The Young Duke

  CHAPTER X.

  _A New Star Rises_

  WILLIAM HENRY, MARQUESS OF MARYLEBONE, completed his twenty-first year:an event which created a greater sensation among the aristocracy ofEngland, even, than the majority of George Augustus Frederick, Dukeof St. James. The rent-roll of his Grace was great: but that of hisLordship was incalculable. He had not indeed so many castles as ourhero; but then, in the metropolis, a whole parish owned him as Lord,and it was whispered that, when a few miles of leases fell in, the veryCivil List must give him the wall. Even in the duration of his minority,he had the superiority over the young Duke, for the Marquess was aposthumous son.

  Lord Marylebone was a short, thick, swarthy young gentleman, withwiry black hair, a nose somewhat flat, sharp eyes, and tusky mouth;altogether not very unlike a terrier. His tastes were unknown: he hadnot travelled, nor done anything very particular, except, with afew congenial spirits, beat the Guards in a rowing-match, apretty diversion, and almost as conducive to a small white hand asalmond-paste.

  But his Lordship was now of age, and might be seen every day at acertain hour rattling up Bond Street in a red drag, in which he drovefour or five particular friends who lived at Stevens' Hotel, andtherefore, we suppose, were the partners of his glory in his victoryover his Majesty's household troops. Lord Marylebone was the universalsubject of conversation. Pursuits which would have devoted a shabby Earlof twelve or fifteen thousand a year to universal reprobation, or, whatis much worse, to universal sneers, assumed quite a different characterwhen they constituted the course of life of this fortunate youth. Hewas a delightful young man. So unaffected! No super-refinement, no falsedelicacy. Everyone, each sex, everything, extended his, her, or its handto this cub, who, quite puzzled, but too brutal to be confused, keptdriving on the red van, and each day perpetrating some new actof profligacy, some new instance of coarse profusion, tastelessextravagance, and inelegant eccentricity.

  But, nevertheless, he was the hero of the town. He was the great pointof interest in 'The Universe,' and 'The New World' favoured the old onewith weekly articles on his character and conduct. The young Dukewas quite forgotten, if really young he could be longer called. LordMarylebone was in the mouth of every tradesman, who authenticated hisown vile inventions by foisting them on his Lordship. The most grotesquefashions suddenly inundated the metropolis; and when the Duke of St.James ventured to express his disapprobation, he found his empire wasover. 'They were sorry that it did not meet his Grace's taste, butreally what his Grace had suggested was quite gone by. This was the onlyhat, or cane, or coat which any civilised being could be seen with. LordMarylebone wore, or bore, no other.'

  In higher circles, it was much the same. Although the dandies would notbate an inch, and certainly would not elect the young Marquess for theirleader, they found, to their dismay, that the empire which they weremeditating to defend, had already slipped away from their grasp. Anew race of adventurous youths appeared upon the stage. Beards, andgreatcoats even rougher, bull-dogs instead of poodles, clubs instead ofcanes, cigars instead of perfumes, were the order of the day. There wasno end to boat-racing; Crockford's sneered at White's; and there waseven a talk of reviving the ring. Even the women patronised the youngMarquess, and those who could not be blind to his real character, weresure, that, if well managed, he would not turn out ill.

  Assuredly our hero, though shelved, did not envy his successful rival.Had he been, instead of one for whom he felt a sovereign contempt, abeing even more accomplished than himself, pity and not envy would havebeen the sentiment he would have yielded to his ascendant star.But, nevertheless, he could not be insensible to the results of thisincident; and the advent of the young Marquess seemed like the sting inthe epigram of his life. After all his ruinous magnificence, afterall the profuse indulgence of his fantastic tastes, he had sometimesconsoled himself, even in the bitterness of satiety, by remindinghimself, that he at least commanded the admiration of hisfellow-creatures, although it had been purchased at a costly price. Notinsensible to the power of his wealth, the magic of his station, he had,however, ventured to indulge in the sweet belief that these qualitieswere less concerned in the triumphs of his career than his splendidperson, his accomplished mind, his amiable disposition, and his finishedmanner; his beauty, his wit, his goodness, and his grace. Even from thisdelusion, too, was he to waken, and, for the first time in his life, hegauged the depth and strength of that popularity which had been so dearto him, and which he now found to be so shallow and so weak.

  'What will they think of me when they know all? What they will: I carenot. I would sooner live in a cottage with May Dacre, and work for ourdaily bread, than be worshipped by all the beauty of this Babylon.'

  Gloomy, yet sedate, he returned home. His letters announced twoextraordinary events. M. de Whiskerburg had galloped off with LadyAphrodite, and Count Frill had flown away with the Bird of Paradise.