THE MARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO EDWARD MOR- YES, my dear Mordaunt, you are right; I love-passionately, madly, love-Lady Annandale; yet it is a love as devoid of guilt as it is destitute of hope. The slightest betrayal of it would, I am persuaded, exile me from her sight for ever; and I value the friendship with which she honours me too dearly, to risk losing the least portion of it by any imprudence. You ask me what I propose to myself, in thus abandoning my heart to so engrossing, so ungovernable a passion? This is a question I have never dared to answer to myself. To meet her every day, to think of her every minute, to dream of her when I close my eyes, and to awake with the blissful certainty of seeing her,—these are my sole objects and aims; and these I may surely indulge without crime. Mordaunt, if you knew the rapture I experience, when I behold her angelic face assume a more cheerful expression when I approach her; when I observe the deference with which she refers to my opinions, and the sweet and modest confidence with which she utters her own; the innocent delight with which she displays Annandale's hitherto neglected child, and the pride with which she listens to my remarks on its visible improvement and growing intelligence,-you would not ask what I propose to myself! The happiness of the present seems all I dare look to; and so dearly do I prize it, that I tremble to anticipate any change. She admits me to her boudoir during the morning, when Miss Montressor and the child only are with her; allows me to read Italian aloud to her while she draws: and there are moments, when seated in this retired and delicious sanctuary, the ladies pursuing their feminine occupations, and the child climbing my knees, that I indulge the illusion that she belongs to me by the most holy tie, and that the child is ours. I am too soon awakened from this blissful dream, by Miss Montressor's remembering some engagement to be kept, or some letter to be written that obliges her to withdraw; and what looks strange, is, that these reminiscences of hers always arrive at a mal-à-propos moment, either in the most interesting part of the book we are reading, or in the subject on which we are conversing. "Pray, do not let me interrupt you, good folk," she invariable says, "I shall be back in a few minutes ;" and off she hurries. I resume the book, and, whenever a pause occurs, am charmed with the justice and tact of Lady Annandale's reflections. So much feeling, united to such extreme delicacy of perception, I never before encountered. Often do I continue to read, until her carriage, or saddle-horses are announced; and we both find that it is five o'clock, when we had only imagined it three. "How time flies!" does she frequently say, on such occasions; "but where can Caroline Montressor be? she said she would be back in a few minutes." "Miss Montressor has been in the library, my lady, for the last half-hour, with his lordship," replies the ser vant. Does not this look strange? yet it does not seem to inspire Lady Annandale with any suspicions. Is it possible that this artful girl can have any design in thus leaving her friend and me, two hours têle-a-tête in the boudoir, and being herself half-an-hour in the library with Annandale? But no; she can have no motive.And yet it does look strange: I must keep my eye on her; for the account Delaward gave me of her morals justifies suspicion. Annandale seems totally unconscious of my admiration (adoration would better express the feeling) for his lovely wife. He is continually asking me to dine with them, en famille, and to make one of all their partiesinvitations I have not the courage to resist. Yet there are moments when I fancy I have detected significant glances, or malicious smiles on the countenances of some of the corrupt men, and as corrupt women, of our circle, when they see me by Lady Annandale's side; and I almost determine to sacrifice the intoxicating pleasure of her society, rather than subject her purity, which I know to be as spotless as snow ere it lights on earth, to the risk of one unworthy suspicion. I am more jealous of her reputation than ever husband was of that of his wife; and would die rather than expose it to censure. She rarely speaks of Annandale; and her manner towards him is cold and distant. Of the Delawards she loves to converse. 66 Lady Delaward is indeed a happy woman," said she, a few days ago; "for, in her husband she has found the most delightful friend, the most instructive companion, and the most wise monitor (should she ever need it) with whom woman was ever blessed." She sighed deeply and involuntarily. "How vain, then, Lord Nottingham ought to be!" said Miss Montressor; "for you compared him the other day, to Lord Delaward; and, if my memory does not deceive me, gave the preference to sa seigneurie," bowing to me. The cheeks of Lady Annandale became suffused with a bright red; and so visible was her emotion, that, great as was the delight which the knowledge of her flattering opinion of me conferred-a delight that sent the blood circling more briskly through my veins-I was angry with Miss Montressor for having betrayed her confidence. 66 "I was speaking of Lord Delaward as a husband," said Lady Annandale, with some reserve, and still blushing; and, consequently, could not compare Lord Nottingham, who is yet untried in that character, with him." You may, however, accurately judge of Lord Nottingham's taste for domesticity," replied Miss Montressor, from the daily specimens he gives us of it. Does he not read to us, chat with us, moralise with us, and play with the child all the morning?" Lady Annandale positively blushed to her very temples. "Does he not ride out, drive or boat, with us every day? Does he not escort us to balls, routs, and operas: or spend the evening, en famille, with us? And yet, wicked, ungrateful Lady Annandale, after all these decided evidences of a conjugal taste, you can doubt his fitness for domestic life!" Never was embarrassment more visible than on Lady Annandale's beautiful countenance. She attempted to utter something about never having doubted that I should always fulfil every duty I had to perform; and Miss Montressor resumed : "Yes, I am sure Lord Nottingham, notwithstanding he looks so grave" (and here she gave me a most equivocal smile,) "would be a model for husbands, were he once entered into that happy state. See him with little St. Aubyn on his knee, reading to you while you draw, and then doubt, if you can, what a husband and father he will make. Why, I defy that rara avis, Lord Delaward himself, to surpass him!" I looked gravely in her face while she uttered all this ill-timed flippancy, yet could not ascertain whether it originated in naïveté or malice; but, whichever was the cause, the effect-and it was a painful one-was obvious in Lady Annandale's varying colour and nervous agitation. Luckily, a servant announced the carriage, and I withdrew; almost hating Miss Montressor for the annoyance she had caused her lovely and sensitive friend. What if Lady Annandale should become alarmed, now that her attention has been so brusquely called to the subject, by the frequency and length of my visits, and curtail or prohibit them? But why should I anticipate an evil I never could find courage to support? No, she could not be so cruel. Do I not already, Mordaunt, feel one of the many miseries to which an unlawful passion gives birth? Here am I, trembling at the bare anticipation of being deprived of her society, on the terms I have lately been accustomed to enjoy it; yet not daring to look forward to a continuation of happiness that always seems to me too great to endure. This it is to love, when destiny has placed an indestructible barrier between us and the object adored; a barrier never surmounted, but by guilt and despair. I am a Christian, and must never forget that the faith I profess ought to preclude both. Ever yours, NOTTINGHAM. |