lady Germaine’s set was
unimpeachable though it loved diversion, and diversion was above
everything the thing necessary for Lady Jane. And there was this to be
said for Lady Germaine, that the Duchess herself had the opportunity of
stopping the Winton affair had she chosen. She must have seen what was
going on. Poor Mr Winton could not conceal the state of mind in which he
was; and as for Lady Jane, there was a certain tremor in her retired and
gentle demeanour, a little outburst of happiness now and then, a liquid
expression about the eyes, a softening of manner and countenance, which
no mother’s eyes could have overlooked. It was she who ought to have
interfered. She could have controlled her own child no doubt, or she
could have made it apparent to Mr Winton that his assiduities were
disagreeable; but she did nothing of the sort. She had every appearance
of liking the man herself. She talked to him apparently with pleasure,
asked him his opinion, declared that he had excellent taste. After this
why should Lady Germaine have been blamed? All she did was to form her
society of the best materials she could collect. She was fond of nice
people, and loved conversation. If men could talk pleasantly, and add to
the entertainment of her household, when the time came for encountering
the tedium of the country, she asked nothing about their grandfathers,
nor even demanded whether they had a rent-roll, or money in the funds,
or how they lived. Lively young barristers, literary men, artists,
people who it was to be feared lived on their wits, not to speak of
those younger sons who are the plague of society, came and went about
her house; which made it a house alarming to mothers, it must be
allowed, but extremely lively, cheerful, and full of “go,” which was
what Lady Germaine liked. And as she openly professed that this was the
principle upon which she went, the risks were at least patent and
above-board which princesses royal were likely to meet with at her
house.
It is now time to speak of the lover himself, who has hitherto been but
hinted at. We must say, in the first place, that there was nothing
objectionable about Mr Winton. He was not poor, nor was he _roturier_.
He was a well-bred English gentleman, of perfectly good though not
exalted family. On the Continent he would have been said to belong to
the _petite noblesse_. But after all it only wants an accession of
fortune to make _la petite_ into _la grande noblesse_. He was as far
descended as any prince (which, indeed, may be said for the most of us),
and had ancestors reaching up into the darkness of the ages. At least he
had the portraits of these ancestors hanging up in the hall at Winton
House; and unless they had existed, how could they have had their
portraits taken? which is an unanswerable argument. Winton House itself
was but a small place, it is true; but when his Indian uncle died and
left him all that money, it was immediately placed in Mr Winton’s power
to make his house into a great one had he chosen; and for so rich a man
to keep the old place intact was loyalty, or family pride, or at the
worst eccentricity, and did by no means imply any shabbiness either of
mind or means. To make up for this he had a very handsome house in town,
and there was no doubt at all on the question that he was a rich man,
and able to indulge his fancy as he pleased. He would have been a
perfectly good match for Lady Germaine’s own daughter had she been old
enough, or for Earl Binny’s young ladies, or for almost any girl in the
county, excepting always Lady Jane. She was the one who was out of his
sphere. It was perfectly well known that the Duke would not hear of any
son-in-law whose rank, or at least whose family, was not equal to his
own, and it had long been a foregone conclusion with society that it was
very unlikely Lady Jane would ever marry at all. Perhaps had Mr Winton
fully foreseen the position, he would have retired too, before, as
people say, his feelings were too much interested. But it is to be
feared that the idea did not occur to him until, unfortunately, it was
too late.
Reginald Winton had been brought up in the most approved way at a public
school, and at Oxford, and shaped into what was considered the best
fashion of his time. It had been intended, as the old estate was
insufficient to support two people, and his mother was then living, that
he should go to the bar. But before he attained this end, the uncle’s
fortune, of which he had not the least expectation, fell down upon him
suddenly, as from the skies. Then, of course, it was not thought
necessary that he should continue his studies. He was not only rich, but
very rich, and at the same time had all the advantages of once having
been poor. He had no expensive habits. He did not bet, nor race, nor
gamble; nor did he on the other hand buy pictures or curiosities, or
sumptuous furniture (at least no more than reason). He was full of
intelligence, but he was not literary, nor over-learned, nor too clever.
