The American Senator Part 49

There was not much in it,--except a word or two as to your going and as to my desolation, and just a reminiscence of the hunting. There was no reproach that you should have left me without any farewell, or that you should have gone so suddenly, after saying so much, without saying more. I wanted you to feel that you had made me very happy, and not to feel that your departure in such a way had robbed me of part of the happiness.

It was a little bad of you, because it did of course leave me to the hardness of my aunt; and because all the other women there would of course follow her. She had inquired about our journey home, that dear journey home, and I had of course told her,--well I had better say it out at once; I told her that we were engaged. You, I am sure, will think that the truth was best. She wanted to know why you did not go to the Duke. I told her that the Duke was not my father; but that as far as I was concerned the Duke might speak to you or not as he pleased. I had nothing to conceal. I am very glad he did not, because he is pompous, and you would have been bored. If there is one thing I desire more than another it is that nothing belonging to me shall ever be a bore to you. I hope I may never stand in the way of anything that will gratify you,--as I said when you lit that cigar. You will have forgotten, I dare say. But, dear Rufford,--dearest; I may say that, mayn't I?--say something, or do something to make me satisfied.

You know what I mean;--don't you? It isn't that I am a bit afraid myself. I don't think so little of myself, or so badly of you. But I don't like other women to look at me as though I ought not to be proud of anything. I am proud of everything; particularly proud of you,--and of Jack.

Now there is my serious epistle, and I am sure that you will answer it like a dear, good, kind-hearted, loving--lover. I won't be afraid of writing the word, nor of saying that I love you with all my heart, and that I am always your own

ARABELLA.

She kept the letter till the Sunday, thinking that she might have an answer to that written from Mistletoe, and that his reply might alter its tone, or induce her to put it aside altogether; but when on Sunday morning none came, her own was sent. The word in it which frightened herself was the word "engaged." She tried various other phrases, but declared to herself at last that it was useless to "beat about the bush." He must know the light in which she was pleased to regard those pa.s.sages of love which she had permitted so that there might be no mistake. Whether the letter would be to his liking or not, it must be of such a nature that it would certainly draw from him an answer on which she could act. She herself did not like the letter; but, considering her difficulties, we may own that it was not much amiss.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LORD RUFFORD MAKES UP HIS MIND.

As it happened, Lord Rufford got the two letters together, the cause of which was as follows.

When he ran away from Mistletoe, as he certainly did, he had thought much about that journey home in the carriage, and was quite aware that he had made an a.s.s of himself. As he sat at dinner on that day at Mistletoe his neighbour had said some word to him in joke as to his attachment to Miss Trefoil, and after the ladies had left the room another neighbour of the other s.e.x had hoped that he had had a pleasant time on the road. Again, in the drawing-room it had seemed to him that he was observed. He could not refrain from saying a few words to Arabella as she lay on the sofa. Not to do so after what had occurred would have been in itself peculiar. But when he did so, some other man who was near her made way for him, as though she were acknowledged to be altogether his property. And then the d.u.c.h.ess had striven to catch him, and lead him into special conversation. When this attempt was made he decided that he must at once retreat,--or else make up his mind to marry the young lady. And therefore he retreated.

He breakfasted that morning at the inn at Stamford, and as he smoked his cigar afterwards, he positively resolved that he would under no circ.u.mstances marry Arabella Trefoil. He was being hunted and run down, and, with the instinct of all animals that are hunted, he prepared himself for escape. It might be said, no doubt would be said, that he behaved badly. That would be said because it would not be open to him to tell the truth. The lady in such a case can always tell her story, with what exaggeration she may please to give, and can complain. The man never can do so. When inquired into, he cannot say that he has been pursued. He cannot tell her friends that she began it, and in point of fact did it all. "She would fall into my arms; she would embrace me; she persisted in asking me whether I loved her!" Though a man have to be shot for it, or kicked for it, or even though he have to endure perpetual scorn for it, he cannot say that, let it be ever so true. And yet is a man to be forced into a marriage which he despises? He would not be forced into the marriage,--and the sooner he retreated the less would be the metaphorical shooting and kicking and the real scorn. He must get out of it as best he could;--but that he would get out of it he was quite determined.

