CHAPTER XLVIII
"I want a talk with you, my dearly beloved aunt," said Ernest one morning, presenting himself at the door of Lady Eskdale's boudoir; "I want your advice."
"What is the matter, my dear? come in. Are you bilious, Ernest? I hope you have not got a touch of poor Teviot's fever."
"Oh no, it is nothing of that sort, but I am on the point of taking a desperate resolution, and I think your dear good soft mind is just the thing for my strong one to lean upon. You see, I make a joke of it to Amelia and Helen, they are so young and energetic. I never was either, but I am seriously thinking of marrying, and of asking Eliza Douglas if she will have me."
"My dear boy," said Lady Eskdale, who could not picture to herself life without husband and children, and had never brought herself to believe in the existence of an unhappy marriage, "how delighted I am! I am excessively fond of that girl, She is what very few people are, perfectly artless, and so thoroughly affectionate."
Lady Eskdale might well make that assertion, for Eliza felt for her that ardent love which girls in early youth often lavish on a woman far above them in age, position, and experience, whose kindness to themselves seems to be a distinction which raises them in their own estimation, and often influences the whole tenor of their after-lives. Lady Eskdale's loving nature gave her this power over many of the young people by whom she was surrounded. They felt sure of her sympathy, that great tie in all the friendships of life, and more especially valued, when it is found in those who are beyond us and before us in the race of life. Her gentle and caressing manner had a peculiar charm for Eliza, who lived in rather a hard atmosphere at home. She was firmly convinced that Lady Eskdale's opinion was infallible; that she was more beautiful in her middle age than the rest of the world in their prime; that her gown was better made, and her cap more becoming, than other women's caps and gowns; and that the very happy individual whom Ernest might select as his wife ought to count the blessing of becoming Lady Eskdale's niece one of the brightest ingredients in her lot. Young people may be foolish, perhaps are so generally, but there is something very attractive in the warmth of their grateful little hearts.
"I am very glad you like her, dear," said Ernest (all Lady Eskdale's entourage called her "dear"); "she seems to me as good a little creature as ever breathed; pretty and lady-like, and so serviceable; never minds what trouble she takes for other people. I think she will suit me exactly; we shall be very happy together."
Lady Eskdale laughed: "My dear Ernest, you amuse me with your cool way of taking that for granted. Eliza is all and much more than you say, for she has great intelligence and tact."
"Oh yes, of course, I forgot to mention that."
"And strong principles, which would lead her to be a good wife even to a bad husband; but she would be a very unhappy wife with a husband who did not care for her. Ernest, I never expect to see you very much in love, though I believe you affect to be colder than you really are, but are you quite sure you really care enough for my dear little Liz?"
"Quite sure," he said, speaking with more energy and warmth than was his custom. "As you say, I am not the sort of fellow who takes a romantic view of things, but the freshness and truth of Miss Douglas's mind have a great charm for me. I see how easily she may be made happy, and I am certain that I could never have for any of the hackneyed conventional set, in which it has been my good fortune to dwell, the same attachment that I have for her. You will see, dear, that we shall be a couple after your own heart."
"You seem to have no doubt that she will accept you!" said Lady Eskdale, smiling.
"None whatever. I suppose I ought to say I have; but you and I have souls above that shallow sort of pretence; and as for Liz (I mean to call her Liz, it is such a nice short name), she has not a pretence in her. Half the fun of my proposal will be to see her look of delight. She is so easily pleased; that is one of her great merits."
"Well, dear Ernest," said Lady Eskdale, who could not help laughing, "you know best what will make you happy, and your choice pleases me particularly; but there is one more circumstance to be considered, your future wife's family."
"Ah, true," he said; "that is a consideration; but old Douglas is a thorough gentleman, and I like him; and as for the mother, she won't require me to be extravagantly fond of her; and if she occasionally squeezes a few drops of lemon-juice into my stagnant cup, it will be rather an advantage. I shall effervesce. I do not dislike ill-natured women; they are amusing at all events. Besides, a disagreeable mother-in-law is a very common crook in every man's lot, and I generally contrive to make my crooks sit very light; so thank you, dear, for having listened to me so patiently. I will let you know the moment I am engaged."
He did not give himself any great trouble to force an opportunity for his proposal, but was really more fidgety and nervous in manner than was usual with him. Lady Eskdale, with apparent carelessness, asked Eliza to fetch her some flowers from the conservatory, and there Ernest followed her, and a very few words on his part joined the destinies of two people about as unlike to each other, in habits, dispositions, and sentiments, as they could well be; but not the less likely on that account to be very happy in their married state.
Ernest was sincerely charmed with the shy but almost grateful assent given to his declaration by the lady of his love; and he was in an animated state of spirits when he led Eliza back to Lady Eskdale, and said, "We have forgotten your flowers, dear, but I have brought you a new niece, and you must make much of her, and coax her, for she is rather nervous, poor little soul."
Any deficiency in the art of coaxing could not possibly be attributed to Lady Eskdale, and she soon soothed the agitated girl into composure; and when Eliza had whispered, "I am so happy, too happy, but I must go to papa and mamma, and you must go with me, my dear, kind friend," the bell was rung, and the carriage ordered, and in a short time the lovers and the chaperon were on their way to Thornbank.
