The Palliser Novels (550 page)

After a few days Lady Mary became more intimate with the American and his daughter than with any others of the party. Perhaps she liked to talk about the Scandinavian poets, of whom Mr. Boncassen was so fond. Perhaps she felt sure that her transatlantic friend would not make love to her. Perhaps it was that she yielded to the various allurements of Miss Boncassen. Miss Boncassen saw the Duke of Omnium for the first time at Custins, and there had the first opportunity of asking herself how such a man as that would receive from his son and heir such an announcement as Lord Silverbridge would have to make him should she at the end of three months accept his offer. She was quite aware that Lord Silverbridge need not repeat the offer unless he were so pleased. But she thought that he would come again. He had so spoken that she was sure of his love; and had so spoken as to obtain hers. Yes; — she was sure that she loved him. She had never seen anything like him before; — so glorious in his beauty, so gentle in his manhood, so powerful and yet so little imperious, so great in condition, and yet so little confident in his own greatness, so bolstered up with external advantages, and so little apt to trust anything but his own heart and his own voice. In asking for her love he had put forward no claim but his own love. She was glad he was what he was. She counted at their full value all his natural advantages. To be an English Duchess! Oh — yes; her ambition understood it all! But she loved him, because in the expression of his love no hint had fallen from him of the greatness of the benefits which he could confer upon her. Yes, she would like to be a Duchess; but not to be a Duchess would she become the wife of a man who should begin his courtship by assuming a superiority.

Now the chances of society had brought her into the company of his nearest friends. She was in the house with his father and with his sister. Now and again the Duke spoke a few words to her, and always did so with a peculiar courtesy. But she was sure that the Duke had heard nothing of his son’s courtship. And she was equally sure that the matter had not reached Lady Mary’s ears. She perceived that the Duke and her father would often converse together. Mr. Boncassen would discuss republicanism generally, and the Duke would explain that theory of monarchy as it prevails in England, which but very few Americans have ever been made to understand. All this Miss Boncassen watched with pleasure. She was still of opinion that it would not become her to force her way into a family which would endeavour to repudiate her. She would not become this young man’s wife if all connected with the young man were resolved to reject the contact. But if she could conquer them, — then, — then she thought that she could put her little hand into that young man’s grasp with a happy heart.

It was in this frame of mind that she laid herself out not unsuccessfully to win the esteem of Lady Mary Palliser. “I do not know whether you approve it,” Lady Cantrip said to the Duke; “but Mary has become very intimate with our new American friend.” At this time Lady Cantrip had become very nervous, — so as almost to wish that Lady Mary’s difficulties might be unravelled elsewhere than at Custins.

“They seem to be sensible people,” said the Duke. “I don’t know when I have met a man with higher ideas on politics than Mr. Boncassen.”

“His daughter is popular with everybody.”

“A nice ladylike girl,” said the Duke, “and appears to have been well educated.”

It was now near the end of October, and the weather was peculiarly fine. Perhaps in our climate, October would of all months be the most delightful if something of its charms were not detracted from by the feeling that with it will depart the last relics of the delights of summer. The leaves are still there with their gorgeous colouring, but they are going. The last rose still lingers on the bush, but it is the last. The woodland walks are still pleasant to the feet, but caution is heard on every side as to the coming winter.

The park at Custins, which was spacious, had many woodland walks attached to it, from which, through vistas of the timber, distant glimpses of the sea were caught. Within half a mile of the house the woods were reached, and within a mile the open sea was in sight, — and yet the wanderers might walk for miles without going over the same ground. Here, without other companions, Lady Mary and Miss Boncassen found themselves one afternoon, and here the latter told her story to her lover’s sister. “I so long to tell you something,” she said.

“Is it a secret?” asked Lady Mary.

“Well; yes; it is, — if you will keep it so. I would rather you should keep it a secret. But I will tell you.” Then she stood still, looking into the other’s face. “I wonder how you will take it.”

“What can it be?”

