INTRIGUE.
As soon as Lord Albert was alone, and could recall his scattered
senses, he reviewed every look and every gesture of Lady Adeline; and
notwithstanding all that passed at the drawing-room and subsequently,
notwithstanding the marked coldness and disapprobation which her manner
had of late implied, he yet thought that her real feelings were not
those, at least, of indifference towards him; and he resolved to try
the issue of calling in South Audley-street that evening, as he had
proposed to her.
For this purpose, he got away early from a ceremonious dinner which
he was obliged to attend, and which appeared to him to last longer
than any dinner had ever done before: and with his heart and head full
of Adeline, and of Adeline alone, he found himself once more in her
presence. Lady Delamere and her daughters, and one or two others, were
sitting around Lady Dunmelraise's couch, amusing her with accounts
of the drawing-room; but Lady Adeline was at the piano-forte, and
Mr. Foley sitting by her, with a certain indescribable air of being
established in his place by right.
At one glance of his eye, Lord Albert took in the whole room on
entering, together with the relative position of its occupants; and
his feelings underwent a sudden and painful revulsion. He advanced,
however, towards Lady Dunmelraise, who extended her hand to him, but in
a way that he could not mistake; and her coldness struck an additional
chill to his heart. From Lady Delamere and her daughters he met no
kindlier greeting; and he determined at once to try if Adeline's heart
was equally shut against him. For this purpose he moved towards her;
and although she could not see him, her back being turned to that
part of the room from whence he came, yet she heard his approaching
footstep, and trembled in every nerve.
Mr. Foley, who had followed Lady Hamlet Vernon's advice respecting his
own conduct, and who lost no opportunity in acting in conformity to
it, was now determined that he would not resign his seat or quit his
station near Lady Adeline. The latter, on her part, had been too much
agitated by her own feelings to see things in their true light; and
was glad of any person to talk to, in order to conceal her emotion. But
no artificial means were sufficiently powerful to still the beatings of
her heart; and when Lord Albert inquired after her health, saying, he
hoped she had not suffered from the morning's fatigue, she started at
the sound of his voice, although she expected to hear it, and made some
hurried reply, which he construed into a disdain of his inquiries.
Lord Albert, wretched and astonished, stood mute; questioning within
himself if this could really be the same Adeline whom he had a
few hours ago seen with such a different expression in her whole
countenance and demeanour, as to make him doubt the evidence of his
senses. He would at once have broken through the mystery, could he
have obtained her ear for a moment; but the presence of Mr. Foley,
who pertinaciously, and, as it appeared to Lord Albert, in defiance
of him, kept his place, prevented all explanation. And then again
returned those false conclusions which arose from jealous doubt; and
he conceived that it would be unworthy of himself even to seek an
explanation from one whose evident preference of another appeared to
him so very decided.
In this dark spirit of jealous indignation, he turned away, and
sank into gloomy silence. Could he have known what was passing in
Lady Adeline's breast, he would have acknowledged the justice of
her feelings; he would have seen that all which seemed coldness and
indifference was only the result of a proper sense of what she owed
herself; and that under that assumed demeanour lay hid the truest,
warmest love. Strange as it may appear on a slight review of the matter
(although it is the common infirmity of human nature never to see
its own defects), he was not aware of the effect which his constant
intercourse with Lady Hamlet Vernon produced on the minds of all those
who witnessed his intimacy with her; and, perhaps, as matters now
stood, even if he had been at one time inclined to own himself in the
wrong, the still greater dereliction from all truth and delicacy, which
he thought he discovered both in Lady Adeline and Lady Dunmelraise,
respecting their behaviour to him, completely exonerated him in his
opinion, and he lost all sense of the evil of his own conduct in
blaming theirs.
Little did Lord Albert dream (indeed, in the excitement of greater
things, he had totally forgotten it) that the sprig of myrtle which
Lady Adeline had given him that morning, and which had been apparently
the medium of so much mutual tenderness, had been seen by her in Lady
Hamlet Vernon's hand, when their carriages were entangled in coming
from the drawing-room. It was this circumstance, combined with Lord
Albert's being again in assiduous attendance on one whom she was now
compelled to consider in the light of a rival, that had made Lady
Adeline draw up the glass at the moment Lord Albert was about to speak
to her, in order to escape witnessing so painful a truth. As she threw
herself back in the carriage, and reflected on the unworthiness of his
conduct, she became the victim of the most agonizing feelings; for what
is so painful as the conviction of unworthiness in the object of our
love? and it was this conviction which had effected the alteration in
her manner towards him, which he could not but observe from the first
moment of his entering the room.
