CHAPTER XIV.
THE REJECTED SUITOR.
After the interview between Herbert and his mother, it became anunderstood thing at Castle Richmond that he was engaged to LadyClara. Sir Thomas raised no further objection, although it was clearto all the immediate family that he was by no means gratified at hisson's engagement. Very little more passed between Sir Thomas and LadyFitzgerald on the subject. He merely said that he would consider thequestion of his son's income, and expressed a hope, or perhaps anopinion rather than a hope, that the marriage would not take placequite immediately.
Under these circumstances, Herbert hardly spoke further to his fatherupon the matter. He certainly did feel sore that he should be sotreated--that he should be made to understand that there was adifficulty, but that the difficulty could not be explained to him.No absolute opposition was however made, and he would not thereforecomplain. As to money, he would say nothing till something should besaid to him.
With his mother, however, the matter was different. She had said thatshe would welcome Clara; and she did so. Immediately after speakingto Sir Thomas she drove over to Desmond Court, and said soft, sweetthings to Clara in her most winning way;--said soft things also tothe countess, who received them very graciously; took Clara home toCastle Richmond for that night, somewhat to the surprise and much tothe gratification of Herbert, who found her sitting slily with theother girls when he came in before dinner; and arranged for her tomake a longer visit after the interval of a week or two. Herbert,therefore, was on thoroughly good terms with his mother, and didenjoy some of the delights which he had promised himself.
With his sisters, also, and especially with Emmeline, he was oncemore in a good humour. To her he made ample apology for his formercrossness, and received ample absolution. "I was so harassed," hesaid, "by my father's manner that I hardly knew what I was doing.And even now, when I think of his evident dislike to the marriage,it nearly drives me wild." The truth of all which Emmeline sadlyacknowledged. How could any of them talk of their father except in astrain of sadness?
All these things did not happen in the drawing-room at CastleRichmond without also being discussed in the kitchen. It was soonknown over the house that Master Herbert was to marry Lady Clara,and, indeed, there was no great pretence of keeping it secret.The girls told the duchess, as they called Mrs. Jones--of coursein confidence--but Mrs. Jones knew what such confidence meant,especially as the matter was more than once distinctly alludedto by her ladyship; and thus the story was told, in confidence,to everybody in the establishment, and then repeated by them, inconfidence also, to nearly everybody out of it.
Ill news, they say, flies fast; and this news, which, going in thatdirection, became ill, soon flew to Hap House.
"So young Fitzgerald and the divine Clara are to hit it off, arethey?" said Captain Donnellan, who had driven over from Buttevantbarracks to breakfast at Hap House on a hunting-morning.
There were other men present, more intimate friends of Owen than thiscaptain, who had known of Owen's misfortune in that quarter; and asign was made to Donnellan to bid him drop the subject; but it wastoo late.
"Who? my cousin Herbert," said Owen, sharply. "Have you heard ofthis, Barry?"
"Well," said Barry, "those sort of things are always being said,you know. I did hear something of it somewhere. But I can't say Ithought much about it." And then the subject was dropped during thatmorning's breakfast. They all went to the hunt, and in the course ofthe day Owen contrived to learn that the report was well founded.
That evening, as the countess and her daughter were sitting togetherover the fire, the gray-headed old butler brought in a letter upon anold silver salver, saying, "For Lady Clara, if you please, my lady."
The countess not unnaturally thought that the despatch had come fromCastle Richmond, and smiled graciously as Clara put out her hand forthe missive. Lady Desmond again let her eyes drop upon the book whichshe was reading, as though to show that she was by far too confidinga mamma to interfere in any correspondence between her daughterand her daughter's lover. At the moment Lady Clara had been doingnothing. Her work was, indeed, on her lap, and her workbox was ather elbow; but her thoughts had been far away; far away as regardsidea, though not so as to absolute locality; for in her mind she waswalking beneath those elm-trees, and a man was near her, with a horsefollowing at his heels.
"The messenger is to wait for an answer, my lady," said the oldbutler, with a second nod, which on this occasion was addressed toClara; and then the man withdrew.
