CHAPTER II.
_A New Charmer_
THE Carnival of the North at length arrived. All civilised eyes were onthe most distinguished party of the most distinguished steward, whowith his horse Sanspareil seemed to share universal favour. TheFrench Princes and the Duke of Burlington; the Protocolis, and theFitz-pompeys, and the Bloomerlys; the Duke and Duchess of Shropshire,and the three Ladies Wrekin, who might have passed for the Graces; Lordand Lady Vatican on a visit from Rome, his Lordship taking hints for aheat in the Corso, and her Ladyship, a classical beauty with a face likea cameo; St. Maurice, and Annesley, and Squib, composed the party. ThePremier was expected, and there was murmur of an Archduke. Seven houseshad been prepared, a party-wall knocked down to make a dining-room, theplate sent down from London, and venison and wine from Hauteville.
The assemblage exceeded in quantity and quality all preceding years,and the Hauteville arms, the Hauteville liveries, and the Hautevilleoutriders, beat all hollow in blazonry, and brilliancy, and number. TheNorth countrymen were proud of their young Duke and his carriages andsix, and longed for the Castle to be finished. Nothing could exceed thepropriety of the arrangements, for Sir Lucius was an unrivalled hand,and, though a Newmarket man, gained universal approbation even inYorkshire. Lady Aphrodite was all smiles and new liveries, and the Dukeof St. James reined in his charger right often at her splendid equipage.
The day's sport was over, and the evening's sport begun, to a quiet man,who has no bet more heavy than a dozen pair of gloves, perhaps not theleast amusing. Now came the numerous dinner-parties, none to be comparedto that of the Duke of St. James. Lady Aphrodite was alone wanting, butshe had to head the _menage_ of Sir Lucius. Every one has an appetiteafter a race: the Duke of Shropshire attacked the venison as Samson thePhilistines; and the French princes, for once in their life, drank realchampagne.
Yet all faces were not so serene as those of the party of Hauteville.Many a one felt that strange mixture of fear and exultation whichprecedes a battle. To-morrow was the dreaded St. Leger.
'Tis night, and the banquet is over, and all are hastening to the ball.
In spite of the brilliant crowd, the entrance of the Hauteville partymade a sensation. It was the crowning ornament to the scene, the stampof the sovereign, the lamp of the Pharos, the flag of the tower. Theparty dispersed, and the Duke, after joining a quadrille with LadyCaroline, wandered away to make himself generally popular.
As he was moving along, he turned his head; he started.
'Ah!' exclaimed his Grace.
The cause of this sudden and ungovernable exclamation can be no otherthan a woman. You are right. The lady who had excited it was advancingin a quadrille, some ten yards from her admirer. She was very young;that is to say, she had, perhaps, added a year or two to sweetseventeen, an addition which, while it does not deprive the sex of theearly grace of girlhood, adorns them with that indefinable dignity whichis necessary to constitute a perfect woman. She was not tall, but as shemoved forward displayed a figure so exquisitely symmetrical that for amoment the Duke forgot to look at her face, and then her head was turnedaway; yet he was consoled a moment for his disappointment by watchingthe movements of a neck so white, and round, and long, and delicate,that it would have become Psyche, and might have inspired Praxiteles.Her face is again turning towards him. It stops too soon; yet his eyefeeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty,like hope of Paradise.
She turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams ofliquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. It was a rapid, gracefulmovement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a momentwithdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorablecountenance. Her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, andher high pure forehead like a Parian dome. The clear blood coursed underher transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzlingeyes. His never left her. There was an expression of decision about hersmall mouth, an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, thoughin themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with allthe beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of hercountenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but ratherdecided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken herself-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be herwit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversedwith lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidentlyintimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as henever spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.
Was she married? Could it be? Impossible! Yet there was a richness inher costume which was not usual for unmarried women. A diamond arrow hadpierced her clustering and auburn locks; she wore, indeed, no necklace;with such a neck it would have been sacrilege; no ear-rings, forher ears were too small for such a burthen; yet her girdle was ofbrilliants; and a diamond cross worthy of Belinda and her immortal bardhung upon her breast.
The Duke seized hold of the first person he knew: it was Lord Bagshot.