That the consent of Mr. and Mrs. Douglas was heartily given need not be doubted; and perhaps the most remarkable facts of this remarkable day were, that Colonel Beaufort so little liked the idea of being separated from "Liz" that he requested his aunt to send his servant and his things over to Thornbank, and settled himself there, to be féted and worshipped, without even ascertaining whether the cookery were good, or the spare rooms comfortably furnished: the second fact was, that Mrs. Douglas was in a state of such intense felicity that when Lady Eskdale drove off, she observed to Colonel Beaufort, "How wonderfully handsome your aunt is looking to-day! even Mr. Douglas, who thought her altered the last time he saw her, must own she looks very young for her age." Colonel Beaufort's insouciance seemed to have a peculiar fascination for Mrs. Douglas. It was a novelty in her experience of life; he was so smooth that she ceased to be rough; and to Eliza's intense delight, she saw her mother, who had seemed for two or three days rather puzzled by his careless way of announcing his intentions, and the deliberate calmness with which he seemed to expect they would be carried out, gradually yield to his gentlemanlike selfishness. At first with a slight sneer at herself, or him; but by degrees she took interest in pleasing him, and felt a degree of pride in seeing a man of such fastidious habits and manners perfectly happy at Thornbank. There is nothing so catching as refinement, and Mrs. Douglas began to act up, as well as she could, to Colonel Beaufort's habit of keeping the surface smooth. His gentle way of ignoring the complaints she was given to make of her servants, neighbours, etc., had a much better effect in checking them than argument or contradiction; and, with all his indolence, he was so naturally courteous that she found herself treated with a degree of easy kindness which few people had ever ventured to show her. It tamed her, and she fell slightly— and with the most perfect propriety—slightly in love with her intended son-in-law, and assured Eliza that she was a very fortunate girl, and once or twice went the length of reproaching her for not attending sufficiently to Ernest's wishes and fancies. This delighted him.
"Poor little Liz, who does nothing but try to please me, from morning to night, to be reproached with hard-heartedness! Never mind, dear; I do you perfect justice, and think there never was such a good little angel before on this earth."
In his walks with Mr. Douglas, a new idea struck him. He had long felt that he ought to live more on his estate; but had always alleged that he fell into a lethargy when he was there, from which he could only be roused by immediate change of scene. But Mr. Douglas's interest in his farm, and his crops, and his labourers, and his cattle, led him to think that a little active occupation, added to the society of his wife, might make a few months, even in Lincolnshire, endurable.
"Liz," he said one day, after a saunter through the home farm, "would you like to live in the country?"
"Why, Ernest, I have never lived anywhere else; of course I should."
"But, you know, we must be in London during the session."
"Well, I should enjoy that still more. I have been so little in London."
"What a child you are for enjoying everything. I declare it is quite refreshing. But what I mean is, that I think we ought, instead of going loitering about during the recess at other people's houses, try to live in that dreary old barracks in the Fens, which calls itself my estate, and rejoices in the cockney name of Belleville, a name evidently derived from 'blue devils,' a malady from which I have suffered considerably there. But I think there would be some amusement, if I followed your father's example, and took part of the farm into my own hands."
"And I can help you to keep your accounts. I keep all papa's farm books in order."
"No; do you really?" he said, looking at her with extreme admiration. "That takes away my only difficulty. I did not feel up to grappling with account-books; but if you will take those in hand, we shall do very well."
"And may I have a school in the village, Ernest?"
"Of course, my child, two or three if you like—one for boys, one for girls, and one for adults, as great overgrown men and women choose to call themselves when they want to learn to read. Only don't ask me to come, Liz, to hear them stammer and stumble over their chapters and their sums; besides, I shall be busy with the farm. I must have some pigsties like your father's. I never saw anything equal to the comfort of those Chinese pigs, all brushed and cleaned, with their eyes obliterated by fat, and lying on their clean beds of straw, quite unequal to the fatigues of standing. I quite envied them. I have tried various amusements without much success; but I am convinced now that my real vocation is for Parliament and pigs. Yes, we will go to our own country place, and get your father and mother to come to us. Mrs. Douglas will help you to set up your schools, and your father will superintend the erection of my pigsties, and we shall all be as happy as the day is long."
"I have no doubt of that," said Eliza; "and perhaps Lady Eskdale will come and see us. Only think of the pleasure of having her staying with us!"
"Of course she will come," he said; "and now we must give your mother a hint to hurry on that trousseau; and then we can all go to Eskdale, and our wedding will come off with Beaufort's."
And so it was arranged. Mrs. Douglas immediately set to work to execute Ernest's directions, that she would exert her own excellent taste, and make Liz the best-dressed woman in England, with the greatest possible expedition; and as Mr. Douglas made no objection towards furnishing the necessary means, she found no difficulty in her way.
There is little more now to be said of the family whose veracious history has been here given. The cousins were married on the same day, in the chapel at the Castle; and on the marriage of her own daughter Mrs. Douglas made no complaints of the coldness of the pavement, or the glare of the painted windows; and even preserved a total silence on the subject of Lord Eskdale's grey hair. As the two couples drove off on their respective wedding tours, Amelia turned to Helen and said, "Well, there is no use in trying to calculate the amount of happiness married people will enjoy from their conduct when they are lovers. There were Walden and I, who both fell in love at first sight, we are happy. Beaufort and Mary began by hating each other; they are happy. In Ernest's case, the love was all on the lady's side; and now, did anybody ever see a man in such a state of felicity as he is? and as to you and Teviot, dear Nell, the love was all on the gentleman's side, and yet"
"We are decidedly the happiest couple of the four, only that poor Teviot is a little henpecked; are not you, darling?"
"Not a little," he said, smiling; "but I like it. All men do. But the truth is, Amelia, that all you Beauforts have been brought up in a domestic atmosphere. Lord and Lady Eskdale are a model couple, and you have all been so accustomed to happy homes that when you are taken from one, you immediately set about making another. And I must own you succeed."
THE END.