He was five feet ten, and quite sufficiently good-looking for a man of
his fortune. He would have been favourably received in most families of
gentry, nay, even of nobility, in England; but only not in the house of
the Altamonts. Here was the perversity of fate. But he did not do it on
purpose, nor fly at such high game solely because it was forbidden, as
some people might have done. It is certain that he did not know who Lady
Jane was when his heart was caught unawares. He took Lady Germaine aside
and begged to be introduced to the young lady in white, without a
suspicion of her greatness. It was at a moment when ladies wore a great
deal of colour: when they had wreaths of flowers scrambling over their
dresses and their heads, like a hedgerow in summer. Lady Jane’s dress
was white silk, soft and even dull in tone. She had not a bow or a
flower, but some pearls twisted in her smooth brown hair, which was not
frizzy as nowadays, but shining like satin. She was seated a little
apart with the children of the house, and to a man incapable of
perceiving that this simple garment was of much superior value to many
of the gayer fabrics round, she had the air of being economically as
well as gracefully clothed. “How much better taste is that simple dress
than all those furbelows!” he said. His opinion was, that she would turn
out to be the rector’s daughter. Lady Germaine gazed at him for a moment
with the contempt which a woman naturally entertains for a man’s mistake
in this kind. “I like your simplicity,” she said with fine satire which
he did not understand;--and presented him on the spot to Lady Jane
Altamont.
How Winton opened his eyes! But there was no reason why he should
withdraw, and acknowledge the Duke’s daughter to be out of his sphere.
On the contrary, he did his best to make himself agreeable. And from
that time to this, when everybody could see things were coming to a
crisis, he had never ceased in the effort. It was the first time--except
by Lord Rushbrook, who had done it politically--that this noble maiden
had been personally wooed. The sense that she was as other women, had
come into her heart with a soft transport of sweetness, emancipating her
all at once from those golden bonds of high sacrifice and duty in which
she had believed herself to be bound. She had not rebelled against them;
but when it appeared now that life might be happiness as well as duty,
and that all its delights and hopes were possible to her as to others,
the melting of all those icicles that had been formed around her,
flooded her gentle soul with tenderness. She was not easily wooed; for
nothing could be less like the freedom of manners which makes it natural
nowadays for a girl to advance a little on her side, and help on her
lover, than the almost timid though always sweet stateliness with which
Lady Jane received his devotion. It was a wonder to her, as it cannot be
to young ladies who flirt from their cradles. Love! She regarded it with
awe, mingled with a touched and surprised gratitude. She was older than
a girl usually is when that revelation is first made to her, a fact
which deepened every sentiment. Winton did not, could not, divine what
was passing in that delicate spirit. But he felt the novelty, the
exquisite, modest grace of his reception. He had not been without
experience in his own person, and had known what it was to be
“encouraged.” But here he was not encouraged. It was romance put into
action for the first time, a love-making that was as new, and fresh, and
miraculous, and incomprehensible, as if no one had ever made love
before. And thus the flood of their own emotions carried the pair on;
and if Winton had never paused to think how the Duke would receive his
addresses, it may with still greater certainty be assumed that Lady Jane
had never considered that momentous question. They went on, unawakened
to anything outside their own elysium, which, like most other elysiums
of the kind, was a fool’s paradise.
It was Lady Germaine at last, as she had been the means of setting the
whole affair in motion, who brought it to a climax. He had not confided
in her in so many words--for, indeed, he was too much elevated and
carried away by this growing passion to bring it to the common eye; but
he had so far betrayed himself on a certain occasion when reference had
been made to Lady Jane, that his hostess and friend burst through all
pretences and herself dashed into the subject. “Reginald Winton,” she
said almost solemnly, “do you know what is before you? How are you going
to ask the Duke of Billingsgate, that high and mighty personage, to give
you his daughter? I wonder you are not ready to sink into the earth with
terror.”
“The Duke of Billingsgate?” cried the young man, with a gasp of dismay.
“To be sure; but I suppose you never thought of that,” she said.
He grew paler and paler as he looked at her. “Do you know,” he said, “it
never occurred to me till this moment. But what do I care for the Duke
of Billingsgate? I think of nothing, since you will have it, but _her_,
Lady Germaine.”
“Innocent! do you think I have not known that for the last two months?
When you want to hide anything, you should not put flags up at all your
windows.”
“Have I put flags up?” He looked at her with colours flying and an
illumination in his eyes. He was pleased to think that he had exposed
himself and proclaimed his lady’s charms in this way, like a
knight-errant. “I hope I have not done anything to annoy her,” he added,
in a panic. “Lady Germaine, you will keep my secret till I know my
fate.”
“Oh, as for keeping your secret--but from whom are you to know your
fate, if I may ask?” Lady Germaine said.
