The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 21: what you’re looking at

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8 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. n the solitude of her own chamber, to reflect on the image of the lost one,—yet she yielded to the entreaties of her father that sho would make herself agreeable to Mrs. Bailey in all things; and it was precisely to shine as a star that Mrs. Bailey had invited her to London. Eliza Lacey soon became the object of univer- sal admiration. Her beauty was considered to be naturally of a pensive and touchingly interesting cast: no one except her father knew how recent incidents had softened the former sunlight of her loveliness into this half-subdued tone. When in the midst of a briiliant company, with flowers upon her brow and diamonds on her neck, none of those who surrounded her suspected that the for- mer rested above a brain that had throbbed to the most harrowing affliction—or that the latter Jay above a heart where love, the fairest of all the gems of the soul, had become lustreless for ever. It was in the first month of the year 1828 that Mrs. Bailey gave a more than usually grand party, for the purpose of doing honour to a guest of the highest rank who was to be present. This was the Duke of Marchmont. He wasa man in his fifty- fifth year—talland upright—of a lofty demeanour —« severe and thoughtful expression of counte- nance. His bearing had all the aristocratic hauteur of his high rank, attempered however by the man- ners of a polished gentleman. His face was long —his features were prominent—his complexion was pale, almost to sallowness: but he had evi- dently been very handsome in his time, and might still be pronounced a fine man. His hair and whiskers, once dark, were now of a greyish tinge : but his teeth were so admirably preserved, and 90 singularly white for a person of his age, that when he smiled, they gave to his counte- nance a younger aspect. He had never been married, and had not until recently wore a ducal coronet upon his brow. . Such was the Duke of Marchmont—a noble- man powsessed of great wealth, with a splendid town-mansion, and three palatial residences, with their accompanying estates, in three distinct counties. Many a cap, to use a vulgar phrase, was therefore set at this great peer: many a ma- nesuvring mother made excruciating efforts to lead the ducal attention to her marriageable daughters. Hitherto all in vain '—but on the aight of Mrs. Bailey's grand entertainment, his Grace’s heart seemed to be smittten—he was evi- dently fascinated with the bewitching beauty of one fair creature there—and this was Eliza Lacey. But the young lady herself was the only one present who did not observe anything pointed or marked in the Duke's attentions. Mingled with her resignation, there was a kind of dreamy, list- less apathy which atill elung to her, as if the senses had not as yet completely recovered the stunning influence of the blow they had received several months back. Weeks passed on: at every entertainment given by Mra. Bailey, the Duke of Marchmont was sure to be present: at whatseever house Eliza visited in company with her relative, there was the Duke kikewise sure to be. He was paying his addresses to her as visiblyand as sedu- lously ag a man could: everybody elso saw and knew it—the object of these attentions alone re- mained unaware that they were proffered. She atill continued to look forth upon the world as if from the midst of a mental dreaminess within: there was something more mechanical than volan- . tary in her conversation, her looks, and her smiles —in her bearing too, and in all her movements. But inasmuch as there was a consistent uniformity in her tone and demeanour, with an ineffable eweetness over all, it could not possibly have struck any but the very closest observer of human nature, that in the still waters of her soul a pro- found grief lay buried. Such observers are not often found in the gay circles of fashionable life ; and the Duke of Marchmont himself, though shrewd and intelligent, was not much versed in the reading of the female heart. At length the Duke took an opportunity to make an offer of his hand to Miss Lacey. She heard him with an astonishment perfectly bewil- dering, but which gave to her an air of modest maidenly confusion. She could not utter a word: a veil had suddenly fallen from hereyes—the haze through which she had looked upon things around her, abruptly yielded to clearness. She compre- hended for the first time that she had been the object of attentions bestowed for several months, and that in the very dreaminess and listlessnees of her mind, she might have seemed to regard them as welcome because ahe had accepted them. It was one afternoon when the Duke called at Mra. Bailey's house, and when he found Eliza alone in the drawing-room, that he made her the offer of his hand. Taking her bewildered amazement and the subsequent emotions for bashful confusion, and this confusion for a tacit assent, he raised her hand to his lips—kissed it with respectful tender- ness—and intimating that he would seek her fathor, quitted theroom. Then, more vividly per- haps than for some time past it had done, rose up before Eliza's mental vision the image of the los: Bertram ; and clasping her hands convulsively, ahe sat in dismay—indeed almost in horror— under the crushing influence of the thought that she had unwittingly proved faithless tu that image. The ring with the initial B was in her bosom: it ever lay next to her heart. She drewit forth, kiss- ing it in the resuscitated wildness of her grief ; while the tears flowed in torrents from her eyes. She had grown comparatively calm again—the ring was replaced in her bosom—the traces of her weeping were wiped away—and she was delibe- rately reflecting how to disabuse the Duke of Marchmont of the error into which he had fallen in supposing that his attentions were agreeable to her, when the door opened and her father en- tered the room. Though full of infirmities, the old man rushed towards her—caught her in his arms—strained her to his breast—and ere she could give utterance to a word, poured forth a perfect deluge of language,—thanking her for having accepted her ducal suitor—congratulating himself on living to behold his daughter on the verge of so brilliant an alliance—declaring that bis mind was relieved from a myriad anxieties— and ending by assuring her that his grey hairs would now go down in contented resignation to the grave. Eliza was shocked, astounded, and bewildered. She saw that her father’s mind was bent upon this match, and that it would literally break his heart if she rejected the ducal overture. Yet her brain whirled: it was almost maddened at the idea of becoming another’s—she whv in her own soul had vowed a life of celibacy to the memory of her lost lover! Her father re- (COL (C DOO CS (COL