While she was actuated by these sentiments, Lord Albert, on his part,
writhed under the idea that Mr. Foley was his favoured rival, and that
he was only allowed to witness his triumph, in order that he might
be provoked to become the party who should break off the engagement
existing between him and Lady Adeline. But this he inwardly determined
should never be the case. He endeavoured, therefore, at the present
moment, to devour his chagrin, and force himself to converse on
indifferent topics; addressing himself, however, to Lady Dunmelraise,
rather than to Lady Adeline. Among others, he made allusion to the
_fête_ which was to take place at Avington Park the day after the
following, and expressed his regret that he had been unable to procure
the tickets which he had hoped to have presented to herself and Lady
Adeline; "a circumstance," he added, "which I consider very unfair,
since I was one of the original subscribers to this _fête_; but the
names of the parties to be inserted have been all chosen by ballot, and
my single voice alone did not prevail in obtaining the insertion of
those whom I wished to be on the list."
This was really the fact, however extraordinary it may appear. Lord
Albert, with the other persons who formed the committee appointed
to give and arrange this _fête_, had paid five hundred guineas each
towards defraying the expense, but not one of them had the power of
inviting any individual apart from the consent of the whole body; and
as Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter were not of that circle which Lady
Tilney and her _coterie_ considered to be _ton_, Lord Albert's wishes
on this point, which were perfectly sincere, had been wholly unattended
to. Under the circumstances, however, in which he stood in the opinion
of all those who now heard him, the exclusiveness of this measure could
not be comprehended or believed, and, in short, passed for a mere
deception.
His excuse, consequently, was received with great coldness by Lady
Dunmelraise, who only replied, "That, as to herself, her going was
quite out of the question; and as to her daughter," she added with
emphasis, "I dare say Adeline has no wish to be there." Here the
subject dropped; and Lord Albert, torn by a thousand contradictory
feelings, could no longer continue to play so painful a part as that
which he now saw devolved upon him. In this state of mind he quitted
Lady Dunmelraise's house, having bade her a cold adieu. Little did he
imagine it was for the last time.
If Lord Albert had exercised the power of sober reason, if the sorrow
he felt had been free from all reproach of conscience, he would not
have feared to look into his own breast, and would have sought counsel
from that best adviser, his own mind, in the quiet of his chamber; "for
a man's mind is wont to tell him more than seven watchmen that sit
upon a high tower." But miserably he had suffered many entanglements
to embarrass his steps, and direct them from the straight-forward
path. The natural consequence of this was, that his mind had become a
chaos, in which he distinguished nothing clearly; and in the bitterest
moments of suffering, instead of coolly resorting to his understanding,
as he once would have done, he now always sought to elude reflection
by plunging into crowds. Whenever we dread to be left alone with our
own thoughts, we are in peril. This melancholy change in Lord Albert's
character was one which the alteration in his mode of life, and his
associates, had in a short period of time effected.
Instead, therefore, of returning home when he left South Audley street,
Lord Albert drove to Lady Glenmore's, who was that night to receive the
_coterie_ of their peculiar circle for the first time at her own house.
There had been no little arrangement on Lady Tilney's part, as well
as on Lady Tenderden's, to give to Lady Glenmore's _soirée_ its full
effect in the annals of _ton_, by stamping it with that exclusive mark
of self-arrogated distinction, of which they considered themselves to
be the sum and seal.
No pains had been spared by these ladies, therefore, to render this
assemblage of persons select, according to their acceptation of the
meaning of the word, and, _pour trancher le mot_, as they said, to
exclude every one not on their own private lists, with the limited
exception of those _diplomates_ and official persons whom Lord
Glenmore's ministerial situation obliged them to permit Lady Glenmore
to invite.
At Glenmore House there was of course assembled, on the present
evening, the Tilneys, Leinsengens, Tenderdens, Boileaus, Gascoignes, De
Cheres, and the rest of the _élite_ who formed the _société choisie_ of
Lady Tilney; and as the latter looked around the apartments, and only
saw there those whom in fact _she_ had bidden, she was gratified with
this fresh accession of arbitrary power, and considered it no small
triumph thus to have set the seal of her supremacy over the yielding
Lady Glenmore, who might, under other circumstances, if she had not
been an ally, have proved a formidable enemy. As it was, Lady Tilney
expressed the sense of her satisfaction by a thousand _cajoleries_,
which one woman knows so well to practise upon another when it suits
her purpose. She praised Lady Glenmore's dress (that touchstone of
female friendship), although she could not help saying apart to Lady
Tenderden, that it was a pity Lady Glenmore still persisted in her
_baroque_ modes, which in fact were no modes at all, but contrivances
of her own. To herself, Lady Tilney however next observed, that Lady
Glenmore's choice of society was excellent, and that the manner in
which she had arranged her rooms was managed with infinite taste.