That afternoon he reached Mr. Surbiton's house, as did also Captain Battersby, and his horses, grooms, and other belongings. When there he received a lot of letters, and among others one from Mr.

Runciman, of the Bush, inquiring as to a certain hiring of rooms and preparation for a dinner or dinners which had been spoken of in reference to a final shooting decreed to take place in the neighbourhood of Dillsborough in the last week of January. Such things were often planned by Lord Rufford, and afterwards forgotten or neglected. When he declared his purpose to Runciman, he had not intended to go to Mistletoe, nor to stay so long with his friend Surbiton. But now he almost thought that it would be better for him to be back at Rufford Hall, where at present his sister was staying with her husband, Sir George Penwether.

In the evening of the second or third day his old friend Tom Surbiton said a few words to him which had the effect of sending him back to Rufford. They had sat out the rest of the men who formed the party and were alone in the smoking-room. "So you're going to marry Miss Trefoil," said Tom Surbiton, who perhaps of all his friends was the most intimate.

"Who says so?"

"I am saying so at present."

"You are not saying it on your own authority. You have never seen me and Miss Trefoil in a room together."

"Everybody says so. Of course such a thing cannot be arranged without being talked about."

"It has not been arranged."

"If you don't mean to have it arranged, you had better look to it. I am speaking in earnest, Rufford. I am not going to give up authorities. Indeed if I did I might give up everybody. The very servants suppose that they know it, and there isn't a groom or horseboy about who isn't in his heart congratulating the young lady on her promotion."

"I'll tell you what it is, Tom."

"Well;--what is it?"

"If this had come from any other man than yourself I should quarrel with him. I am not engaged to the young lady, nor have I done anything to warrant anybody in saying so."

"Then I may contradict it."

"I don't want you either to contradict it or affirm it. It would be an impertinence to the young lady if I were to instruct any one to contradict such a report. But as a fact I am not engaged to marry Miss Trefoil, nor is there the slightest chance that I ever shall be so engaged." So saying he took up his candlestick and walked off.

Early on the next morning he saw his friend and made some sort of laughing apology for his heat on the previous evening. "It is so d---- hard when these kind of things are said because a man has lent a young lady a horse. However, Tom, between you and me the thing is a lie."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Tom.

"And now I want you to come over to Rufford on the twenty-eighth."

Then he explained the details of his proposed party, and got his friend to promise that he would come. He also made it understood that he was going home at once. There were a hundred things, he said, which made it necessary. So the horses and grooms and servant and portmanteaus were again made to move, and Lord Rufford left his friend on that day and went up to London on his road to Rufford.

He was certainly disturbed in his mind, foreseeing that there might be much difficulty in his way. He remembered with fair accuracy all that had occurred during the journey from Stamford to Mistletoe. He felt a.s.sured that up to that time he had said nothing which could be taken to mean a real declaration of love. All that at Rufford had been nothing. He had never said a word which could justify the girl in a hope. In the carriage she had asked him whether he loved her, and he had said that he did. He had also declared that he would do anything in his power to make her happy. Was a man to be bound to marry a girl because of such a scene as that? There was, however, nothing for him to do except to keep out of the girl's way. If she took any steps, then he must act. But as he thought of it, he swore to himself that nothing should induce him to marry her.

He remained a couple of days in town and reached Rufford Hall on the Monday,--just a week from the day of that fatal meet at Peltry. There he found Sir George and his sister and Miss Penge, and spent his first evening in quiet. On the Tuesday he hunted with the U. R. U., and made his arrangements with Runciman. He invited Hampton to shoot with him. Surbiton and Battersby were coming, and his brother-in-law.

