CHAPTER XIV.
_Miss Grandison Piques the Curiosity of Lord Montfort, and Count Mirabel Drives Ferdinand Down to Richmond, Which Drive Ends in an Agreeable Adventure and an Unexpected Confidence_.
THE discovery that Henrietta Temple was the secret object of Ferdinand'sunhappy passion, was a secret which Miss Grandison prized like a truewoman. Not only had she made this discovery, but from her previousknowledge and her observation during her late interview with MissTemple, Katherine was persuaded that Henrietta must still love hercousin as before. Miss Grandison was attached to Henrietta; she wasinterested in her cousin's welfare, and devoted to the Armine family.All her thoughts and all her energies were engaged in counteracting,if possible, the consequences of those unhappy misconceptions which hadplaced them all in this painful position.
It was on the next day that she had promised to accompany the duchessand Henrietta on a water excursion. Lord Montfort was to be theircavalier. In the morning she found herself alone with his lordship inSt. James'-square.
'What a charming day!' said Miss Grandison. 'I anticipate so muchpleasure! Who is our party?'
'Ourselves alone,' said Lord Montfort. 'Lady Armine cannot come, andCaptain Armine is engaged. I fear you will find it very dull, MissGrandison.'
'Oh! not at all. By-the-bye, do you know I was surprised yesterday atfinding that Ferdinand and Henrietta were such old acquaintances.'
'Were you?' said Lord Montfort, in a peculiar tone.
'It is odd that Ferdinand never will go with us anywhere. I think it isvery bad taste.'
'I think so too,' said Lord Montfort.
'I should have thought that Henrietta was the very person he would haveadmired; that he would have been quite glad to be with us. I caneasily understand his being wearied to death with a cousin,' said MissGrandison; 'but Henrietta,--it is so strange that he should not availhimself of the delight of being with her.'
'Do you really think that such a cousin as Miss Grandison can drive himaway?'
'Why, to tell you the truth, dear Lord Montfort, Ferdinand is placed ina very awkward position with me. You are our friend, and so I speakto you in confidence. Sir Ratcliffe and Lady Armine both expect thatFerdinand and myself are going to be married. Now, neither of us has theslightest intention of anything of the sort.'
'Very strange, indeed,' said Lord Montfort. 'The world will be muchastonished, more so than myself, for I confess to a latent suspicion onthe subject.'
'Yes, I was aware of that,' said Miss Grandison, 'or I should not havespoken with so much frankness. For my own part, I think we are very wiseto insist upon having our own way, for an ill-assorted marriage must bea most melancholy business.' Miss Grandison spoke with an air almost oflevity, which was rather unusual with her.
'An ill-assorted marriage,' said Lord Montfort. 'And what do you call anill-assorted marriage, Miss Grandison?'
'Why, many circumstances might constitute such an union,' saidKatherine; 'but I think if one of the parties were in love with anotherperson, that would be quite sufficient to ensure a tolerable portion ofwretchedness.'
'I think so too,' said Lord Montfort; 'an union, under suchcircumstances, would be ill-assorted. But Miss Grandison is not in thatsituation?' he added with a faint smile.
'That is scarcely a fair question,' said Katherine, with gaiety, 'butthere is no doubt Ferdinand Armine is.'
'Indeed!'
'Yes; he is in love, desperately in love; that I have long discovered. Iwonder with whom it can be!'
'I wonder!' said Lord Montfort.
'Do you?' said Miss Grandison. 'Well, I have sometimes thought that youmight have a latent suspicion of that subject, too. I thought you werehis confidant.'
'I!' said Lord Montfort; 'I, of all men in the world?'
'And why not you of all men in the world?' said Miss Grandison.
'Our intimacy is so slight,' said Lord Montfort.
'Hum!' said Miss Grandison. 'And now I think of it, it does appear to mevery strange how we have all become suddenly such intimate friends. TheArmines and your family not previously acquainted: Miss Temple, too,unknown to my aunt and uncle. And yet we never live now out of eachother's sight. I am sure I am grateful for it; I am sure it is veryagreeable, but still it does appear to me to be very odd. I wonder whatthe reason can be?'
'It is that you are so charming, Miss Grandison,' said Lord Montfort.
'A compliment from you!'
'Indeed, no compliment, dearest Miss Grandison,' said Lord Montfort,drawing near her. 'Favoured as Miss Temple is in so many respects, innone, in my opinion, is she more fortunate than in the possession of soadmirable a friend.'
'Not even in the possession of so admirable a lover, my lord?'
'All must love Miss Temple who are acquainted with her,' said LordMontfort, seriously.
'Indeed, I think so,' said Katherine, in a more subdued voice. 'I loveher; her career fills me with a strange and singular interest. May shebe happy, for happiness she indeed deserves!'
