Читать книгу A Mad Love - Charlotte M. Brame - Страница 23

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"I am quite sure of one thing," Lord Chandos had said, as they drew near London, "and that is, Leone—if my father sees you before my mother has time to interfere, it will be all right. He can resist anything but a pretty face—that always conquers him."

"I wish," said Leone, with a sigh, "that I were less proud. Do you know, Lance, that I cannot endure to hear you speak as though I were to be received as a great favor. I wonder why I am so proud? I am a farmer's niece, and you are the son of a powerful earl, yet I—please do not be offended; I cannot help it—I feel quite as good as you."

He laughed aloud. There was nothing he enjoyed better than this proud frankness of hers, which would never yield to or worship rank or title.

"I am glad to hear it, Leone," he replied. "For my own part, I think you very much better than myself. I have no fear, if my father sees you first, and that is why I have telegraphed to him to meet us at Dunmore House."

"But," she insisted, "suppose that he does not like me—what shall we do then?"

"Why," he replied, "the right and proper thing for me to do then will be to try to love you, if possible, even better than I do now. Leone, the first thing we must do is to drive to one of the court milliners; no matter what follows, your dress must be attended to at once—first impressions are everything. You look royally beautiful in all that you wear, but I would much rather that my father saw you in a proper costume. Suppose we drive to a milliner's first, and choose a handsome dress, and all things suitable, then we can go to the Queen's Hotel; the trunks can be sent after us. We can dine there; and when you have dressed a la Lady Chandos, we will go to Dunmore House, and carry everything before us."

He did as he had said. They drove first to Madame Caroline's. Lord Chandos was accustomed to the princely style of doing things. He sent for madame, who looked up in wonder at his fair young face.

"This is my wife," he said, "Lady Chandos. We have been in the country and she wants everything new, in your best style."

It seemed to him hours had passed when madame reappeared. Certainly he hardly knew the superbly beautiful girl with her. Was it possible that after all the poets had said about "beauty unadorned" that dress made such a difference? It had changed his beautiful Leone into a beautiful empress. Madame looked at him for approval.

"I hope your lordship is satisfied," she said; with the usual quickness of her nation, she had detected the fact that this had been a runaway marriage.

"I am more than satisfied," he replied.

Before him stood a tall, slender girl, whose superb figure was seen to advantage in one of Worth's most fashionable dresses—trailing silk and rich velvet, so skillfully intermixed with the most exquisite taste; a lace bonnet that seemed to crown the rippling hair; pearl-gray gloves that might have grown on the white hands. Her dress was simply perfect; it was at once elegant and ladylike, rich and costly.

"I shall not be afraid to face my father now," he said, "I have a talisman."

Yet his fair young face grew paler as they reached Dunmore House. It was a terrible risk, and he knew it—a terrible ordeal. He realized what he had done when the housekeeper told him the earl awaited him in the dining-room. A decided sensation of nervousness came over him, and he looked at the fresh, proud, glowing beauty of his young wife to reassure himself. She was perfect, he felt that, and he was satisfied.

"Give me your hand, Leone," he said, and the touch of that little hand gave him new courage.

He went in leading her, and the earl sprung from his seat in startling amaze. Lord Chandos went boldly up to him.

"Father," he said, "allow me to introduce to you my wife, Leone, Lady Chandos."

The earl gave a terrified glance at the beautiful southern face, but made no answer.

"I have to ask your forgiveness," continued the young lordling, "for having married without your consent; but I knew, under the circumstances, it was useless to ask it, so I married without."

Still the same terrified look and utter silence.

"Father," cried Lord Chandos, "why do you not welcome my young wife home?"

Then Lord Lanswell tried to smile—a dreadful, ghastly smile.

"My dear boy," he said, "you are jesting; I am quite sure you are jesting. It cannot be real; you would not be so cruel!"

"Father," repeated the young lord, in an imperative voice, "will you bid my wife welcome home?"

"No," said the earl stoutly, "I will not. The young lady will excuse me if I decline to bid her welcome to a home that can never be hers."

"Father," cried the young man, reproachfully, "I did not expect this from you."

"I do not understand what else you could expect," cried the earl, angrily. "Do you mean to tell me that it is true that this person is your wife?"

"My dear and honored wife," replied the young man.