Lady Clara blushed ruby red up to the roots of her hair when hereyes fell on the address of the letter, for she knew it to be in thehandwriting of Owen Fitzgerald. Perhaps the countess from the cornerof her eye may have observed some portion of her daughter's blushes;but if so, she said nothing, attributing them to Clara's naturalbashfulness in her present position. "She will get over it soon," thecountess may probably have said to herself.
Clara was indecisive, disturbed in her mind, and wretched. Owenhad sent her other letters; but they had been brought to hersurreptitiously, had been tendered to her in secret, and had alwaysbeen returned by her unopened. She had not told her mother of these;at least, not purposely or at the moment: but she had been atno trouble to conceal the facts; and when the countess had onceasked, she freely told her what had happened with an absence of anyconfusion which had quite put Lady Desmond at her ease. But thisletter was brought to her in the most open manner, and an answer toit openly demanded.
She turned it round slowly in her hand, and then looking up, said,"Mamma, this is from Owen Fitzgerald; what had I better do with it?"
"From Owen Fitzgerald! Are you sure?"
"Yes, mamma." And then the countess had also to consider what stepsunder such circumstances had better be taken. In the mean time Claraheld out her hand, tendering the letter to her mother.
"You had better open it, my dear, and read it. No doubt it must beanswered." Lady Desmond felt that now there could be no danger fromOwen Fitzgerald. Indeed she thought that there was not a remembranceof him left in her daughter's bosom; that the old love, suchbaby-love as there had been, had vanished, quite swept out of thatlittle heart by this new love of a brighter sort. But then LadyDesmond knew nothing of her daughter.
So instructed, Clara broke the seal, and read the letter, which ranthus:--
Hap House, February, 184--.
My promised Love,
For let what will happen, such you are; I have this morning heard tidings which, if true, will go far to drive me to despair. But I will not believe them from any lips save your own. I have heard that you are engaged to marry Herbert Fitzgerald. At once, however, I declare that I do not believe the statement. I have known you too well to think that you can be false.
But, at any rate, I beg the favour of an interview with you. After what has passed I think that under any circumstances I have a right to demand it. I have pledged myself to you; and as that pledge has been accepted, I am entitled to some consideration.
I write this letter to you openly, being quite willing that you should show it to your mother if you think fit. My messenger will wait, and I do implore you to send me an answer. And remember, Lady Clara, that, having accepted my love, you cannot whistle me down the wind as though I were of no account. After what has passed between us, you cannot surely refuse to see me once more.
Ever your own--if you will have it so,
OWEN FITZGERALD.
She read the letter very slowly, ever and anon looking up at hermother's face, and seeing that her mother was--not reading her book,but pretending to read it. When she had finished it, she held it fora moment, and then said, "Mamma, will you not look at it?"
"Certainly, my dear, if you wish me to do so." And she took theletter from her daughter's hand, and read it.
"Just what one would expect from him, my dear; eager, impetuous, andthoughtless. One should not blame him much, for he does not mean todo harm. But if he had
any sense, he would know that he was takingtrouble for nothing."
"And what shall I do, mamma?"
"Well, I really think that I should answer him." It was delightful tosee the perfect confidence which the mother had in her daughter. "AndI think I should see him, if he will insist upon it. It is foolish inhim to persist in remembering two words which you spoke to him as achild; but perhaps it will be well that you should tell him yourselfthat you were a child when you spoke those two words."
And then Clara sent off the following reply, written under hermother's dictation; though the countess strove very hard to convinceher daughter that she was wording it out of her own head:--
Lady Clara Desmond presents her compliments to Mr. Owen Fitzgerald, and will see Mr. Owen Fitzgerald at Desmond Court at two o'clock to-morrow, if Mr. Owen Fitzgerald persists in demanding such an interview. Lady Clara Desmond, however, wishes to express her opinion that it would be better avoided.
Desmond Court, Thursday evening.
The countess thought that this note was very cold and formal, andwould be altogether conclusive; but, nevertheless, at about eleveno'clock that night there came another messenger from Hap House withanother letter, saying that Owen would be at Desmond Court at twoo'clock on the following day.
"He is very foolish; that is all I can say," said the countess.