'I have no fonder wish than to secure that happiness, Miss Grandison,'said Lord Montfort; 'by any means,' he added.
'She is so interesting!' said Katherine. 'When you first knew her shewas very ill?'
'Very.'
'She seems quite recovered.'
'I hope so.'
'Mr. Temple says her spirits are not what they used to be. I wonder whatwas the matter with her?'
Lord Montfort was silent.
'I cannot bear to see a fine spirit broken,' continued Miss Grandison.'There was Ferdinand. Oh! if you had but known my cousin before he wasunhappy. Oh! that was a spirit! He was the most brilliant being thatever lived. And then I was with him during all his illness. It wasso terrible. I almost wish we could have loved each other. It is verystrange, he must have been ill at Armine, at the very time Henriettawas ill in Italy. And I was with him in England, while you were solacingher. And now we are all friends. There seems a sort of strange destinyin our lots, does there not?'
'A happy lot that can in any way be connected with Miss Grandison,' saidLord Montfort.
At this moment her Grace and Henrietta entered; the carriage was ready;and in a few minutes they were driving to Whitehall Stairs, where abeautiful boat awaited them.
In the mean time, Ferdinand Armine was revolving the strange occurrencesof yesterday. Altogether it was an exciting and satisfactory day. Inthe first place, he had extricated himself from his most pressingdifficulties; in the next, he had been greatly amused; and thirdly, hehad made a very interesting acquaintance, for such he esteemed CountMirabel. Just at the moment when, lounging over a very late breakfast,he was thinking of Bond Sharpe and his great career, and then turningin his mind whether it were possible to follow the gay counsels of hisfriends of yesterday, and never plague himself about a woman again, theCount Mirabel was announced.
_Mon cher_ Armine,' said the Count, 'you see I kept my promise, andwould find you at home.'
The Count stood before him, the best-dressed man in London, fresh andgay as a bird, with not a care on his sparkling visage, and his eyebright with _bonhomie_. And yet Count Mirabel had been the very lastto desert the recent mysteries of Mr. Bond Sharpe; and, as usual, thedappled light of dawn had guided him to his luxurious bed, that bedwhich always afforded him serene slumbers, whatever might be theadventures of the day, or the result of the night's campaign. How theCount Mirabel did laugh at those poor devils who wake only to moraliseover their own folly with broken spirits and aching heads! Care he knewnothing about; Time he defied; indisposition he could not comprehend. Hehad never been ill in his life, even for five minutes.
Ferdinand was really very glad to see him; there was something inCount Mirabel's very presence which put everybody in good spirits.His lightheartedness was caught by all. Melancholy was a farce in thepresence of his smile; and there was no possible combination of scrapesthat could withstand his kind and brilliant raillery. At the presentmoment, Ferdinand was in a sufficiently good humour
with his destiny,and he kept up the ball with effect; so that nearly an hour passed inamusing conversation.
'You were a stranger among us yesterday,' said Count Mirabel; 'I thinkyou were rather diverted. I saw you did justice to that excellent BondSharpe. That shows that you have a mind above prejudice. Do you know hewas by far the best man at the table except ourselves?'
Ferdinand smiled.
'It is true, he has a heart and a brain. Old Castlefyshe has neither.As for the rest of our friends, some have hearts without brains, and therest brains without hearts. Which do you prefer?'
''Tis a fine question,' said Ferdinand; 'and yet I confess I should liketo be callous.'
'Ah! but you cannot be,' said the Count, 'you have a soul of greatsensibility; I see that in a moment.'
'You see very far, and very quickly, Count Mirabel,' said Ferdinand,with a little reserve.
'Yes; in a minute,' said the Count, 'in a minute I read a person'scharacter. I know you are very much in love, because you changedcountenance yesterday when we were talking of women.'
Ferdinand changed countenance again. 'You are a very extraordinary man,Count,' he at length observed.
'Of course; but, _mon cher_ Armine, what a fine day this is! What areyou going to do with yourself?'
'Nothing; I never do anything,' said Ferdinand, in an almost mournfultone.
'A melancholy man! _Quelle betise!_ I will cure you. I will be yourfriend and put you all right. Now, we will just drive down to Richmond;we will have a light dinner, a flounder, a cutlet, and a bottle ofchampagne, and then we will go to the French play. I will introduce youto Jenny Vertpre. She is full of wit; perhaps she will ask us to supper._Allons, mon ami, mon cher_ Armine; _allons, mon brave!_' Ceremony was afarce with Alcibiades de Mirabel.
Ferdinand had nothing to do; he was attracted to his companion. Theeffervescence produced by yesterday's fortunate adventure had not quitesubsided; he was determined to forget his sorrows, and, if only fora day, join in the lively chorus of _Vive la bagatelle!_ So, in afew moments, he was safely ensconced in the most perfect cabrioletin London, whirled along by a horse that stepped out with a proudconsciousness of its master.