Reginald blushed like a girl all over his face--or rather he reddened
like a man, duskily, half angrily, while his eyes grew more like
illuminations than ever. He drew a long breath, making a distinct
pause, as a devout Catholic would do to cross himself, before he
replied, “From whom? from _her_; who else?” with a glow of excitement
and hope.
Lady Germaine shook her head. “Oh, you innocent!” she cried; “oh, you
baby! If there is any other word that expresses utter simplicity and
foolishness, let me call you that. _Her!_ that is all very well, that is
easy enough. But what are you to say to her father?--oh, you
simpleton!--her father,--that is the question.”
“I presume, Lady Germaine,” said the lover, assuming an air of superior
knowledge and lofty sentiment--“I presume that if I am so fortunate as
to persuade _her_ to listen to me--which, heaven knows, I am doubtful
enough of!--that in that case her father----”
“Would be easy to manage, you think?” she said, with scornful toleration
of his folly.
The young man looked at her with that ineffable air of imbecility and
vanity which no man can escape at such a crisis, and made her a little
bow of acquiescence. Her tone, her air, made him aware that she had no
doubt of his success in the first instance, and this gave him a sudden
intoxication. A father! What was a father? If she once gave him
authority to speak to her father, would not all be said?
“Oh, you goose!” said Lady Germaine again; “oh, you ignoramus! You are
so silly that I am obliged to call you names. Do you know who the Duke
of Billingsgate is? Simply the proudest man in England. He thinks there
is nobody under the blood royal that is good enough for his child.”
“And he is quite right! I am of the same opinion,” said Winton; then he
paused and gave her a look in which, notwithstanding his gravity and
enthusiasm, there was something comic. “But then,” he added, “the blood
royal, that is not always the symbol of perfection, and then----”
“And then----? You think, of course, that you have something to offer
which a royal duke might not possess?”
“Perhaps,” said Winton, looking at her again with a sort of friendly
defiance; and then his eyes softened with that in which he felt himself
superior to any royal duke or potentate; the something which was worthy
of Lady Jane, let all the noble fathers in the world do their worst
against him. He was not alarmed by all that Lady Germaine had said. Most
likely he did not realise it. His mind went away even while she was
speaking. She had heart enough to approve of this, and to perceive that
Winton felt as a true lover ought to feel, but she was half provoked all
the same, and anxious how it was all to turn out.
“Do be a little practical,” she said; “try for a moment to leave her out
of the question. What are you going to say to the Duke? That is what I
want to know.”
“How can I tell you?” said Winton; “how can I speak at all on such a
subject? If I am to be so happy as to have anything at all to say to the
Duke:--why, then--the occasion will inspire me,” he added, after a
pause. “I cannot even think now what in such circumstances I should
say.”
Lady Germaine gave up with a sigh all attempt to guide him. “Then I must
just wash my hands of you,” she said, with a sort of despair; “indeed,
in any case I don’t know what I could have done for you. I shall be
blamed, of course. The Duke will turn upon me, I know; but, thank
heaven, I have nothing to fear from the Duke, and I don’t see what I can
be said to have to do with the business. You met only in the ordinary
way at my house. I never planned meetings for you, nor schemed to bring
you together. Indeed I never thought of such a thing at all. Lady Jane,
who has refused the first matches in the kingdom, what could have led me
to suppose that she would turn her eyes upon _you_?”
Now, though Winton said truly that he thought the Duke quite right in
expecting the very best and highest of all things for his child, yet it
was not in the nature of man not to be somewhat piqued when he heard
himself spoken of in this tone of slight, and almost contempt. True, he
would have desired for her sake to have more and finer gifts to lay at
her feet, but still such as he was, was not, after all, so contemptible
as Lady Germaine seemed to imply. He could not help a little movement of
self-vindication.
“I am not aware on what ground you can be blamed,” he said, coldly,
“since you are good enough to admit me to your society at all. Perhaps
that was a mistake; and yet I don’t know that I have done anything to
shut the doors of my friends against me.”
“This is admirable,” said Lady Germaine; “you first, and the Duke
afterwards. Never mind; you will probably come to yourself in half an
hour or so, and beg my pardon. I give it you beforehand. But at the same
time, let me advise you for your own good, to think a little what you
are going to say to the Duke when you ask him for his daughter. It will
not be so easy a matter as you seem to think. Oh yes, of course you are
sorry for being rude to me--I was aware of that. Yes, yes, I forgive
you. But pay attention to what I say.”
