CHAPTER XIV.
Mrs. Glentworth and her sister Mary set off the next morning for Marseilles—too hurried almost for the natural right of parting—and the next three days Louisa passed in a fever of worry, to know why Charles Penrhyn had not written to ask Lady Anne's consent, as it was settled that he should do. Luckily, Mrs. Palmer, who thought the young people would be dull now their sisters were gone, asked the three remaining ones to accompany her to the theatre, and Mr. Charles Penrhyn having called in the morning, she mentioned their plan to him, and, on his expressing a wish to join their party, gave a very kind invitation to their box. The young lover was in waiting, to hand them out of the large substantial carriage, and the first quiet moment that he could find for an apart whisper, said, "What can be the reason that your mother has never taken the slightest notice of my letter?"
"Your letter!" exclaimed Louisa, "then you have written to her?"
"Of course," replied Mr. Penrhyn; "can you suppose that I would lose one moment in writing?"
"She has never," said Louisa, "even hinted at it to me; and to-night she is gone with Lady Penrhyn to the opera."
"I shall write again to-morrow, may I not?" asked Charles.
Louisa blushed, and that was answer enough. The following morning a letter was brought to Lady Anne, while she and Louisa were seated alone in the drawing-room. Miss Granard bent sedulously over her work-box, yet, with nervous quickness, her ear caught the breaking of the seal, the rustle of the unfolding, and then followed a deep silence while its contents were being read. Her heart throbbed so audibly, that she feared her mother must hear its beating. At length Lady Anne spoke. "This is the most amusing piece of impertinence. Fancy, my dear Louisa, Lady Penrhyn's brother, who she was telling me has behaved roost ungratefully to Lord Penrhyn—is the writer of this letter—and what do you think are its contents?"
There was something so discouraging in this exordium, that Louisa could not force herself into a reply.
"You will," continued her mother, "look still more surprised, when you hear that this young merchant, for such, it seems, he is, has the presumption to make you an offer, and this is the second letter I have received from him."
"He wrote before," exclaimed Louisa.
"Yes," said Lady Anne, "and I twisted his letter into alumettes. I really did not think it worth while noticing such folly; but, to save myself the trouble of opening any more letters, this may as well be answered."
"My dear mamma," Louisa began, but in a voice so low, that Lady Anne did not notice it, while her ladyship continued, "you may as well save me the trouble, just take a sheet of paper, and say, 'Lady Anne Granard's compliments to Mr. Charles, and begs to decline the proposals, which she cannot but express her surprise he should have thought worthy of Miss Granard's attention.'"
The extremity of the case gave Louisa courage:—
"I cannot," said she, gravely, "write such an answer, for Mr. Penrhyn had my permission to apply to you."
"Are you mad?" cried Lady Anne; "did you dream that I ever would consent to such a disgraceful connexion?"
"I cannot see in what it is disgraceful," replied Louisa, recovering her presence of mind. "Mr. Penrhyn is a young man of good character."
"But of no fortune," interrupted her mother.
"Yet in the fair way of making one," replied Miss Granard, "and with sufficient to begin upon."
"A merchant with some nine hundred a year, disowned by his connexions."
"To their own disgrace," replied Louisa.
"Say no more," exclaimed Lady Anne; "you shall never have my consent."
"Do not," cried her daughter, "force me into marrying without it."
"I will not have Charles Penrhyn's name," exclaimed Lady Anne, "ever mentioned in this house again. What can a girl want to be married for, unless the marriage be a good one?"
"Such do I consider mine," said Louisa. "I love Charles—I have long loved him. In birth, education, and position, there is perfect equality between us, while Mr. Glentworth's kindness has placed him in a situation which enables us to marry with that prudence, which neither would neglect for the sake of the other."
"What business," cried Lady Anne, peevishly, "had Mr. Glentworth to interfere in the matter?"
"Do not blame him," exclaimed her daughter; "he knew then he was making me happy."
"What nonsense," said her ladyship, growing more and more angry, "it is to talk about being happy!"
"I trust," replied Louisa, "you will allow Mr. Penrhyn to try and persuade you."
"He shall never enter my house," returned her mother, "to mar your prospects in this manner. Lady Penrhyn was telling me last night that you had a very fair chance of Lord Casilda."