“Your brother has asked me to be his wife.”

“Silverbridge!”

“Yes; — Lord Silverbridge. You are astonished.”

Lady Mary was very much astonished, — so much astonished that words escaped from her, which she regretted afterwards. “I thought there was someone else.”

“Who else?”

“Lady Mabel Grex. But I know nothing.”

“I think not,” said Miss Boncassen slowly. “I have seen them together and I think not. There might be somebody, though I think not her. But why do I say that? Why do I malign him, and make so little of myself? There is no one else, Lady Mary. Is he not true?”

“I think he is true.”

“I am sure he is true. And he has asked me to be his wife.”

“What did you say?”

“Well; — what do you think? What is it probable that such a girl as I would say when such a man as your brother asks her to be his wife? Is he not such a man as a girl would love?”

“Oh yes.”

“Is he not handsome as a god?” Mary stared at her with all her eyes. “And sweeter than any god those pagan races knew? And is he not good-tempered, and loving; and has he not that perfection of manly dash without which I do not think I could give my heart to any man?”

“Then you have accepted him?”

“And his rank and his wealth! The highest position in all the world in my eyes.”

“I do not think you should take him for that.”

“Does it not all help? Can you put yourself in my place? Why should I refuse him? No, not for that. I would not take him for that. But if I love him, — because he is all that my imagination tells me that a man ought to be; — if to be his wife seems to me to be the greatest bliss that could happen to a woman; if I feel that I could die to serve him, that I could live to worship him, that his touch would be sweet to me, his voice music, his strength the only support in the world on which I would care to lean, — what then?”

“Is it so?”

“Yes, it is so. It is after that fashion that I love him. He is my hero; — and not the less so because there is none higher than he among the nobles of the greatest land under the sun. Would you have me for a sister?” Lady Mary could not answer all at once. She had to think of her father; — and then she thought of her own lover. Why should not Silverbridge be as well entitled to his choice as she considered herself to be? And yet how would it be with her father? Silverbridge would in process of time be the head of the family. Would it be proper that he should marry an American?

“You would not like me for a sister?”

“I was thinking of my father. For myself I like you.”

“Shall I tell you what I said to him?”

“If you will.”

“I told him that he must ask his friends; — that I would not be his wife to be rejected by them all. Nor will I. Though it be heaven I will not creep there through a hole. If I cannot go in with my head upright, I will not go even there.” Then she turned round as though she were prepared in her emotion to walk back to the house alone. But Lady Mary ran after her, and having caught her, put her arm round her waist and kissed her.

“I at any rate will love you,” said Lady Mary.

“I will do as I have said,” continued Miss Boncassen. “I will do as I have said. Though I love your brother down to the ground he shall not marry me without his father’s consent.” Then they returned arm-in-arm close together; but very little more was said between them.

When Lady Mary entered the house she was told that Lady Cantrip wished to see her in her own room.

The message was given to Lady Mary after so solemn a fashion that she was sure some important communication was to be made to her. Her mind at that moment had been filled with her new friend’s story. She felt that she required some time to meditate before she could determine what she herself would wish; but when she was going to her own room, in order that she might think it over, she was summoned to Lady Cantrip. “My dear,” said the Countess, “I wish you to do something to oblige me.”

“Of course I will.”

“Lord Popplecourt wants to speak to you.”

“Who?”

“Lord Popplecourt.”

“What can Lord Popplecourt have to say to me?”

“Can you not guess? Lord Popplecourt is a young nobleman, standing very high in the world, possessed of ample means, just in that position in which it behoves such a man to look about for a wife.” Lady Mary pressed her lips together, and clenched her two hands. “Can you not imagine what such a gentleman may have to say?” Then there was a pause, but she made no immediate answer. “I am to tell you, my dear, that your father would approve of it.”

“Approve of what?”

“He approves of Lord Popplecourt as a suitor for your hand.”

“How can he?”

“Why not, Mary? Of course he has made it his business to ascertain all particulars as to Lord Popplecourt’s character and property.”