These approving, encouraging speeches, from one so versed in the
knowledge of the world, and so much looked up to as the arbiter of the
elegancies of life, together with all the other incense of flattery
which was lavished upon Lady Glenmore on every side, could not fail of
taking some effect on her mind. Young, fair, unformed in character,
brought up by fond and indulgent parents, who thought she never could
err, and who had miserably neglected to implant those religious
principles in her breast which alone give stability to character, which
impart strength by making us aware of our own weakness, Lady Glenmore
was launched on a scene where dangers surrounded her in every shape,
and which she was wholly unprepared either to foresee or to sustain.
Gentle, amiable,--as yet pure, and unsuspicious of evil, from being
herself free from it,--she was a fitting subject to be moulded into any
shape by any evil-designing person that knew gradually to undermine
her innocence without alarming her fears. Lady Glenmore's situation in
the world, therefore, with a husband incessantly employed in public
duties, consequently often absent, while she was thrown in the midst of
a peculiar society, which became, from various circumstances, her only
sphere of action, was one of infinite temptation and peril.
At first, as was seen, she mourned over the deprivation of her
husband's presence,--a husband whom she loved with child-like
tenderness; but time, _ton_, and necessity, soon softened down this
infantine regret, and merely at first as a solace for the pain she
endured in being absent from him, she entered on the routine of
dissipated pleasure which presented itself to her on all sides. No
wonder, then, that those worldly pursuits, which were at first resorted
to as palliatives for pain, became gradually habitual and necessary to
her; and it is the fatal but inevitable consequence of such a habit of
life, to unfit the capacity (even the best and most vigorous capacity)
for any higher or nobler aim.
In the thoughtless vivacity of her age, alive to the zest of gaiety and
pleasure, her better qualities lay dormant; and in this Circean circle
her beauty and her youth were certain passports to general admiration,
independently of all the adventitious circumstances by which she was
environed. On the present occasion, when for the first time she opened
her house, she appeared the presiding spirit that gave life, animation,
and novelty even to the _blasé_ and hackneyed beings around her.
Had Lady Glenmore used, without abusing, the many advantages of her
brilliant station, she would not have been to blame, whatever may be
said by gloomy ascetics; nor would they have had power to lead her into
danger, had she possessed the stay and guide which a husband's constant
presence in society always affords.
This, however, was not _her_ case; and the very nature of her ingenuous
and guileless disposition became, in her present circumstances, an
additional source of danger, since it rendered her the easy prey of the
experienced and practised in deception, by too many of whom she was
surrounded, and who, envious of that purity they affected to despise,
were restless agents in endeavouring to reduce it to their own corrupt
level. It was from some such motive as this, rather than from any
impulse of love or passion, that Mr. Leslie Winyard first paid Lady
Glenmore attention. He was clever, and knew well how to be prodigal of
assiduities to the one object of his pursuit, in contradistinction to
the contempt in which he apparently held all others. This flatters
the vanity of the individual to whom they are addressed, and proves a
ready passport to a woman's smiles, particularly when experiencing that
perfect _délaissement_ which is most felt in a crowd, where "there is
none to bless us, none whom we can bless."
Under these circumstances Lady Glenmore first listened to Mr. Leslie
Winyard; and that advantage once gained, he had art enough to avail
himself of it as a step towards intimacy. In a very short space of
time, he so far succeeded as to raise at least a _bruit sourd_ of
his being _l'objet préféré_; an idea which at this period, could any
real friend of Lady Glenmore's have suggested to her, she would have
started from with indignation; but as it was, she continued laughing
and talking on the present occasion with Mr. Leslie Winyard. Had she
overheard the observations made upon her by various persons, more
particularly those of Lady De Chere and Lord Boileau, she might have
learned a lesson which she was destined to buy at a higher price.
"Well, for a _debutante_," said Lord Boileau, "I think _la petite_
Georgina has made considerable progress in her career. And how does
Glenmore take it?"