The Count Mirabel enjoyed the drive to Richmond as if he had never beento Richmond in his life. The warm sun, the western breeze, every objecthe passed and that passed him called for his praise or observation.He inoculated Ferdinand with his gaiety, as Ferdinand listened to hislight, lively tales, and his flying remarks, so full of merriment andpoignant truth and daring fancy. When they had arrived at the Star andGarter, and ordered their dinner, they strolled into the Park, along theTerrace walk; and they had not proceeded fifty paces when they came upwith the duchess and her party, who were resting on a bench and lookingover the valley.
Ferdinand would gladly have bowed and passed on; but that wasimpossible. He was obliged to stop and speak to them, and it wasdifficult to disembarrass himself of friends who greeted him so kindly.Ferdinand presented his companion. The ladies were charmed to know socelebrated a gentleman, of whom they had heard so much. Count Mirabel,who had the finest tact in the world, but whose secret spell, after all,was perhaps only that he was always natural, adapted himself in a momentto the characters, the scene, and the occasion. He was quite delightedat these sources of amusement, that had so unexpectedly revealedthemselves; and in a few minutes they had all agreed to walk together,and in due time the duchess was begging Ferdinand and his friend to dinewith them. Before Ferdinand could frame an excuse, Count Mirabelhad accepted the proposition. After passing the morning together soagreeably, to go and dine in separate rooms, it would be a _betise_.This word _betise_ settled everything with Count Mirabel; when once hedeclared that anything was a _betise_, he would hear no more.
It was a charming stroll. Never was Count Mirabel more playful, moreengaging, more completely winning. Henrietta and Katherine alike smiledupon him, and the duchess was quite enchanted. Even Lord Montfort, whomight rather have entertained a prejudice against the Count before heknew him--though none could after--and who was prepared for somethingrather brilliant, but pretending, presumptuous, fantastic, and affected,quite yielded to his amiable gaiety, and his racy and thoroughly genuineand simple manner. So they walked and talked and laughed, and allagreed that it was the most fortunately fine day and the most felicitous_rencontre_ that had ever occurred, until the dinner hour was at hand.The Count was at her Grace's side, and she was leaning on Miss Temple'sarm. Lord Montfort and Miss Grandison had fallen back apace, as theirparty had increased. Ferdinand fluttered between Miss Temple and hiscousin; but would have attached himself to the latter, had not MissTemple occasionally addressed him. He was glad, however, when theyreturned to dinner.
'We have only availed ourselves of your Grace's permission to join ourdinners,' said Count Mirabel, offering the duchess his arm. He placedhimself at the head of the table; Lord Montfort took the other end. Tothe surprise of Ferdinand, Miss Grandison, with a heedlessness that wasquite remarkable, seated herself next to the duchess, so that Ferdinandwas obliged to sit by Henrietta Temple, who was thus separated from LordMontfort.
The dinner was as gay as the stroll. Ferdinand was the only person whowas silent.
'How amusing he is!' said Miss Temple, turning to Ferdinand, andspeaking in an undertone.
'Yes; I envy him his gaiety.'
'Be gay.'
'I thank you; I dare say I shall in time. I have not yet quite embracedall Count Mirabel's philosophy. He says that the man who plagues himselffor five minutes about a woman is an idiot. When I think the same, whichI hope I may soon, I dare say I shall be as gay.'
Miss Temple addressed herself no more to Ferdinand.
They returned by water. To Ferdinand's great annoyance, the Count didnot hesitate for a moment to avail himself of the duchess's proposalthat he and his companion should form part of the crew. He gaveimmediate orders that his cabriolet should meet him at Whitehall Stairs,and Ferdinand found there was no chance of escape.
It was a delicious summer evening. The setting sun bathed the bowers ofFulham with refulgent light, just as they were off delicate Rosebank;but the air long continued warm, and always soft, and the last few milesof their pleasant voyage were tinted by the young and glittering moon.
'I wish we had brought a guitar,' said Miss Grandison; 'Count Mirabel,I am sure, would sing to us?' 'And you, you will sing to us without aguitar, will you not?' said the Count, smiling.
'Henrietta, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison. 'With you.'
'Of course; now you must,' said the Count: so they did.
This gliding home to the metropolis on a summer eve, so soft and still,with beautiful faces, as should always be the case, and with sweetsounds, as was the present--there is something very ravishing in thecombination. The heart opens; it is a dangerous moment. As Ferdinandlistened once more to the voice of Henrietta, even though it was blendedwith the sweet tones of Miss Grandison, the passionate past vividlyrecurred to him. Fortunately he did not sit near her; he had takencare to be the last in the boat. He turned away his face, but its sternexpression did not escape the observation of the Count Mirabel.