"A man old enough to be my grandfather," cried Louisa; "I must tell you once for all, I will marry no one but Charles Penrhyn; we will wait any time that you may think proper, if."
"You may wait for ever," interrupted Lady Anne. "I will shut you up on bread and water, rather than that you should marry him. I am sure never had any body such wicked and undutiful children."
This was too much. Louisa burst into tears, and left the room. For the next week her life was wretched; Lady Anne was sufficiently impressed with the propriety of marrying only for money or title, to have been angry enough by herself; but she was stimulated by Lady Penrhyn, who could not forgive her brother—that he should be in the right, while she was in the wrong—a very common, yet a very great grievance in this world.
"Louisa will be worried to death, unless you stand her friend," said Mr. Penrhyn to Mrs. Palmer, with whom he had been talking over Lady Anne's vexatious and continued opposition; "she is looking almost as pale and ill as poor Mary."
Those who have all their lives been accustomed to a cheerful and happy home, can scarcely understand the extent to which domestic tyranny is sometimes carried. But for her sister's affection, Louisa's life would have been unbearable. To hear Lady Anne's expressions, a stranger would have supposed that her daughter had committed some disgraceful act, whose very mention ought to be reprobated. To these reproaches Lady Penrhyn added her sneers, and Lord Casilda his attentions, till Louisa began to think that run away she must in her own defence.
Mrs. Palmer had, however, arranged differently. "I am sure," said she, "Palm and myself are the last persons in the world to encourage children in being undutiful to their parents; but there's reason in every thing. If children are to be dutiful, parents ought to respect that duty. If Lady Anne had one reasonable objection to the marriage, I would not say a word. If it were imprudent, and in the thoughtlessness of youth you were about to plunge each other in difficulties that neither were fit to encounter; if she objected to your character, or thought that your temper would not make her daughter comfortable, I should say she was right in her opposition. But she takes no care for the happiness of her child, who has always been loving and dutiful, and she would rather have her a countess, neglected, ill-matched, the purchase of a selfish and bad-tempered man, than your happy and affectionate wife."
"She will be happy, if I can make her so," said the lover, earnestly.
"Now Palm and I," continued the kind-hearted old lady, "have been thinking, that, though, perhaps, Louisa might not like to marry from this very house, just opposite to her mother's, who must see her get into the carriage to go to church, it would seem like setting her at defiance; still why might not she be married from my daughter's, Mrs. Gooch?"
"A most capital plan," exclaimed Charles.
"Lady Anne will not be annoyed," added Mrs. Palmer, "by seeing any of the preparations. Louisa can be as quiet as she pleases during the fortnight necessary for the license, and, let me tell you, Mrs. Gooch is an excellent person for her to stay with before her marriage, Charlotte is such a capital manager."
"We can never thank you enough," replied Charles; "but when can she go?"
"I have settled it all, if you consent," answered Mrs. Palmer; "my daughter will be delighted to receive her. Helen is to call this afternoon for my message, and to-morrow, before Lady Anne is up, I will drive Louisa to Mrs. Gooch's."
What could Mr. Penrhyn say, but what he did—that he was divided between love and gratitude.
In the mean time, Lady Anne had taken what she called a decisive step in the business; she had written to Lord Rotheles, begging that he would remonstrate with Louisa on her disgraceful marriage. By return of post she received the following answer from Lady Rotheles:
"Dear Lady Anne—Rotheles and I are such an old-fashioned couple, that we open each other's letters. From his being very unwell, I opened your's, which, after reading it to him, he requested I would answer. He begs me to say that we both consider it very ill-judged on your part to object to any tolerably respectable offer for one of your numerous family. Your eldest daughter is still unmarried, and, from all I hear, likely to remain so; your youngest and prettiest has only been able to attract a man old enough to be her father. This is bad for her other sisters, as it gives the unpopular idea of match-making. Lord Rotheles unites with me in advising you to give your immediate consent to Mr. Penrhyn's proposal. As, however, Louisa is to marry so much beneath our family, to a young man in trade, Lord Rotheles cannot offer his services as father on the occasion. We, however, unite in kind regards to the young couple; and we shall take the first opportunity of sending them a wedding present. We are a little puzzled what it can be. Ornaments would be too much out of character; perhaps money would be best—it is always useful. We shall, therefore, send a twenty pound note as a wedding present. We hope you will warn our niece against becoming intimate with that notorious flirt, Lady Penrhyn. As we trust that before this reaches you, the expediency of the marriage will have struck you as forcibly as it does us, we will conclude with congratulations.