Winton thought over this conversation several times in the course of the
next twenty-four hours, but his mind was very much occupied with
another and much more important matter. He thought so much of Lady Jane
that he had little time to spare for any consideration of her father.
True, he himself was only a commoner of an undistinguished family; but
he had the sustaining consciousness of being very well off--and dukes’
daughters had been known to marry commoners before now without any
special commotion on the subject. He was a great deal more occupied with
the first steps in the matter than with any subsequent ones. He had to
find out where Lady Jane was going, and to contrive to get invitations
to the same places, for it was the height of the season, and they were
all in London. The Duchess did not throw herself into the vortex. She
went only to the best houses; she gave only stately entertainments,
which the Duke made a point of; therefore it was more difficult to go
where Lady Jane was going than is usually the case with the ordinary
Lady Janes of society. It took her lover most of his time to arrange
these opportunities of seeing her, and at each successive one he made up
his mind to determine his fate. But it is astonishing how many accidents
intervene when such a decision has been come to. Sometimes it was an
impertinent spectator who would obtrude himself or herself upon them.
Sometimes it was the impossibility of finding a nook where any such
serious conversation could be carried on. Sometimes the frivolity of the
surrounding circumstances kept him silent; for who would, if he could
help it, associate that wonderful moment of his existence with nothing
better than the chatter of the ball-room? And once when every
circumstance favoured him, his heart failed and he did not dare to put
his fortune to the touch. How could he think of the father while in all
the agitation of uncertainty as to how his suit would be looked upon by
the daughter? During this moment of hesitation the Duchess herself once
asked him to dinner, and when he found himself set down in the centre of
the table, far from the magnates who glittered at either end, and far
from Lady Jane who was the star of the whole entertainment, Winton felt
his humility and insignificance as he had never felt them before, and
was conscious of such a chill of doubt and alarm as made his heart sink
within him. But the Duchess was markedly kind, and a glance from Lady
Jane’s soft eyes, suffused with a sort of liquid light, sent him up
again into a heaven of hope. Next morning they met by chance in the
Park, very early, before the world of fashion was out of doors. She was
taking a walk attended by her maid, and explained, with a great deal of
unnecessary embarrassment, that she missed her country exercise and had
longed for a little fresh air. The consequence was, that the maid was
sent away to do some small commissions, and, with a good deal of alarm
but some guilty happiness, Lady Jane found herself alone with her lover.
It did not require a very long time or many words to make matters clear
between them. Did she not know already all that he had wanted so long to
say? One word made them both aware of what they had been communicating
to each other for months past. But though this explanation was so soon
arrived at, the details took a long time to disentangle--and there was a
terrible amount of repetition and comparison of feelings and
circumstances. It was nearly the hour for luncheon when he accompanied
her home, with a heart so full of exultation and delight and pride, that
it had still no room for any thought of the Duke or fear of what he
might say. Even after he had parted from his love, Winton could not
withdraw his mind from its much more agreeable occupation to think of
the Duke. Jane had begged that she might tell her mother first, and that
he should wait to hear from them before taking any further step. But he
was to meet them that evening at one of the parties to which he had
schemed to be invited on her account. And with every vein thrilling with
his morning’s happy work, and the anticipation of seeing her who was now
his, in the evening, how could any young lover be expected to turn from
his happiness to the thought of anything less blessed? The day passed
like a dream; everything in it tended towards the moment in which he
should see her again. It would be like a new world to see her again.
When they met in the morning she was almost terrible to him, a queen
who could send him into everlasting banishment. When he met her now, he
would see in her his wife, wonderful thought, his own! The place of
meeting was in one of the crowds of London society, where all the world
is; but Winton saw nothing except those soft eyes which were looking for
him. How their hands met, in what seemed only the ordinary greeting to
other people, clasping each other as if they never could part again!
They did not say much, and she did not even venture, except by momentary
glance now and then, to meet his eye. There was scarcely even
opportunity for a whisper on his part to ask what he was to do; for as
he stooped for this purpose to Lady Jane’s ear, the Duchess, who was
looking very serious, but who had not refused to shake hands with him,
laid a finger upon his arm.
“Mr Winton,” she said, “I should like to see you to-morrow about
twelve. I have something to say to you.” She had looked very grave, but
at the end brightened into a smile, yet shook her head. “I don’t know
what to say to you,” she added hurriedly; “there will be dreadful
difficulties in the way.”
To-morrow at twelve! He seemed to tread upon difficulties and crush them
under his feet as he went home that evening; but with the morning a
little thrill of apprehension came.