"Oh!" replied Lady De Chere, "as every one does what they cannot help,
I suppose. Besides, doubtless, he has other things to think of, and
must feel glad to have escaped her childish fondness: it must have
been exceedingly tiresome; and, after all, the sooner a matrimonial
understanding is settled upon a right and proper footing, the better
for both parties."
"Very true, Lady De Chere; and nobody settles those matters so well as
yourself; you are a model for all married ladies; so much _retenu_, so
much _bienséance_, and such a lady-like way of doing exactly what you
choose, and allowing De Chere to do the same. It is the only way for
married persons to be comfortable, or _comme il faut_."
"I am glad you think so, for that has long ago been Lady Boileau's
opinion," replied Lady De Chere, with one of her most contumelious
smiles, and left Lord Boileau to the satisfaction of his reflections on
domestic happiness.
"Pardon me," said Lord Baskerville, gently pulling him aside, and
conducting the Comtesse Leinsengen to the other apartment, "but
_en qualité de preux_, hem! I must be permitted to say, _Place aux
dames_--a-hem!"
"Oh! my reveries," rejoined Lord Boileau, "were on very every-day
topics; they can be resumed at any time; and I am happy in the honour
of--"
"Getting out of de way," quickly interrupted the Comtesse, who had the
happy knack of cutting all long speeches short, "_milles graces_:"
and she glided past him with a sliding bow, adding aside to Lord
Baskerville, "I would always make my best thanks to him for dat; he is
quite a dullification. _Mais voilà du nouveau_," she went on to say, in
the same breath, looking towards Lady Glenmore and Mr. Leslie Winyard,
who were still conversing; "dat is always de way with your English
virtuosos; dey go _grand train_ when dey do go. You are an odd people
altogether; always _en caricatura_. _Et le mari farouche apprivoisé!_
quite used to it already! Well, he is more sensible dan I took him for;
_vogue la galère_." And by this time she had approached close to Lady
Glenmore with her sliding step.--"I wished to make you my courtesy,
and pay you my compliments on the brilliancy of your _soirée_; and I
am happy to see you did not suffer more from your indisposition at
the drawing-room. Indeed, I am sure you could not, for I never saw
you looking more _triomphante_ than to-night. That heat was enough to
kill one; but you had only a _vapeur_; and I assure you it was quite
becoming: was it not, Lord Baskerville?"
"Oh, done in excellent style, as all that Lady Glenmore does must
be--a-hem! quite in good taste; no distortions or hysterics or vulgar
violences; all suavity and gentleness--a-hem! never saw so beautiful a
specimen of feint in my life--hem!"
At that moment Lord D'Esterre came up to make his bow to Lady Glenmore,
and the Comtesse Leinsengen walked abruptly away, saying, "De very
sight of dat man gives me what you call de blue and de green devils."
But Lady Hamlet Vernon was quite of a different opinion; she had long
been a fixture in the door-way, looking anxiously for his arrival. It
was late when he came, and she sought to attract his attention, and
engage him in conversation. Solicitous as she was to learn the cause of
his having left her in such an unaccountable manner in Cleveland-row,
she did not immediately enter upon that subject, but said something
expressive of a general interest in his welfare, and of concern at
seeing him look unwell. He eluded her inquiries, and professed being in
perfect health; but she was evidently aware that his mind had undergone
some sudden change since she had seen him at the drawing-room, for he
no longer spoke in the abstracted manner he had done when there, but
joined with an apparent animation and interest in a conversation which
she dexterously led to topics that she knew to be most in accordance
with his tastes and habits, and particularly so when he was depressed
and under the influence of blighted feelings; at which times he never
failed to seek refuge in dreams of ambition and power.
Though Lord Albert D'Esterre had never yet arrived at that degree
of intimacy with Lady Hamlet Vernon which might have induced him to
open his whole heart to her, on its dearest interests, yet there
always seemed to him to be a tacit and delicate understanding of his
sentiments, which he felt was soothing, and believed was sincere;
while, on her part, there was a consummate art in appearing to
compassionate his disappointment, while, at the same time, she never
failed in administering some baneful suspicion, or insinuating some
deteriorating observation on the character and conduct of Lady Adeline
and her mother, in respect to their behaviour towards himself.