"Very much your's,
"H. Rotheles."
Louisa was received with the greatest cordiality by her hostess, who seemed quite astonished that Miss Granard should think that there was any awkwardness or delicacy in the matter.
"Good gracious, my dear!" said the lady, "I should have ran off at once, if pa had said any thing against my having Tom. I shouldn't have asked him twice. He did talk about our waiting a year; but, as Tom said, 'what was the use of waiting, when he had just had new carpets and curtains?' Mrs. Gooch, too, was surprised that Louisa made a point of being as quiet as possible; she declining going to three such pleasant dances, would not go to the play, and even objected to dinner-parties." "Good gracious, my dear!" again exclaimed Mrs. Gooch; "Tom and I were so gay before our marriage. We went here, there, and every where; I think young people ought to see a little pleasure before being married, for they don't see much afterwards. Not that I need say so, for we have a great many dinner and evening friends, and we go to Richmond twice every summer."
Mrs. Gooch was that uncommon individual, a contented person—she liked her house, her husband, and her two children. Their footman was not very tall, but he had a very showy livery of green and red; carriage they had not as yet, but they went to their best dinners in a glass-coach; and, as Mr. Gooch observed, "there was no saying what he might do in a year or two."
Their parlour was an exceedingly comfortable room; there was a sofa often wheeled round to the fire when Mrs. Gooch desired to flatter her husband, that is, if imitation be the most delicate flattery, by following his example, and going to sleep after dinner. Mr. Gooch had a large easy chair opposite. There was a bookcase on one side, and a work-table on the other, and when the servant brought the tea things, they mutually roused up, and a cup of good tea, both were particular on that point, completely awakened them.
Mrs. Gooch then took her work, and Mr. Gooch a book, which served to draw on a little confidential conversation; the one had the news of the neighbourhood, and the other the news of the city, to communicate. A little before eleven, they had some hot negus, and then went to bed; for Mrs. Gooch always got up to make her husband's breakfast, and he was obliged to be in the city by nine.
Miss Granard's visit was too important not to derange the usual economy of the house—the niece of the Earl of Rotheles was a very different person from the ordinary run of young friends who came to stay a week or so. Mr. Gooch was so far moved from the even tenour, to buy—first a pocket-book, containing a small view of Rotheles Castle, at the top of a neatly-ruled page for memoranda; and, secondly, a number of a work, illustrating the principal gentlemen's seats in England, and containing a large view of the said castle. It was decided that they should sit in the drawing-room, in Miss Granard's especial honour, though Mrs. Gooch's peace of mind was a little disturbed that there was not time to take the covers off the furniture. Now there is nothing that puts people out of their way more than a change from their usual sitting-room; it is almost as bad as moving to a new house. Moreover, Mrs. Gooch's drawing-room had the cold and comfortless air inevitable on not being in common use. Every thing was so terribly neat, that you dreaded moving even a chair from what was obviously its proper and appointed place.
There was the handsome carpet, new on the occasion of Mr. Gooch's marriage, but it was carefully covered with a drab drugget; the curtains were of a pretty pink damask, but they were enveloped in brown holland bags, by which same material the chairs and sofas were covered. The chandeliers were shrouded in yellow gauze, so were the looking-glasses, while the dull brown and sickly yellow produced the most chill and unbecoming effect imaginable. The toys ranged, not scattered, about were chiefly the result of Mrs. Gooch's yearly excursions. There were "memorials of Margate," "a trifle from Brighton," a man and woman made of shells, divers pincushions ingeniously inserted in the same marine abodes, and an alum-basket, which looked as if it would crumble at a touch.
Mrs. Gooch felt as she were out on some formal visit: she was debarred from that ordinary amusement, looking through the blinds without being seen; she did not like to produce her ordinary work in the very face of the very handsome ivory box, which was for show, not use; and she was a little puzzled what sort of conversation was fit for the best room and Lady Anne Granard's daughter. She began to talk of the opera, and it was the first step towards an acquaintance, when Louisa very naturally diverged to the theatre. But, between really kind and unaffected people, this sort of reserve cannot last, and Louisa was soon seated in the parlour window, and Mrs. Gooch helping her to make a set of collars; shopping, too—shopping! one of the pleasant necessities in a young lady's case who is about to change her condition, filled up the morning; and, a little before six, Charles Penrhyn's rap was as duly expected as Mr. Gooch's. The host and guest got on exceedingly well together, while Charles obtained much valuable in formation from Mr. Gooch's good sense and experience.
