Tales and Novels Volume VII Part 62

"I did--I am sensible of it--oh! you see I am; and my best--my very best have I done to drive him from my memory; and never, till I was forced to make this comparison, did I recollect--did I feel--Weak, I may be," said Caroline, changing from great agitation to perfect decision; "but wicked will not be: I will never marry one man, and love another. My own happiness if I sacrifice, mine be the consequence; but will never injure the happiness of another. Do not, madam, keep that n.o.ble heart, this excellent Lord William, in suspense--What are your commands?"

"My commands!" cried Lady Jane, raising her voice, trembling with anger.

"Then this is your grat.i.tude--this your generosity!"

"I cannot be generous--I must be just. I have concealed nothing from Lord William--he knows that my heart was engaged before we met."

"And this your affection for all your friends--all who wish for your happiness? You would sacrifice nothing--nothing--no, not the slightest fancy, disgraceful fancy of your own, to please them, when you know how ardently too they wish to see you happily married."

"To marry to please others, against my own inclination, against my own conscience, must be weakness indeed--self-deception; for if my friends wish my happiness, and I make myself miserable, how can that please them? Any sacrifice I could make, except that of principle, I would; but that I never will make, nor will my friends, nor do they, desire it--Forgive me, dear Lady Jane."

"I never will forgive you," interrupted Lady Jane. "Ring!--yes, ring the bell--and when rung, never expect my forgiveness."

It must be done, thought Caroline, sooner or later.

"My compliments, Keppel, to Lord William," said Lady Jane; "I have no commands to trouble him with. Stay, I must find something--that parcel for Mrs. Baggot, Tunbridge--I must write--I cannot write."

"With great difficulty, in the agitation of her mind and hand, Lady Jane wrote a few lines, and holding the note up, looked at Caroline--a last appeal--in vain.

"Take it, Keppel--I'm sorry Lord William's servant has been kept waiting," cried her ladyship, and suddenly closed the curtain. Caroline retired softly, hoping that Lady Jane might sleep, and sleep off her anger; but no--the morning pa.s.sed--the day pa.s.sed--and the sun went down upon her wrath. At night she would not, she could not, go out any where.

Caroline, alone with her, endured a terrible tete-a-tete. Lady Jane never spoke. Caroline tried all she could, by affectionate kindness of look and voice, and by contrite gentleness, to soothe her perturbed spirit. Lady Jane's anger admitted of no alleviation: her disappointment increased the more she reflected, and the more she thought of what others would think, if they could know it. And that they did not know, might never know it, (for Lady Jane was too honourable to betray Lord William's secret,) was an additional mortification. It was not till after ninety-six hours that Caroline perceived in her ladyship any change for the better. The first favourable symptom was her giving vent to her natural feelings in the following broken sentences: "After all my pains! When I was just thinking of writing to your father--when I might have carried you home in triumph, Lady William! A duke in all human probability--a d.u.c.h.ess--absolutely a d.u.c.h.ess you might have been! And such a well-informed--such an amiable man!--every thing your own family could have wished--And Rosamond!--Ah! poor Rosamond--Rosamond, you little know!--And n.o.body will ever know--no creature will ever be a bit the wiser. If you would have let him even come to a declaration--properly, decently to a declaration--let him attend you in public once or twice, your declared admirer--what harm could it possibly have done him, you, or any body? Then there would have been some credit, at least--and some comfort to me. But now, at the end of the campaign, just where we were before! The season over, under Lady Jane Granville's _chaperonage_, the beautiful Miss Caroline Percy has received one proposal and a quarter!--No, while I live, I will never forgive it."