"Do you mean to tell me that you have actually married this lady, Lance—really married her?"

"I have, indeed, father, and it is about the best action of my life," said Lord Chandos.

"How do you intend to face my lady?" asked the earl, with the voice and manner of one who proposes a difficulty not to be solved.

"I thought you would help us, father; at least, speak to my wife."

The earl looked at the beautiful, distressed face.

"I am very sorry," he said, "sorry for you, Lance, and the lady, but I cannot receive her as your wife."

"She is my wife, whether you receive her or not," said Lord Chandos. "Leone, how can I apologize to you? I never expected that my father would receive you in this fashion. Father, look at her; think how young, how beautiful she is; you cannot be unkind to her."

"I have no wish to be unkind," said the earl, "but I cannot receive her as your wife."

Then, seeing the color fade from her face, he hastened to find her a chair, and poured out a glass of wine for her; he turned with a stern face to his son.

"What have you been doing?" he cried. "While your mother and I thought you were working hard to make up for lost time, what have you been doing?"

"I have been working very hard," he replied, "and my work will bring forth good fruit; but, father, I have found leisure for love as well."

"So it seems," said the earl, dryly; "perhaps you will tell me who this lady is, and why she comes home with you?"

"My wife; her name was Leone Noel; she is now Lady Chandos."

For the first time Leone spoke.

"I am a farmer's niece, my lord," she said, simply.

Her voice had a ring of music in it so sweet that it struck the earl with wonder.

"A farmer's niece," he replied. "You will forgive me for saying that a farmer's niece can be no fitting wife for my son."

"I love him, my lord, very dearly, and I will try hard to be all that he can wish me to be."

"Bravely spoken; but it is quite in vain; my lady would never hear of such a thing—I dare not—I cannot sanction it, even by a word, my lady would never forgive me. Can you tell me when this rash action was accomplished?"

"This is our wedding-day, father," cried Lord Chandos. "Only think of it, our wedding-day, and you receive us like this. How cruel and cold."

"Nay, I am neither," said the earl; "it is rather you, Lance, who do not seem to realize what you have done. You seem to think you belong to yourself; you are mistaken; a man in your position belongs to his country, his race, to his family, not to himself; that view of the question, probably, did not strike you."

"No," replied Lord Chandos, "it certainly did not; but, father, if I have done wrong, forgive me."

"I do forgive you, my dear boy, freely; young men will be foolish—I forgive you; but do not ask me to sanction your marriage or receive your wife. I cannot do it."

"Then, of what use is your forgiveness? Oh, father, I did not expect this from you; you have always been so kind to me. I had fancied difficulties with my mother, but none with you."

"My dear Lance, we had better send for my lady; she is really, as you know, the dominant spirit of our family. She will decide on what is to be done."

"I insist on my wife being treated with due respect," raged the young lord.

"My dear Lance, you must do as you will; I refuse to recognize this lady in any way. Will you tell me when and where you were married?"

"Certainly: this morning, by the Reverend Mr. Barnes, at the Church of St. Barnabas, in Oheton, a little village twenty miles from Rashleigh. The marriage was all en regle; we had the bans published and witnesses present."

"You took great pains to be exact, and the lady, you tell me, is a farmer's niece."

"My uncle is Farmer Robert Noel; he has a farm at Rashleigh," said Leone, "and in his way is an honest, loyal, honorable man."

The earl could not help feeling the sweet, soft music of that voice; it touched his heart.

"I believe you," he said, "but it is a sad thing Farmer Noel did not take more care of his niece. I am sorry it has happened; I can do nothing to help you; my lady must manage it all."

"But, father," pleaded the young man, "it was on you I relied; it was to your efforts I trusted. Be my friend; if you will receive my wife here and acknowledge her, no one else can say a word."

"My dear boy, only yesterday your mother and I were speaking of something on which the whole desire of her heart was fixed; remembering that conversation I tell you quite frankly that I dare not do what you ask me; your mother would never speak to me again."

"Then, Leone, darling, we will go; Heaven forbid that we should remain where we are not welcome. Father," he cried, in sudden emotion, "have you not one kind word, not one blessing for me, on my wedding-day?"

"I refuse to believe that it is your wedding-day, Lance. When that day does come, you shall have both kind words and blessings from me."