'And now, Count Mirabel, you must really favour us,' said the duchess.
'Without a guitar?' said the Count, and he began thrumming on his armfor an accompaniment. 'Well, when I was with the Duc d'Angouleme inSpain, we sometimes indulged in a serenade at Seville. I will try toremember one.'
A SERENADE OF SEVILLE.
I.
Come forth, come forth, the star we love Is high o'er Guadalquivir's grove, And tints each tree with golden light; Ah! Rosalie, one smile from thee were far more bright.
II.
Come forth, come forth, the flowers that fear To blossom in the sun's career The moonlight with their odours greet; Ah! Rosalie, one sigh from thee were far more sweet!
III.
Come forth, come forth, one hour of night, When flowers are fresh and stars
are bright, Were worth an age of gaudy day; Then, Rosalie, fly, fly to me, nor longer stay!
'I hope the lady came,' said Miss Temple, 'after such a pretty song.'
'Of course,' said the Count, 'they always come.'
'Ferdinand, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison.
'I cannot, Katherine.'
'Henrietta, ask Ferdinand to sing,' said Miss Grandison; 'he makes ita rule never to do anything I ask him, but I am sure you have moreinfluence.'
Lord Montfort came to the rescue of Miss Temple. 'Miss Temple has spokenso often to us of your singing, Captain Armine,' said his lordship;and yet Lord Montfort, in this allegation, a little departed front thehabitual exactitude of his statements.
'How very strange!' thought Ferdinand; 'her callousness or her candourbaffles me. I will try to sing,' he continued aloud, 'but it is a year,really, since I have sung.'
In a voice of singular power and melody, and with an expression whichincreased as he proceeded, until the singer seemed scarcely able tocontrol his emotions, Captain Armine thus proceeded:--
CAPTAIN ARMINE'S SONG.
I.
My heart is like a silent lute Some faithless hand has thrown aside; Those chords are dumb, those tones are mute, That once sent forth a voice of pride! Yet even o'er the lute neglected The wind of heaven will sometimes fly, And even thus the heart dejected, Will sometimes answer to a sigh!
II.
And yet to feel another's power May grasp the prize for which I pine, And others now may pluck the flower I cherished for this heart of mine! No more, no more! The hand forsaking, The lute must fall, and shivered lie In silence: and my heart thus breaking, Responds not even to a sigh.
Miss Temple seemed busied with her shawl; perhaps she felt the cold.Count Mirabel, next whom she sat, was about to assist her. Her face wasturned to the water; it was streaming with tears. Without appearingto notice her, Count Mirabel leant forward, and engaged everybody'sattention; so that she was unobserved and had time to recover. And yetshe was aware that the Count Mirabel had remarked her emotion, and wasgrateful for his quick and delicate consideration. It was fortunatethat Westminster-bridge was now in sight, for after this song of CaptainArmine, everyone became dull or pensive; even Count Mirabel was silent.
The ladies and Lord Montfort entered their britzka. They bid a cordialadieu to Count Mirabel, and begged him to call upon them in St.James'-square, and the Count and Ferdinand were alone.
'_Cher_ Armine,' said the Count, as he was driving up Charing-cross,'Catch told me you were going to marry your cousin. Which of those twoyoung ladies is your cousin?'
'The fair girl; Miss Grandison.'
'So I understood. She is very pretty, but you are not going to marryher, are you?'
'No; I am not.'
'And who is Miss Temple?'
'She is going to be married to Lord Montfort.'
'_Diable!_ But what a fortunate man! What do you think of Miss Temple?'
'I think of her as all, I suppose, must.'
'She is beautiful: she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Shemarries for money, I suppose?'
'She is the richest heiress in England; she is much richer than mycousin.'
'_C'est drole_. But she does not want to marry Lord Montfort.'
'Why?'
'Because, my dear fellow, she is in love with you.'
'By Jove, Mirabel, what a fellow you are! What do you mean?'
'_Mon cher_ Armine, I like you more than anybody. I wish to be, I am,your friend. Here is some cursed _contretemps_. There is a mystery,and both of you are victims of it. Tell me everything. I will put youright.'
'Ah! my dear Mirabel, it is past even your skill. I thought I couldnever speak on these things to human being, but I am attracted to you bythe same sympathy which you flatter me by expressing for myself. I wanta confidant, I need a friend; I am most wretched.'
'_Eh! bien!_ we will not go to the French play. As for Jenny Vertpre,we can sup with her any night. Come to my house, and we will talk overeverything. But trust me, if you wish to marry Henrietta Temple, you arean idiot if you do not have her.'
So saying, the Count touched his bright horse, and in a few minutesthe cabriolet stopped before a small but admirably appointed house inBerkeley-square.
'Now, _mon cher,_' said the Count, 'coffee and confidence.'