Had Lady Hamlet Vernon, by any incautious or violent language, betrayed
her own malignant feelings, his eyes would have been at once unsealed;
but all she said was so well adapted to effect what she intended, to
throw his mind into a sea of doubts, and yet leave no suspicion of her
intending to do so, that he yielded, by degrees, an unwilling belief
to this sapping, undermining influence, so totally destructive of his
peace.
While listening to discourse of this kind, their conversation was
interrupted by Lord Raynham's addressing Lady Hamlet Vernon as he
passed her, putting some common-place question (to which, however, he
did not wait to hear an answer) about the ensuing breakfast, and then
he walked on, talking to himself as usual.
Lady Hamlet Vernon turned quickly to Lord Albert, saying, "Of course
you _must_ be there!"
He replied vaguely, apparently not knowing what he was saying; and it
was evident to Lady Hamlet Vernon, that, for some reason or other, the
mention of the breakfast raised in his mind a perplexity of thoughts,
for he relapsed into an abstracted mood, and became perfectly silent.
She was too wary to make any direct observation upon this, and too much
accustomed to the fluctuation of his spirits not to know that they
must be suffered to ebb and flow without animadversion on her part, if
she desired to maintain her influence over him; but she determined
secretly to trace the cause of this sudden change to its source, and
felt sure that there was something connected with the breakfast of
higher interest to him than itself. She endeavoured to regain his
attention by turning her conversation into other channels; but in vain:
the spell was on him, and soon afterwards he glided from her side and
left the assembly.
Lady Glenmore's party was prolonged to a late hour, and when the people
began to move, a considerable time elapsed before they could all
depart. To dissipate the _ennui_ of these last moments, Lady Glenmore
went to her piano-forte, and, in that excitement of spirit which the
incense of flattery and the consciousness of worldly success inspires,
she sang in her very best manner and in her most brilliant style,
and was herself so absorbed in the sweet sounds she made, that she
perceived not that the last of her visitors was gone, till, on looking
up, she beheld no one save Mr. Leslie Winyard leaning over her chair.
Abashed and somewhat confused, she scarce knew why, Lady Glenmore
was about to rise, when Mr. Winyard entreated her just to finish the
romance. "It is only two stanzas more," he said, in his most entreating
and persuasive tone. Fluttered, and not wishing to show she was so,
she thought it better to comply, and endeavour to recover herself while
singing. In this she succeeded to a certain degree; and having sang the
two stanzas he pleaded for, she arose with an intention of immediately
retiring, when Mr. Leslie Winyard, who had always _l'apropos du moment_
at command, contrived again to arrest her departure, by starting some
question which she could not avoid answering, and then proceeding to
further converse; while Lady Glenmore, on her part, caught by the
glitter of his wit, was amused, and laughed in gaiety of spirit.
This scene had continued fully half an hour after every body had left
the room, when Lord Boileau, who had been one of the last to go away,
made his reappearance suddenly in the apartment where they were sitting.
"I beg you a thousand million of pardons, Lady Glenmore; I am sadly
afraid I--I have intruded. I am vastly unfortunate; I must seem
exceedingly impolite; quite accidental, I assure you. The truth is,
my carriage did not arrive, and rather than wait any longer in the
room below, I ventured to come up stairs again. You will, I trust,
therefore, pardon my reappearance. But, Winyard, if your carriage is
waiting, as I believe it has been for some time, will you allow it to
set me down, and I will send it back immediately?"
"Oh yes!" cried Leslie Winyard, "with the greatest pleasure; by all
means."--And Lord Boileau turned to go away as he spoke. Lady Glenmore
happily, at the moment, felt the awkwardness of her situation, and
had sufficient presence of mind to say, "Stop, Lord Boileau, I beg.
Mr. Leslie Winyard, I must make my adieus, and wish you good night.
I am afraid you will find it dull waiting alone till Lord Boileau's
carriage returns." She said this with a determination of manner which
sufficiently proved to Mr. Leslie Winyard that he ought to depart,
and not press matters further at that time. He bowed, therefore, and
whispering something in her ear with an appearance of familiarity,
reluctantly took his leave.
As he joined Lord Boileau on the staircase, the latter said to him,
in a low tone, "You will never forgive me, Winyard, I fear, for this
interruption; but how very cleverly the Glenmore turned it off! I give
her great credit for her address."
Leslie Winyard made no answer, but smiled complacently, and in a manner
that left little doubt of the innuendo which he wished his silence to
convey; while he inwardly triumphed in the assurance, that he had in
Lord Boileau a willing witness and ready herald of all he could wish to
be believed.