All that night and all the next morning poor Clara was very wretched.That she had been right to give up a suitor who lived such a life asOwen Fitzgerald lived she could not doubt. But, nevertheless, was shetrue in giving him up? Had she made any stipulation as to his lifewhen she accepted his love? If he called her false, as doubtless hewould call her, how would she defend herself? Had she any defenceto offer? It was not only that she had rejected him, a poor lover;but she had accepted a rich lover! What could she say to him when heupbraided her for such sordid conduct?
And then as to her whistling him down the wind. Did she wish to dothat? In what state did her heart stand towards him? Might it notbe that, let her be ever so much on her guard, she would show himsome tenderness,--tenderness which would be treason to her presentaffianced suitor? Oh, why had her mother desired her to go throughsuch an interview as this!
When two o'clock came Clara was in the drawing-room. She had saidnothing to her mother as to the manner in which this meeting shouldtake place. But then at first she had had an idea that Lady Desmondwould be present. But as the time came near Clara was still alone.When her watch told her that it was already two, she was still byherself; and when the old servant, opening the door, announced thatMr. Fitzgerald was there, she was still unsupported by the presenceof any companion. It was very surprising that on such an occasion hermother should have kept herself away.
She had not seen Owen Fitzgerald since that day when they had walkedtogether under the elm-trees, and it can hardly be said that she sawhim now. She had a feeling that she had injured him--had deceived,and in a manner betrayed him; and that feeling became so powerfulwith her that she hardly dared to look him in the face.
He, when he entered the room, walked straight up to her, and offeredher his hand. He, too, looked round the room to see whether LadyDesmond was there, and not finding her, was surprised. He had hardlyhoped that such an opportunity would be allowed to him for declaringthe strength of his passion.
She got up, and taking his hand, muttered something; it certainly didnot matter what, for it was inaudible; but such as the words were,they were the first spoken between them.
"Lady Clara," he began; and then stopped himself; and, considering,recommenced--"Clara, a report has reached my ears which I willbelieve from no lips but your own."
She now sat down on a sofa, and pointed to a chair for him, but heremained standing, and did so during the whole interview; or rather,walking; for when he became energetic and impetuous, he moved aboutfrom place to place in the room, as though incapable of fixinghimself in one position.
Clara was ignorant whether or no it behoved her to rebuke him forcalling her simply by her Christian name. She thought that she oughtto do so, but she did not do it.
"I have been told," he continued, "that you have engaged yourself tomarry Herbert Fitzgerald; and I have now come to hear a contradictionof this from yourself."
"But, Mr. Fitzgerald, it is true."
"It is true that Herbert Fitzgerald is your accepted lover?"
"Yes," she said, looking down upon the ground, and blushing deeply asshe said it.
There was a pause of a few moments, during which she felt that thefull fire of his glance was fixed upon her, and then he spoke.
"You may well be ashamed to confess it," he said; "you may well feelthat you dare not look me in the face as you pronounce the words. Iwould have believed it, Clara, from no other mouth than your own."
It appeared to Clara herself now as though she were greatly aculprit. She had not a word to say in her own defence. All thosearguments as to Owen's ill course of life were forgotten; and shecould only remember that she had acknowledged that she loved him, andthat she was now acknowledging that she loved another.
But now Owen had made his accusation; and as it was not answered, hehardly knew how to proceed. He walked about the room, endeavouring tothink what he had better say next.
"I know this, Clara; it is your mother's doing, and not your own. Youcould not bring yourself to be false, unless by her instigation."
"No," said she; "you are wrong there. It is not my mother's doing:what I have done, I have done myself."
"Is it not true," he asked, "that your word was pledged to me? Hadyou not promised me that you would be my wife?"
"I was very young," she said, falling back upon the only excuse whichoccurred to her at the moment as being possible to be used withoutincriminating him.
"Young! Is not that your mother's teaching? Why, those were her verywords when she came to me at my house. I did not know that youth wasany excuse for falsehood."
"But it may be an excuse for folly," said Clara.
"Folly! what folly? The folly of loving a poor suitor; the folly ofbeing willing to marry a man who has not a large estate! Clara, I didnot think that you could have learned so much in so short a time."
