Dora Thorne - Charlotte Mary Brame (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

of such things to you, but it must be done. You are smiling, Lillian, what is it?"

"I should laugh, papa," she replied, "if you did not look so very grave. We must see people in order to love them. Beatrice, how many do we know in the world? Farmer Leigh, the doctor at Seabay, Doctor Goode, who came to the Elms when mamma was ill, two farm laborers, and the shepherd--that was the extent of our acquaintance until we came to Earlescourt. I may now add Sir Henry Holt and Prince Borgesi to my list. You forget, papa, we have lived out of the world."

Lord Earle remembered with pleasure that it was true. "You will soon be in the midst of a new world," he said, "and before you enter society I thought it better to give you this warning. I place no control over your affections; the only thing I forbid, detest, and will never pardon, is any underhand, clandestine love affair. You know not what they would cost."

He remembered afterward how strangely silent Beatrice was, and how her beautiful, proud face was turned from him.

"It is a disagreeable subject," said Lord Earle, "and I am pleased to have finished with it--it need never be renewed. Now I have one more thing to say--I shall never control or force your affections, but in my heart there is one great wish."

Lord Earle paused for a few minutes; he was looking at the face of Lady Alicia Earle, whom Beatrice strongly resembled.

"I have no son," he continued, "and you, my daughters, will not inherit title or estate--both go to Lionel Dacre. If ever the time should come when Lionel asks either of you to be his wife, my dearest wish will be accomplished. And now, as my long lecture is finished, and the bell has rung, we will prepare for a visit to Sir Harry and Lady Laurence."

There was not much time for thought during the rest of the day; but when night came, and Beatrice was alone, she looked the secret of her life in the face.

She had been strongly tempted, when Lord Earle had spoken so kindly, to tell him all. She now wished she had done so; all would have been over. He would perhaps have chided her simple, girlish folly, and have forgiven her. He would never forgive her now that she had deliberately concealed the fact; the time for forgiveness was past. A few words, and all might have been told; it was too late now to utter them. Proud of her and fond of her as she saw Lord Earle was, there would be no indulgence for her if her secret was discovered.

She would have to leave the magnificent and luxurious home, the splendor that delighted her, the glorious prospects opening to her, and return to the Elms, perhaps never to leave it again. Ah, no! The secret must be kept! She did not feel much alarmed; many things might happen. Perhaps the "Seagull" might be lost she thought, without pain or sorrow, of the possible death of the man who loved her as few love.

Even if he returned, he might have forgotten her or never find her. She did not feel very unhappy or ill at ease--the chances, she thought, were many in her favor. She had but one thing to do to keep all knowledge of her secret from Lord Earle.


Chapter XXIII


As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his daughters wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of his own love for them. He had made many improvements since his return. He did wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to rise by magic in place of the wretched tenements inhabited by poor tenants; schools, almshouses, churches, all testified to his zeal for improvement. People began to speak with warm admiration of the Earlescourt estate and of their master.

Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained. His name was mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned in his favor. As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious for his daughters to make their debut in the great world. They could have no better chaperone than his own mother. Lady Helena was speaking to him one morning of their proposed journey, when Lord Earle suddenly interrupted her.

"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels? I never see you wearing any."

"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. I shall never wear them again. The Earle jewels are always worn by the wife of the reigning lord, not by the widow of his predecessor. Those jewels are not mine."

"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald. "Some of them might be reset for Beatrice and Lillian."

Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry were brought down. Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her sister smiled at her admiration.

The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds were of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate pearls gleamed palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds of priceless value. One of the most beautiful and costly jewels was an entire suite of opals intermixed with small diamonds.

"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his hands, "are of immense value. Some of the finest opals ever seen are in this necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian price and bequeathed to one of our ancestors. So much is said about the unlucky stone--the pierre du malheur, as the French call the opal--that I did not care so much for them."

"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no superstitious fears about them. Bright and beautiful jewels always seemed to me one of the necessaries of life. I prefer diamonds, but these opals are magnificent."

She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the opal ring upon her finger. He caught the pretty white hand in his own.

"That is a beautiful ring," he said. "These opals are splendid. Who gave it to you, Beatrice?"

The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit.

For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to desert her. Then with a self-possession worthy of a better cause, Beatrice looked up into her father's face with a smile.

"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the same thought crossed the minds of her three listeners--that it had been given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so.

Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful daughters chose the jewels they liked best. The difference in taste struck and amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery rubies, purple amethysts; Lillian cared for nothing but the pretty pale pearls and bright emeralds.

"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. "We will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell. They must be reset before you go to London."

The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and lock it away. She trembled still from the shock of her father's question. The fatal secret vexed her. How foolish she had been to risk so much for a few stolen hours of happiness--for praise and flattery--she could not say for love.

* * * * *


The time so anxiously looked for came at last. Lord Earle took possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for their debut. It was in every respect a successful one. People were in raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet so unlike. Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face haunted those who saw it like a beautiful dream--Lillian, fair and graceful, as unlike her sister as a lily to a rose.

They soon became the fashion. No ball or soiree, no dance or concert was considered complete without them. Artists sketched them together as "Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight and Moonlight." Poets indited sonnets to them; friends and admirers thronged around them. As Beatrice said, with a deep-drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is life"--and she reveled in it.

That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and became the center of all fashionable interest. Whether he would marry and whom he would be likely to marry were two questions that interested every mother and daughter in Belgravia. There had not been such an eligible parti for many years. The savings of a long minority alone amounted to a splendid fortune.

The young earl had vast estates in Scotland. Lynnton Hall and Craig Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his. His mansion in Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it.

Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and amiable, the young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half a hundred of matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. Mammas with blooming daughters found him a difficult subject. He laughed, talked, danced, walked, and rode, as society wished him to do; but no one had touched his heart, or even his fancy. Lord Airlie was heart-whole, and there seemed no prospect of his ever being anything else. Lady Constance Tachbrook, the prettiest, daintiest coquette in London, brought all her artillery of fascination into play, but without success. The beautiful brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course of two waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but she failed in the attempt. Lord Airlie was pronounced incorrigible.

The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up. He intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for himself, and not for his fortune. This ideal of all that was beautiful, noble, and true in woman the earl was always searching for, but as yet had not found.

On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's daughters, but it did not interest him. He had been hearing of, seeing, and feeling disappointed in beautiful women for some years. Many people made the point of meeting the "new beauties," but he gave himself no particular trouble. They were like every one else, he supposed.

One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a fete given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham. He went early, intending to remain only a short time. He found but a few guests had arrived. After paying the proper amount of homage to Lady Downham, the young earl wandered off into the grounds.

It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before, and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian than English, bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies.

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