Louisa, who was conscious of her own awkward position, was sometimes a little vexed that, whenever morning visitors called, Charlotte would ask some question about her aunt the countess, and her uncle the earl, and make an arch allusion to the approach of a certain happy event; still, these were temporary annoyances, and she found the fortnight glide away in quiet and comfort, the more enjoyed from her recent persecution. Twice she wrote to her mother, who took not the least notice of her pleading and affectionate letters.
The only communication was a packet, forwarded to Miss Granard from her uncle. It may be doubted whether Lady Anne would have forwarded it so readily, had she known its contents; but, taking it for granted, from the letter of Lady Rotheles, that they would be of a mortifying nature, she lost no time in sending it to its destination. But Lord Rotheles was in complete ignorance of the tenour of his wife's epistle, who simply told him that she had written to Lady Anne, to remonstrate on the folly of her opposing a respectable connexion. The earl was too indolent and too poorly to do any one an active service, but he really liked his pretty nieces; and, knowing that his wife encouraged no generosity that had not herself for its object, wrote the following note, without consulting her upon the subject:
"My dear niece,
"I regret much to hear that Lady Anne is opposed to your marriage; but your forming great matches has ever been her weak point. I see no reason why you should all become old maids while waiting for dukes. I congratulate Mr. Penrhyn, and would have given you away myself, but am too weak to travel so soon after my illness. Pray accept the accompanying trifles, with the best wishes of your affectionate uncle,
Rotheles."
The purple morocco cases accompanying the latter contained a handsome set of gold ornaments. Louisa was deeply gratified, even more on Charles's account than on her own; it was such injustice on the part of her family to treat him with such insolence as Lady Anne and Lady Rotheles displayed. It was with the keenest pleasure she showed her uncle's kind letter and present—it was gratifying to them both, that her marriage should receive the sanction of the head of her family.
The morning of the wedding came at last; and when the first gleam of sunshine broke through the curtains, it roused Louisa from a sleepless pillow. Bitterly did she feel the absence of her family from the approaching ceremony. She remembered with what deep affection they had clung together the morning of Isabella's marriage, and how each sought, at first in vain, to cheer the other after her departure. She remembered, too, how often the young bride's eyes had sought theirs, as if to gather courage from their sympathy! She dreaded the sad yet sweet tears they had shed at parting—none such would be shed to-day! It seemed as if she could think of nothing else: never had their affection been disturbed by any of the selfish or trivial disputes which so often disturb the serenity of a household; they had always been ready to yield the one to the other; and it would indeed have taxed their memory to recall one unkind word.
When Mrs. Gooch came in, who was all alive with the gay flutter she held indispensable to a wedding, she found Louisa weeping bitterly, to her utmost astonishment. "I never," exclaimed she, "could understand why people cry when they are married—I never cried at mine—what was there to cry for? If Tom had suddenly altered his mind, I might have cried, though I think, even then, I should have been in too great a rage. But I am sure you are not afraid of Mr. Penrhyn's altering his, for never was any one so much in love." By dint, however, of scolding and coaxing, she forced Louisa to commence the business of the toilette. About an hour after, Mrs. Gooch absolutely ran into her room. "Who do you think," exclaimed she, "are down stairs?" But before she could tell, or the other ask, Louisa found herself clasped in her sister's arms, while Mrs. Gooch, with good-natured consideration, left them to themselves.
"Has mamma forgiven me, that you are here?" asked Louisa, as soon as she could find words.
"She knows nothing about it," said Georgiana; "we shall be back before she is up. Fanchette is gone out for two days, and nobody else will tell her a word."
"We are not wrong. Why, dearest Louisa, should you be banished from your own home, and left to the kindness of strangers? But I will say nothing about it. I feel just as if I were doing right. I could not bear that any one else should put up your beautiful hair to-day, my own dear sister," exclaimed Helen, fondly passing her hand through the long golden tresses, almost as bright as the sunshine which they caught.
"But, however did you find your way here?" said Louisa.
