Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
spirit vanished, the freshness of my feelings gone, no, my kind friend,
my dear and gentle friend! my affection for you is too sincere to accede
to your request; and a year hence Lord Montfort will thank me for my
denial.’
‘I scarcely dare to speak,’ said Lord Montfort, in a low tone, as if
suppressing his emotion, ‘if I were to express my feelings, I might
agitate you. I will not then venture to reply to what you have urged;
to tell you I think you the most beautiful and engaging being that ever
breathed; or how I dote upon your pensive spirit, and can sit for hours
together gazing on the language of those dark eyes. O Miss Temple, to me
you never could have been more beautiful, more fascinating. Alas! I may
not even breathe my love; I am unfortunate. And yet, sweet lady, pardon
this agitation I have occasioned you; try to love me yet; endure at
least my presence; and let me continue to cherish that intimacy that
has thrown over my existence a charm so inexpressible.’ So saying, he
ventured to take her hand, and pressed it with devotion to his lips.
CHAPTER VI.
_Which Contains an Event Not Less Important Than the One
Which Concluded Our Second Book_.
LORD MONTFORT was scarcely disheartened by this interview with Miss
Temple. His lordship was a devout believer in the influence of time. It
was unnatural to suppose that one so young and so gifted as Henrietta
could ultimately maintain that her career was terminated because her
affections had been disappointed by an intimacy which was confessedly of
so recent an origin as the fatal one in question. Lord Montfort differed
from most men in this respect, that the consciousness of this intimacy
did not cost him even a pang. He preferred indeed to gain the heart of
a woman like Miss Temple, who, without having in the least degree
forfeited the innate purity of her nature and the native freshness of
her feelings, had yet learnt in some degree to penetrate the mystery of
the passions, to one so untutored in the world’s ways, that she might
have bestowed upon him a heart less experienced indeed, but not more
innocent. He was convinced that the affection of Henrietta, if once
obtained, might be relied on, and that the painful past would only make
her more finely appreciate his high-minded devotion, and amid all the
dazzling characters and seducing spectacles of the world, cling to
him with a firmer gratitude and a more faithful fondness. And yet Lord
Montfort was a man of deep emotions, and of a very fastidious taste.
He was a man of as romantic a temperament as Ferdinand Armine; but
with Lord Montfort, life was the romance of reason; with Ferdinand,
the romance of imagination. The first was keenly alive to all the
imperfections of our nature, but he also gave that nature credit for
all its excellencies. He observed finely, he calculated nicely, and
his result was generally happiness. Ferdinand, on the contrary, neither
observed nor calculated. His imagination created fantasies, and his
impetuous passions struggled to realise them.
Although Lord Montfort carefully abstained from pursuing the subject
which nevertheless engrossed his thoughts, he had a vigilant and skilful
ally in Mr. Temple. That gentleman lost no opportunity of pleading his
lordship’s cause, while he appeared only to advocate his own; and this
was the most skilful mode of controlling the judgment of his daughter.
Henrietta Temple, the most affectionate and dutiful of children, left to
reflect, sometimes asked herself whether she were justified, from
what she endeavoured to believe was a mere morbid feeling, in not
accomplishing the happiness of that parent who loved her so well? There
had been no concealment of her situation, or of her sentiments. There
had been no deception as to the past. Lord Montfort knew all. She told
him that she could bestow only a broken spirit. Lord Montfort aspired
only to console it. She was young. It was not probable that the death
which she had once sighed for would be accorded to her. Was she always
to lead this life? Was her father to pass the still long career which
probably awaited him in ministering to the wearisome caprices of a
querulous invalid? This was a sad return for all his goodness: a gloomy
catastrophe to all his bright hopes. And if she could ever consent to
blend her life with another’s, what individual could offer pretensions
which might ensure her tranquillity, or even happiness, equal to those
proffered by Lord Montfort? Ah! who was equal to him? so amiable, so
generous, so interesting! It was in such a mood of mind that Henrietta
would sometimes turn with a glance of tenderness and gratitude to that
being who seemed to breathe only for her solace and gratification. If
it be agonising to be deserted, there is at least consolation in being
cherished. And who cherished her? One whom all admired; one to gain
whose admiration, or even attention, every woman sighed. What was she
before she knew Montfort? If she had not known Montfort, what would she
have been even at this present? She recalled the hours of anguish,
the long days of bitter mortification, the dull, the wearisome, the
cheerless, hopeless, uneventful hours that were her lot when lying on
her solitary sofa at Pisa, brooding over the romance of Armine and all
its passion; the catastrophe of Ducie, and all its baseness. And now
there was not a moment without kindness, without sympathy, without
considerate attention and innocent amusement. If she were querulous, no
one murmured; if she were capricious, everyone yielded to her fancies;
but if she smiled, everyone was happy. Dear, noble Montfort, thine
was the magic that had worked this change! And for whom were all these
choice exertions made? For one whom another had trifled with, deserted,
betrayed! And Montfort knew it. He dedicated his life to the consolation
of a despised woman. Leaning on the arm of Lord Montfort, Henrietta
Temple might meet the eye of Ferdinand Armine and his rich bride, at
least without feeling herself an object of pity!
