Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

‘Mankind are generally both,’ said the Count.

‘I think they are,’ said the old lady. ‘Pray, is the old Duke of Thingabob alive? You know whom I mean: he was an émigré, and a relation of yours.’

‘De Crillon. He is dead, and his son too.’

‘He was a great talker,’ said Lady Bellair, ‘but then, he was the tyrant of conversation. Now, men were made to listen as well as to talk.’

‘Without doubt,’ said the Count; ‘for Nature has given us two ears, but only one mouth.’

‘You said that we might all be very happy,’ whispered Lord Montfort to Miss Grandison. ‘What think you; have we succeeded?’

‘I think we all look very confused,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘What a fortunate, idea it was inviting Lady Bellair and the Count. They never could look confused.’

‘Watch Henrietta,’ said Lord Montfort.

‘It is not fair. How silent Ferdinand is!’

‘Yes, he is not quite sure whether he is Christopher Sly or not,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘What a fine embarrassment you have contrived, Miss Grandison!’

‘Nay, Digby, you were the author of it. I cannot help thinking of your interview with Mr. Temple. You were prompt!’

‘Why, I can be patient, fair Katherine,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘but in the present instance I shrank from suspense, more, however, for others than myself. It certainly was a singular interview.’

‘And were you not nervous?’

‘Why, no; I felt convinced that the interview could have only one result. I thought of your memorable words; I felt I was doing what you wished, and that I was making all of us happy. However, all honour be to Mr. Temple! He has proved himself a man of sense.’

As the dinner proceeded, there was an attempt on all sides to be gay. Count Mirabel talked a great deal, and Lady Bellair laughed at what he said, and maintained her reputation for repartee. Her ladyship had been for a long time anxious to seize hold of her gay neighbour, and it was evident that he was quite ‘a favourite.’ Even Ferdinand grew a little more at his ease. He ventured to relieve the duke from some of his labours, and carve for Miss Temple.

‘What do you think of our family party?’ said Henrietta to Ferdinand, in a low voice.

‘I can think only of one thing,’ said Ferdinand.

‘I am so nervous,’ she continued, ‘that it seems to me I shall every minute shriek, and leave the room.’

‘I feel the same; I am stupefied.’

‘Talk to Mr. Glastonbury; drink wine, and talk. Look, look at your mother; she is watching us. She is dying to speak to you, and so is some one else.’

At length the ladies withdrew. Ferdinand attended them to the door of the dining-room. Lady Bellair shook her fan at him, but said nothing. He pressed his mother’s hand. ‘Good-bye, cousin Ferdinand,’ said Miss Grandison in a laughing tone. Henrietta smiled upon him as she passed by. It was a speaking glance, and touched his heart. The gentlemen remained behind much longer than was the custom in Mr. Temple’s house. Everybody seemed resolved to drink a great deal of wine, and Mr. Temple always addressed himself to Ferdinand, if anything were required, in a manner which seemed to recognise, his responsible position in the family.

Anxious as Ferdinand was to escape to the drawing-room, he could not venture on the step. He longed to speak to Glastonbury on the subject which engrossed his thoughts, but he had not courage. Never did a man, who really believed himself the happiest and most fortunate person in the world, ever feel more awkward and more embarrassed. Was his father aware of what had occurred? He could not decide. Apparently, Henrietta imagined that his mother did, by the observation which she had made at dinner. Then his father must be conscious of everything. Katherine must have told all. Were Lord Montfort’s family in the secret? But what use were these perplexing enquiries? It was certain that Henrietta was to be his bride, and that Mr. Temple had sanctioned their alliance. There could be no doubt of that, or why was he there?

At length the gentlemen rose, and Ferdinand once more beheld Henrietta Temple. As he entered, she was crossing the room with some music in her hand, she was a moment alone. He stopped, he would have spoken, but his lips would not move.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘are you happy?’

‘My head wanders. Assure me that it is all true,’ he murmured in an agitated voice.

‘It is all true; there, go and speak to Lady Armine. I am as nervous as you are.’

Ferdinand seated himself by his mother.

‘Well, Ferdinand,’ she said, ‘I have heard wonderful things.’

‘And I hope they have made you happy, mother?’

‘I should, indeed, be both unreasonable and ungrateful if they did not; but I confess to you, my dear child, I am even as much astonished as gratified.’

‘And my father, he knows everything?’

‘Everything. But we have heard it only from Lord Montfort and Katherine. We have had no communication with anyone else. And we meet here to-day in this extraordinary manner, and but for them we should be completely in the dark.’

‘And the duchess; do they know all?’

‘I conclude so.’

‘’Tis very strange, is it not?’

‘I am quite bewildered.’

‘O mother! is she not beautiful? Do you not love her? Shall we not all be the happiest family in the world?’

‘I think we ought to be, dear Ferdinand. But I have not recovered from my astonishment. Ah, my child, why did you not tell me when you were ill?’

‘Is it not for the best that affairs should have taken the course they have done? But you must blame Kate as well as me; dear Kate!’

‘I think of her,’ said Lady Armine; ‘I hope Kate will be happy.’

‘She must be, dear mother; only think what an excellent person is Lord Montfort.’

‘He is indeed an excellent person,’ said Lady Armine; ‘but if I had been engaged to you, Ferdinand, and it ended by my marrying Lord Montfort, I should be very disappointed.’

‘The duchess would be of a different opinion,’ said Ferdinand.

Lady Bellair, who was sitting on a sofa opposite, and had hitherto been conversing with the duchess, who had now quitted her and joined the musicians, began shaking her fan at Ferdinand in a manner which signified her extreme desire that he should approach her.

‘Well, Lady Bellair,’ said Ferdinand, seating himself by her side.

‘I am in the secret, you know,’ said her ladyship.

‘What secret, Lady Bellair?’

‘Ah! you will not commit yourself. Well, I like discretion. I have always seen it from the first. No one has worked for you as I have. I like true love, and I have left her all my china in my will.’

‘I am sure the legatee is very fortunate, whoever she may be.’

‘Ah, you rogue, you know very well whom I mean. You are saucy; you never had a warmer friend than myself. I always admired you; you have a great many good qualities and a great many bad ones. You always were a little saucy. But I like a little spice of sauciness; I think it takes. I hear you are great friends with Count Thingabob; the Count, whose grandfather I danced with seventy years ago. That is right; always have distinguished friends. Never have fools for friends; they are no use. I suppose he is in the secret too.’