The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 150: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MYSTERIES. 133 countenance glowed with the ardour of passion and her melting blue eyes swam in the delicious languor that expressed soft desires, on CHAPTER XXXVIII. THES EARL AND COUNTESS OF DESBOROUGH. Tag scene now shifts to anoble mansion in Berke- ley Square. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon of the day following the incidents just related; and in a splendidly-furnished apartment, in the lordly dwell. ing alluded to, a lady was seated—or rather re- clining in a negligent manner—upon a sofa drawn near the fire. She was about twenty-eight years of age, and very handsome. Her complexion was a clear olive: buat, beneath that transparent skin of delicately tinged bistre, glowed a fine carnation—the whole effect being that of softness combined with thriv- ing health. | Her eyes were black—large—and brilliant; and, ' in the proud lustre of their rays, those magnificent ' orbs denoted the strength of the lady's intellectual | powers and the energy of her character—at the , same time that they bore testimony to the ardour | of her temperament and the warmth of hei pas- si0né, Her hair was dark as night—soft as silk—end shining as the glossy plumage of the raven ;—and it was parted above a forehead somewhat project- ing, but high and spotless. Her eye-brows might bave been considered too thick by any one disposed to be hypercritical; and they certainly imparted an air of masculine decision to her countenance. But _ then they were s0 well divided—so nobly arched— | 80 admirably semicircular—and so faultlessly pen- cilled that they were broader in the middle than at the ends. Her ears were small—well folded—and having a delicate tinge of red ;—and nothing could exceed | the beanty of the well-shaped neck—long, soft, : easy, and flexibly swan-like. Her bust was of the | most exquisite proportions: neither too much | elevated, nor too much depressed,—and with the : bosoms rising gently into moderate contours—firm and distinctly seperated. She was tall in stature: her igure was slender and with softly flowing out- lines unequalled for graceful symmetry ;—and there was about her an air of elegance, entirely her own, and totally apart from the splendour by which she was surrounded. She was dressed in a charming deshabillée. A , tastefal cap set off with its snowy whiteness the | raven blackness of her hair;—a pale silk wrapper, open at the breast and trimmed with the finest lace, was gathered negligently round her form, the shape of which it rather developed than concealed ; —and the small, shapely feet, thrust into satin slippers, peeped forth from beneath the flowing This lady was Eleanor, Countess of Desborough ; —and her husband, the Earl, was a fine handsome man, in his fortieth year. Nevertheless, she had not married him from love. She had been sacrificed to him on account of his enormous wealth: for he was one of the largest of those few favoured thousands who, by an atrocious system, retained in their possession the entire soil of England. Possessed of vast estates in Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, and a princely mansion in each of those counties—having likewise a perfect palatial residence in Berkeley Square— and owning entire streets in the metropolis, in ad- dition to being an extensive fundholder, the Earl of Desborough might have been well deemed an excellent match by avaricious, selfish, and inter- ested parents. But he had long remained un- married, to the wonder of all his friends and the annoyance of mammas who had grown-up daughters and who marvelled when he would make his selec- tion. At length, after having passed the best years of his life in “single blessedness,” he was smitten with the charms of Lady Eleanor Sefton. This was about six years previously to the date at which our tale opened ;—and her ladyship was at that time attached to the person of the Princess Sophia —then a young girl of only twelve. The Earl pro- posed to Lady Eleanor, whose affections were cer- tainly disengaged, but who felt that she could not love him. Her parents, however — being more proud than wealthy—compelled her to accompany him to the altar ;—and thus, at the aye of two-and- twenty the charming brunette, full of all the ardent fires of a glowing temperament and a vigorous youthfalness, was sacrificed to a man for whom she entertained not the slightest particle of affection. -| Six years had passed since this union, which was unblest by offspring ;—and although to the world the noble pair appeared contented and happy in their marriage-state, yet their private life seemed to tell another and far different tale. For they oc. cupied not the same sleeping-apartment; and the domestics in their service were wont to whisper to their friends, in gossiping moods, that the Earl and Countess had never slept together since the first month of their alliance. We should here observe, ere we resume the thread of our narrative, that the Earl of Des- borough had adopted and brought up an orphan niece. This young lady was, at the period of which we are writing, in her eighteenth year; and she was as remarkable for the beauty of her person as for the masculine energy of her character—un- governable passions—impetuous disposition—and vindictive nature. But she was not now an inmate of the mansion in Berkeley Square: neither was she at either of her uncle’s country seats in Derby- shire or Hertfordshire. It was reported that the Hon. Miss Fernanda Aylmer—for that was her name —had accompanied some of her noble relative’s friends on a tour in Italy ;—and this story was generally believed, inasmuch as it was supposed that her mind required change of scene on account of a disappointment in love which rumour alleged her to have experienced. Whether the facts really wero as currently stated, will presently appear: in the meantime, we return to the Countess of Des- borough. It was, as we observed at the opening of this chapter, about two o’clock in the afternoon ;—and her ladyship was reclining in a negligent manner upon the sofa. A book, which she had been read- ing, lay near her: and the heading of the open pages showed that it was not one of the flimsy novels of the day—nor one of the licentious Maga- zines then so much in vogue,—but a work of ster- COMGLOO S COMM