Time had flown. The Italian spring, with all its splendour, illumined
the glittering palaces and purple shores of Naples. Lord Montfort and
his friends were returning from Capua in his galley. Miss Temple was
seated between her father and their host. The Ausonian clime, the
beautiful scene, the sweet society, had all combined to produce a day of
exquisite enjoyment. Henrietta Temple could not refrain from expressing
her delight. Her eye sparkled like the star of eve that glittered over
the glowing mountains; her cheek was as radiant as the sunset.
‘Ah! what a happy day this has been!’ she exclaimed.
The gentle pressure of her hand reminded her of the delight her
exclamation had afforded one of her companions. With a trembling heart
Lord Montfort leant back in the galley; and yet, ere the morning sun
had flung its flaming beams over the city, Henrietta Temple was his
betrothed.
BOOK VI.
CHAPTER I.
_Which Contains a Remarkable Change of Fortune_.
ALTHOUGH Lord Montfort was now the received and recognised admirer
of Miss Temple, their intended union was not immediate. Henrietta was
herself averse from such an arrangement, but it was not necessary
for her to urge this somewhat ungracious desire, as Lord Montfort
was anxious that she should be introduced to his family before their
marriage, and that the ceremony should be performed in his native
country. Their return to England, therefore, was now meditated. The
event was hastened by an extraordinary occurrence.
Good fortune in this world, they say, is seldom single. Mr. Temple at
this moment was perfectly content with his destiny. Easy in his own
circumstances, with his daughter’s future prosperity about to be
provided for by an union with the heir to one of the richest peerages
in the kingdom, he had nothing to desire. His daughter was happy, he
entertained the greatest esteem and affection for his future son-in-law,
and the world went well with him in every respect.
It was in this fulness of happiness that destiny, with its usual wild
caprice, resolved ‘to gild refined gold and paint the lily;’ and it was
determined that Mr. Temple should wake one morning among the wealthiest
commoners of England.
There happened to be an old baronet, a great humourist, without any very
near relations, who had been a godson of Mr. Temple’s grandfather. He
had never invited or encouraged any intimacy or connection with the
Temple family, but had always throughout life kept himself aloof from
any acquaintance with them. Mr. Temple indeed had only seen him once,
but certainly under rather advantageous circumstances. It was when Mr.
Temple was minister at the German Court, to which we have alluded, that
Sir Temple Devereux was a visitor at the capital at which Mr. Temple
was Resident. The minister had shown him some civilities, which was his
duty; and Henrietta had appeared to please him. But he had not remained
long at this place; and refused at the time to be more than their
ordinary guest; and had never, by any letter, message, or other mode of
communication, conveyed to them the slightest idea that the hospitable
minister and his charming daughter had dwelt a moment on his memory. And
yet Sir Temple Devereux had now departed from the world, where it had
apparently been the principal object of his career to avoid ever making
a friend, and had left the whole of his large fortune to the Right
Honourable Pelham Temple, by this bequest proprietor of one of the
finest estates in the county of York, and a very considerable personal
property, the accumulated savings of a large rental and a long life.
This was a great event. Mr. Temple had the most profound respect for
property. It was impossible for the late baronet to have left his estate
to an individual who could more thoroughly appreciate its possession.
Even personal property was not without its charms; but a large landed
estate, and a large landed estate in the county of York, and that large
landed estate flanked by a good round sum of Three per Cent. Consols
duly recorded in the Rotunda of Threadneedle Street,--it was a
combination of wealth, power, consideration, and convenience which
exactly hit the ideal of Mr. Temple, and to the fascination of which
perhaps the taste of few men would be insensible. Mr. Temple being a
man of family, had none of the awkward embarrassments of a parvenu to
contend with. ‘It was the luckiest thing in the world,’ he would say,
‘that poor Sir Temple was my grandfather’s godson, not only because in
all probability it obtained us his fortune, but because he bore the name
of Temple: we shall settle down in Yorkshire scarcely as strangers, we
shall not be looked upon as a new family, and in a little time the whole
affair will be considered rather one of inheritance than bequest. But,
after all, what is it to me! It is only for your sake, Digby, that I
rejoice. I think it will please your family. I will settle everything
immediately on Henrietta. They shall have the gratification of knowing
that their son is about to marry the richest heiress in England.’
The richest heiress in England! Henrietta Temple the richest heiress in
England! Ah! how many feelings with that thought arise! Strange to say,
the announcement of this extraordinary event brought less joy than might
have been supposed to the heiress herself.
It was in her chamber and alone, that Henrietta Temple mused over this
freak of destiny. It was in vain to conceal it, her thoughts recurred
to Ferdinand. They might have been so happy! Why was he not true? And
perhaps he had sacrificed himself to his family, perhaps even personal
distress had driven him to the fatal deed. Her kind feminine fancy
conjured up every possible extenuation of his dire offence. She grew