All this was very hard upon her. She felt that it was hard, for sheknew that he had done that which entitled her to regard her pledge tohim as at an end; but the circumstances were such that she could notexcuse herself.
"Am I to understand," said Owen Fitzgerald, "that all that has passedbetween us is to go for nothing? that such promises as we have madeto each other are to be of no account? To me they are sacred pledges,from which I would not escape even if I could."
As he then paused for a reply, she was obliged to say something.
"I hope you have not come here to upbraid me, Mr. Fitzgerald."
"Clara," he continued, "I have passed the last year with perfectreliance upon your faith. I need hardly tell you that it has not beenpassed happily, for it has been passed without seeing you. But thoughyou have been absent from me, I have never doubted you. I have knownthat it was necessary that we should wait--wait perhaps till yearsshould make you mistress of your own actions: but nevertheless I wasnot unhappy, for I was sure of your love."
Now it was undoubtedly the case that Fitzgerald was treating herunfairly; and though she had not her wits enough about her toascertain this by process of argument, nevertheless the idea did comehome to her. It was true that she had promised her love to this man,as far as such promise could be conveyed by one word of assent; butit was true also that she had been almost a child when she pronouncedthat word, and that things which had since occurred had entitled herto annul any amount of contract to which she might have been supposedto bind herself by that one word. She bethought herself, therefore,that as she was so hard pressed she was forced to defend herself.
"I was very young then, Mr. Fitzgerald, and hardly knew what I wassaying: afterwards, when mamma spoke to me, I felt that I was boundto obey her."
"What, to
obey her by forgetting me?"
"No; I have never forgotten you, and never shall. I remember too wellyour kindness to my brother; your kindness to us all."
"Psha! you know I do not speak of that. Are you bound to obey yourmother by forgetting that you have loved me?"
She paused a moment before she answered him, looking now full beforeher,--hardly yet bold enough to look him in the face.
"No," she said; "I have not forgotten that I loved you. I shall neverforget it. Child as I was, it shall never be forgotten. But I cannotlove you now--not in the manner you would have me."
"And why not, Lady Clara? Why is love to cease on your part--to bethrown aside so easily by you, while with me it remains so stern afact, and so deep a necessity? Is that just? When the bargain hasonce been made, should it not be equally binding on us both?"
"I do not think you are fair to me, Mr. Fitzgerald," she said; andsome spirit was now rising in her bosom.
"Not fair to you? Do you say that I am unfair to you? Speak but oneword to say that the troth which you pledged me a year since shallstill remain unbroken, and I will at once leave you till you yourselfshall name the time when my suit may be renewed."
"You know that I cannot do that."
"And why not? I know that you ought to do it."
"No, Mr. Fitzgerald, I ought not. I am now engaged to your cousin,with the consent of mamma and of his friends. I can say nothing toyou now which I cannot repeat to him; nor can I say anything whichshall oppose his wishes."
"He is then so much more to you now than I am?"
"He is everything to me now."
"That is all the reply I am to get then! You acknowledge yourfalseness, and throw me off without vouchsafing me any answer beyondthis."
"What would you have me say? I did do that which was wrong andfoolish, when--when we were walking there on the avenue. I did give apromise which I cannot now keep. It was all so hurried that I hardlyremember what I said. But of this I am sure, that if I have causedyou unhappiness, I am very sorry to have done so. I cannot alter itall now; I cannot unsay what I said then; nor can I offer you thatwhich I have now absolutely given to another."
And then, as she finished speaking, she did pluck up courage to lookhim in the face. She was now standing as well as he; but she was sostanding that the table, which was placed near the sofa, was stillbetween him and her. As she finished speaking the door opened, andthe Countess of Desmond walked slowly into the room.
Owen Fitzgerald, when he saw her, bowed low before her, and thenfrankly offered her his hand. There was something in his manner toladies devoid of all bashfulness, and yet never too bold. He seemedto be aware that in speaking to any lady, be she who she might, hewas only exercising his undoubted privilege as a man. He never hummedand hawed and shook in his shoes as though the majesty of womanhoodwere too great for his encounter. There are such men, and many ofthem, who carry this dread to the last day of their long lives. Ihave often wondered what women think of men who regard women as tooawful for the free exercise of open speech.
"Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, accepting the hand which he offered toher, but resuming her own very quickly, and then standing before himin all the dignity which she was able to assume, "I quite concurredwith my daughter that it was right that she should see you, as youinsisted on such an interview; but you must excuse me if I interruptit. I must protect her from the embarrassment which your--yourvehemence may occasion her."
"Lady Desmond," he replied, "you are quite at liberty, as far as Iam concerned, to hear all that passes between us. Your daughter isbetrothed to me, and I have come to claim from her the fulfilment ofher promise."
"For shame, Mr. Fitzgerald, for shame! When she was a child youextracted from her one word of folly; and now you would takeadvantage of that foolish word; now, when you know that she isengaged to a man she loves with the full consent of all her friends.I thought I knew you well enough to feel sure that you were not soungenerous."
"Ungenerous! no; I have not that generosity which would enable me togive up my very heart's blood, the only joy of my soul, to such a oneas my cousin Herbert."
"You have nothing to give up, Mr. Fitzgerald: you must have knownfrom the very first that my daughter could not marry you--"
"Not marry me! And why not, Lady Desmond? Is not my blood as goodas his?--unless, indeed, you are prepared to sell your child to thehighest bidder!"
"Clara, my dear, I think you had better leave the room," said thecountess; "no doubt you have assured Mr. Fitzgerald that you areengaged to his cousin Herbert."
"Yes, mamma."
"Then he can have no further claim on your attendance, and hisvehemence will terrify you."
"Vehement! how can I help being vehement when, like a ruined gambler,I am throwing my last chance for such a stake?"
And then he intercepted Clara as she stepped towards the drawing-roomdoor. She stopped in her course, and stood still, looking down uponthe ground.
"Mr. Fitzgerald," said the countess, "I will thank you to let LadyClara leave the room. She has given you the answer for which you haveasked, and it would not be right in me to permit her to be subjectedto further embarrassment."
"I will only ask her to listen to one word. Clara--"
"Mr. Fitzgerald, you have no right to address my daughter with thatfreedom," said the countess; but Owen hardly seemed to hear her.
"I here, in your hearing, protest against your marriage with HerbertFitzgerald. I claim your love as my own. I bid you think of thepromise which you gave me; and I tell you that as I loved you thenwith all my heart, so do I love you at this moment; so shall I loveyou always. Now I will not hinder you any longer."
And then he opened the door for her, and she passed on, bowing tohim, and muttering some word of farewell that was inaudible.
He stood for a moment with the door in his hand, meditating whetherhe might not say good morning to the countess without returning intothe room; but as he so stood she called him. "Mr. Fitzgerald," shesaid; and so he therefore came back, and once more closed the door.
And then he saw that the countenance of Lady Desmond was muchchanged. Hitherto she had been every inch the countess, stern andcold and haughty; but now she looked at him as she used to look inthose old winter evenings when they were accustomed to talk togetherover the evening fire in close friendliness, while she, Lady Desmond,would speak to him in the intimacy of her heart of her children,Patrick and Clara.
"Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, and the tone of her voice also waschanged. "You are hardly fair to us; are you?"
"Not fair, Lady Desmond?"
"No, not fair. Sit down now, and listen to me for a moment. If youhad a child, a penniless girl like Clara, would you be glad to seeher married to such a one as you are yourself?"
"In what way do you mean? Speak out, Lady Desmond."
"No; I will not speak out, for I would not hurt you. I myself am toofond of you--as an old friend, to wish to do so. That you may marryand live happily, live near us here, so that we may know you, I mostheartily desire. But you cannot marry that child."
"And why not, if she loves me?"
"Nay, not even if she did. Wealth and position are necessary tothe station in which she has been born. She is an earl's daughter,penniless as she is. I will have no secrets from you. As a mother, Icould not give her to one whose career is such as yours. As the widowof an earl, I could not give her to one whose means of maintainingher are so small. If you will think of this, you will hardly be angrywith me."
"Love is nothing then?"
"Is all to be sacrificed to your love? Think of it, Mr. Fitzgerald,and let me have the happiness of knowing that you consent to thismatch."
"Never!" said he. "Never!" And so he left the room, without wishingher further farewell.