“Papa knows that I love somebody else.”

“My dear Mary, that is all vanity.”

“I don’t think that papa can want to see me married to a man when he knows that with all my heart and
soul — “

“Oh Mary!”

“When he knows,” continued Mary, who would not be put down, “that I love another man with all my heart. What will Lord Popplecourt say if I tell him that? If he says anything to me, I shall tell him. Lord Popplecourt! He cares for nothing but his coal-mines. Of course, if you bid me see him I will; but it can do no good. I despise him, and if he troubles me I shall hate him. As for marrying him, — I would sooner die this minute.”

After this Lady Cantrip did not insist on the interview. She expressed her regret that things should be as they were, — explained in sweetly innocent phrases that in a certain rank of life young ladies could not always marry the gentlemen to whom their fancies might attach them, but must, not unfrequently, postpone their youthful inclinations to the will of their elders, — or in less delicate language, that though they might love in one direction they must marry in another; and then expressed a hope that her dear Mary would think over these things and try to please her father. “Why does he not try to please me?” said Mary. Then Lady Cantrip was obliged to see Lord Popplecourt, a necessity which was a great nuisance to her. “Yes; — she understands what you mean. But she is not prepared for it yet. You must wait awhile.”

“I don’t see why I am to wait.”

“She is very young, — and so are you, indeed. There is plenty of time.”

“There is somebody else I suppose.”

“I told you,” said Lady Cantrip, in her softest voice, “that there has been a dream across her path.”

“It’s that Tregear!”

“I am not prepared to mention names,” said Lady Cantrip, astonished that he should know so much. “But indeed you must wait.”

“I don’t see it, Lady Cantrip.”

“What can I say more? If you think that such a girl as Lady Mary Palliser, the daughter of the Duke of Omnium, possessed of fortune, beauty, and every good gift, is to come like a bird to your call, you will find yourself mistaken. All that her friends can do for you will be done. The rest must remain with yourself.” During that evening Lord Popplecourt endeavoured to make himself pleasant to one of the FitzHoward young ladies, and on the next morning he took his leave of Custins.

“I will never interfere again in reference to anybody else’s child as long as I live,” Lady Cantrip said to her husband that night.

Lady Mary was very much tempted to open her heart to Miss Boncassen. It would be delightful to her to have a friend; but were she to engage Miss Boncassen’s sympathies on her behalf, she must of course sympathise with Miss Boncassen in return. And what if, after all, Silverbridge were not devoted to the American beauty! What if it should turn out that he was going to marry Lady Mabel Grex! “I wish you would call me Isabel,” her friend said to her. “It is so odd, — since I have left New York I have never heard my name from any lips except father’s and mother’s.”

“Has not Silverbridge ever called you by your Christian name?”

“I think not. I am sure he never has.” But he had, though it had passed by her at the moment without attention. “It all came from him so suddenly. And yet I expected it. But it was too sudden for Christian names and pretty talk. I do not even know what his name is.”

“Plantagenet; — but we always call him Silverbridge.”

“Plantagenet is very much prettier. I shall always call him Plantagenet. But I recall that. You will not remember that against me?”

“I will remember nothing that you do not wish.”

“I mean that if, — if all the grandeurs of all the Pallisers could consent to put up with poor me, if heaven were opened to me with a straight gate, so that I could walk out of our republic into your aristocracy with my head erect, with the stars and stripes waving proudly round me till I had been accepted into the shelter of the Omnium griffins, — then I would call
him — “

“There’s one Palliser would welcome you.”

“Would you, dear? Then I will love you so dearly. May I call you Mary?”

“Of course you may.”

“Mary is the prettiest name under the sun. But Plantagenet is so grand! Which of the kings did you branch off from?”

“I know nothing about it. From none of them, I should think. There is some story about a Sir Guy who was a king’s friend. I never trouble myself about it. I hate aristocracy.”

“Do you, dear?”