'Tell me,' he said, in the stern, low voice of a despot; 'tell me whothat creature is.'
'Which creature?' asked Lord Bagshot.
'Booby! brute! Bag, that creature of light and love!'
'Where?'
'There!
'What, my mother?'
'Your mother! cub! cart-horse! answer me, or I will run you through.'
'Who do you mean?'
'There, there, dancing with that raw-boned youth with red hair.'
'What, Lord St. Jerome! Lor! he is a Catholic. I never speak to them. Mygovernor would be so savage.'
'But the girl?'
'Oh! the girl! Lor! she is a Catholic, too.'
'But who is she?'
'Lor! don't you know?'
'Speak, hound; speak!'
'Lor! that is the beauty of the county; but then she is a Catholic. Howshocking! Blow us all up as soon as look at us.'
'If you do not tell me who she is directly, you shall never get intoWhite's. I will black-ball you regularly.'
'Lor! man, don't be in a passion. I will tell. But then I know you knowall the time. You are joking. Everybody knows the beauty of the county;everybody knows May Dacre.'
'May Dacre!' said the Duke of St. James, as if he were shot.
'Why, what is the matter now?' asked Lord Bag-shot.
'What, the daughter of Dacre of Castle Dacre?' pursued his Grace.
'The very same; the beauty of the county. Everybody knows May Dacre. Iknew you knew her all the time. You did not take me in. Why, what is thematter?'
'Nothing; get away!'
'Civil! But you will remember your promise about White's?'
'Ay! ay! I shall remember you when you are proposed.'
'Here, here is a business!' soliloquized the young Duke. 'May Dacre!What a fool I have been! Shall I shoot myself through the head, orembrace her on the spot? Lord St. Jerome, too! He seems mightilypleased. And my family have been voting for two centuries to emancipatethis fellow! Curse his grinning face! I am decidedly anti-Catholic. Butthen she is a Catholic! I will turn Papist. Ah! there is Lucy. I want acounsellor.'
He turned to his fellow-steward. 'Oh, Lucy! such a woman! such anincident!'
'What! the inimitable Miss Dacre, I suppose. Everybody speaking of her;wherever I go, one subject of conversation. Burlington wanting towaltz with her, Charles Annesley being introduced, and Lady Bloomerlydecidedly of opinion that she is the finest creature in the county.Well, have you danced with her?'
'Danced, my dear fellow! Do not speak to me.'
'What is the matter?'
'The most diabolical matter that you ever heard of.'
'Well, well?'
'I have not even been introduced.'
'Well! come on at once.'
'I cannot.'
'Are you mad?'
'Worse than mad. Where is her father?'
'Who cares?'
'I do. In a word, my dear Lucy, her father is that guardian whom I haveperhap
s mentioned to you, and to whom I have behaved so delicately.'
'Why! I thought your guardian was an old curmudgeon.'
'What does that signify, with such a daughter!'
'Oh! here is some mistake. This is the only child of Dacre of CastleDacre, a most delightful fellow; one of the first fellows in the county;I was introduced to him to-day on the course. I thought you knew them.You were admiring his outriders to-day, the green and silver.'
'Why, Bag told me they were old Lord Sunderland's.'
'Bag! How can you believe a word that booby says? He always has ananswer. To-day, when Afy drove in, I asked Bag who she was, and he saidit was his aunt, Lady de Courcy. I begged to be introduced, and tookover the blushing Bag and presented him.'
'But the father; the father, Lucy! How shall I get out of this scrape?'
'Oh! put on a bold face. Here! give him this ring, and swear youprocured it for him at Genoa, and then say that, now you are here, youwill try his pheasants.'
'My dear fellow, you always joke. I am in agony. Seriously, what shall Ido?'
'Why, seriously, be introduced to him, and do what you can.'
'Which is he?'
'At the extreme end, next to the very pretty woman, who, by-the-bye, Irecommend to your notice: Mrs. Dallington Vere. She is amusing. I knowher well. She is some sort of relation to your Dacres. I will presentyou to both at once.'
'Why! I will think of it.'
'Well, then! I must away. The two stewards knocking their heads togetheris rather out of character. Do you know it is raining hard? I amcursedly nervous about to-morrow.'
'Pooh! pooh! If I could get through to-night, I should not care forto-morrow.'