"Mamma would die if she knew. The boy," replied Georgiana, "walked with us to Oxford Street, and we took a hackney-coach. Will Mrs. Gooch ever forgive us for getting out of it at her door?"
"We have put on the pale blue silks that we wore at Isabella's wedding; that, however, was Georgiana's thought," continued Helen; "she said it would be impossible to go to church in our pink ginghams."
Louisa could not but feel how much she must be be loved by her sisters, before they would have undertaken what, to girls of their secluded and obedient habits, was indeed an enterprise; she only hoped that it was not very wrong to be as glad as she was of their presence and their affection. The business of the toilette now proceeded rapidly, only interrupted by Mrs. Gooch once looking in to see how they were proceeding, and, it must be confessed, also, to show herself. Her dress was entirely new for the occasion; and it was of "excelling splendour." She had a jonquil silk pelisse, a bonnet of the same colour, with a bird of paradise plume, looking very much like an illuminated butterfly. But Mr. Gooch liked bright colours; and, without going the length of kindling yellow, most gentlemen like them too. I think it is the mere preference of personal vanity, on the principle of contrast, their taste is dictated by self-consideration; a woman in sombre hues does not sufficiently throw out their own dark dress.
When Louisa and her sisters descended to the drawing-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were the only guests, a murmur of applause ran round the little circle. Louisa looked very lovely in her white muslin dress and drawn white silk capote, only lighted up by the golden and glossy ringlets. The pleasant surprise yet lingered in the smile around her mouth, and never did blush deepen with softer carnation. There was something so timid, yet so imploring, in her look of deep and conscious happiness, it was as if she entreated Fate to forgive it.
"I cannot blame you," said Mrs. Palmer, in answer to Helen's deprecating whisper of explanation; "Louisa well deserves your affection, but pray tell your mother as soon as possible."
"Oh, we dare not!" cried Georgiana.
"I will tell her," said Helen, in a low voice; "kind friends as you all are, Louisa would have felt so lonely without her sisters!"
The ceremony was soon over; but, to Charlotte's great distress, the two girls did not stay: and Mrs. Palmer's carriage took them back to the end of their own street. It was well that their parting was hurried for Louisa's sake, whose eyes filled with tears when she thought it might be long before they met again. Despite Mr. and Mrs. Gooch's good spirits, who saw nothing to be unhappy about, the breakfast was silent, and somewhat sad—a wedding breakfast always is; nay, the very happiest are most likely to wear a serious seeming; as Victor Hugo beautifully says:—
"le bonheur est chose grâve,
Elle vent de cœurs de bronze, et lentement se grave,
Le plaisir l’effarouche en lui jêttant des fleurs
Et son sourire est moins pres des rires que des pleurs."
"Such hopes like fairies, when they part,
Leave withered rings around the heart."
And no ring, if it does wither its circle, withers so utterly as a golden one. With only the false criterion of courtship to judge by, the wedded pair expect too much from each other; and those who should make the most, make the least allowance. Tastes differ, tempers jar, trifles become important—as the grain of sand, which, nothing in itself, yet, gathered together, sweeps over the fertile plain, leaving no sign that there ever was blossom or fruit. The scar, which would soon pass, did distance or time intervene, can not heal from hourly irritation, One quarrel brings the memory of its predecessor, and grievances and mortifications are treasured up for perpetual reference. Too late, each finds out how utterly unsuited either is to the other; they have not a feeling, a taste, or an opinion in common.
"Whither flies love, ah! where the purple bloom?" gone never to return; an illusion destroyed is destroyed for ever; and what is love but an illusion? poor basis for the happiness of many years: the heart that trusts to its shelter, builds its house upon the sands. Still, there is no rule without an exception, and Mr. Gooch might be right when he drank a glass of pink champagne "to the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Penrhyn." The next day Lady Anne received the Morning Post, with Lady Penrhyn's kind compliments, and a pencil mark at the following announcement.
"Yesterday, at St. Giles's, Bloomsbury, Charles Penrhyn, only son of the late Charles Penrhyn, of Penrhynhurst, to Louisa, second daughter of the late Edward Granard, Esq." The paper fell from Lady Anne's hand. "To think," cried she, in the low, deep tone of horror, amounting to awe, "that a daughter of mine has been married at St. Giles's, Bloomsbury."