Not wishing to have less than six guns he asked Hampton how he could make up his party. "Morton doesn't shoot," he said, "and is as stiff as a post." Then he was told that John Morton was supposed to be very ill at Bragton. "I'm sick of both the Botseys," continued the lord, thinking more of his party than of Mr. Morton's health. "Purefoy is still sulky with me because he killed poor old Caneback." Then Hampton suggested that if he would ask Lawrence Twentyman it might be the means of saving that unfortunate young man's life. The story of his unrequited love was known to every one at Dillsborough and it was now told to Lord Rufford. "He is not half a bad fellow,"

said Hampton, "and quite as much like a gentleman as either of the Botseys."

"I shall be delighted to save the life of so good a man on such easy terms," said the lord. Then and there, with a pencil, on the back of an old letter, he wrote a line to Larry asking him to shoot on next Sat.u.r.day and to dine with him afterwards at the Bush.

That evening on his return home he found both the letters from Arabella. As it happened he read them in the order in which they had been written, first the laughing letter, and then the one that was declared to be serious. The earlier of the two did not annoy him much. It contained hardly more than those former letters which had induced him to go to Mistletoe. But the second letter opened up her entire strategy. She had told the d.u.c.h.ess that she was engaged to him, and the d.u.c.h.ess of course would have told the Duke. And now she wrote to him asking him to acknowledge the engagement in black and white. The first letter he might have ignored. He might have left it unanswered without gross misconduct. But the second letter, which she herself had declared to be a serious epistle, was one which he could not neglect. Now had come his difficulty. What must he do? How should he answer it? Was it imperative on him to write the words with his own hand? Would it be possible that he should get his sister to undertake the commission? He said nothing about it to any one for four and twenty hours; but he pa.s.sed those hours in much discomfort.

It did seem so hard to him that because he had been forced to carry a lady home from hunting in a postchaise, that he should be driven to such straits as this! The girl was evidently prepared to make a fight of it. There would be the Duke and the d.u.c.h.ess and that prig Mistletoe, and that idle a.s.s Lord Augustus, and that venomous old woman her mother, all at him. He almost doubted whether a shooting excursion in Central Africa or a visit to the Pampas would not be the best thing for him. But still, though he should resolve to pa.s.s five years among the Andes, he must answer the lady's letter before he went.

Then he made up his mind that he would tell everything to his brother-in-law, as far as everything can be told in such a matter.

Sir George was near fifty, full fifteen years older than his wife, who was again older than her brother. He was a man of moderate wealth, very much respected, and supposed to be possessed of almost infinite wisdom. He was one of those few human beings who seem never to make a mistake. Whatever he put his hand to came out well;--and yet everybody liked him His brother-in-law was a little afraid of him, but yet was always glad to see him. He kept an excellent house in London, but having no country house of his own pa.s.sed much of his time at Rufford Hall when the owner was not there. In spite of the young peer's numerous faults Sir George was much attached to him, and always ready to help him in his difficulties. "Penwether," said the Lord, "I have got myself into an awful sc.r.a.pe."

"I am sorry to hear it. A woman, I suppose."

"Oh, yes. I never gamble, and therefore no other sc.r.a.pe can be awful.

A young lady wants to marry me."

"That is not unnatural."

"But I am quite determined, let the result be what it may, that I won't marry the young lady."

"That will be unfortunate for her, and the more so if she has a right to expect it. Is the young lady Miss Trefoil?"

"I did not mean to mention any name,--till I was sure it might be necessary. But it is Miss Trefoil."

"Eleanor had told me something of it."

"Eleanor knows nothing about this, and I do not wish you to tell her.

The young lady was here with her mother,--and for the matter of that with a gentleman to whom she was certainly engaged;--but nothing particular occurred here. That unfortunate ball was going on when poor Caneback was dying. But I met her since that at Mistletoe."

"I can hardly advise, you know, unless you tell me everything."

Then Lord Rufford began. "These kind of things are sometimes deuced hard upon a man. Of course if a man were a saint or a philosopher or a Joseph he wouldn't get into such sc.r.a.pes,--and perhaps every man ought to be something of that sort. But I don't know how a man is to do it, unless it's born with him."

"A little prudence I should say."

"You might as well tell a fellow that it is his duty to be six feet high."