The Lovels of Arden by M. E. Braddon

M >> M. E. Braddon >> The Lovels of Arden

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41

"It was time, Clarissa," he said at last. "I could not have kept the
brokers out another week. Granger has been offering to lend me money ever
since he began to suspect my embarrassments, but I could not put myself
under an obligation to him while I was uncertain of your intentions: it
will be easy to accept his help now; and he has made most liberal proposals
with regard to your marriage settlements. Bear witness, Clary, that I never
mentioned that till now. I have urged no sordid consideration upon you to
bring about this match; although, God knows, it is the thing I desire most
in this world."

"No, no, papa, I know that," sobbed Clarissa. And then the image of George
Fairfax rose before her, and the memory of those bitter words, "It means
Arden Court."

What would he think of her when he should come to hear that she was to be
Daniel Granger's wife? It would seem a full confirmation of his basest
suspicions. He would never know of her unavailing struggles to escape this
doom--never guess her motives for making this sacrifice. He would think of
her, in all the days to come, only as a woman who sold herself for the sake
of a goodly heritage.

Once having given her promise, there was no such thing as drawing back for
Clarissa, even had she been so minded. Mr. Lovel told the anxious lover
that his fate was favourably decided, warning him at the same time that it
would be well to refrain from any hazardous haste, and to maintain as far
as possible that laudable patience and reserve which had distinguished his
conduct up to this point.

"Clarissa is very young," said her father; "and I do not pretend to tell
you that she is able to reciprocate, as fully as I might wish, the ardour
of your attachment. One could hardly expect that all at once."

"No, one could hardly expect that," Mr. Granger echoed with a faint sigh.

"As a man of the world, you would not, I am sure, my dear Granger, overlook
the fact of the very wide difference in your ages, or expect more than is
reasonable. Clarissa admires and esteems you, I am sure, and is deeply
grateful for a devotion to which she declares herself undeserving. She is
not a vain frivolous girl, who thinks a man's best affection only a tribute
due to her attractions. And there is a kind of regard which grows up in a
girl's heart for a sensible man who loves her, and which I believe with all
my soul to be better worth having than the romantic nonsense young people
take for the grand passion. I make no profession, you see, my dear Granger,
on my daughter's part; but I have no fear but that Clarissa will learn to
love you, in good time, as truly as you can desire to be loved."

"Unless I thought that she had some affection for me, I would never ask her
to be my wife," said Mr. Granger.

"Wouldn't you?" thought Mr. Lovel. "My poor Granger, you are farther gone
than you suppose!"

"You can give me your solemn assurance upon one point, eh, Lovel?" said the
master of Arden Court anxiously; "there is no one else in the case? Your
daughter's heart is quite free? It is only a question as to whether I can
win it?"

"Her heart is entirely free, and as pure as a child's. She is full of
affection, poor girl, only yearning to find an outlet for it. She ought to
make you a good wife, Daniel Granger. There is nothing against her doing
so."

"God grant she may!" replied Mr. Granger solemnly; "God knows how dearly I
love her, and what a new thing this love is to me!"

He took heed of his future father-in-law's counsel, and said nothing more
about his hopes to Clarissa just yet awhile. It was only by an undefinable
change in his manner--a deeper graver tenderness in his tone--that she
guessed her father must have told him her decision.

From this day forth all clouds vanished from the domestic sky at Mill
Cottage. Mr. Lovel's debts were paid; no more threatening letters made his
breakfast-table a terror to him; there were only agreeable-looking stamped
documents in receipt of payment, with little apologetic notes, and
entreaties for future favours.

Mr. Granger's proposals respecting a settlement were liberal, but, taking
into consideration the amount of his wealth, not lavish. He offered to
settle a thousand a year upon his wife--five hundred for her own use as
pin-money, five hundred as an annuity for her father. He might as easily
have given her three thousand, or six thousand, as it was for no lack of
generous inclination that he held his hand; but he did not want to do
anything that might seem like buying his wife. Nor did Marmaduke Lovel
give the faintest hint of a desire for larger concessions from his future
son-in-law: he conducted the business with the lofty air of a man above the
consideration of figures. Five hundred a year was not much to get from a
man in Granger's position; but, added to his annuity of three hundred, it
would make eight--a very decent income for a man who had only himself to
provide for; and then of course there would be no possibility of his ever
wanting money, with such a son-in-law to fall back upon.

Mr. Granger did not lose any time in making his daughter acquainted with
the change that was about to befall her. He was quite prepared to find her
adverse to his wishes, and quite prepared to defend his choice; and yet,
little subject as he was to any kind of mental weakness, he did feel rather
uncomfortable when the time came for addressing Miss Granger.

It was after dinner, and the father and daughter were sitting alone in the
small gothic dining-room, sheltered from possible draughts by mediaeval
screens of stamped leather and brazen scroll-work, and in a glowing
atmosphere of mingled fire and lamp light, making a pretty cabinet-picture
of home life, which might have pleased a Flemish painter.

"I think, Sophia," said Mr. Granger,--"I think, my dear, there is no
occasion for me to tell you that there is a certain friend and neighbour of
yours who is something more to me than the ordinary young ladies of your
acquaintance."

Miss Granger seemed as if she were trying to swallow some hard
substance--a knotty little bit of the pineapple she had just been eating,
perhaps--before she replied to this speech of her father's.

"I am sure, papa, I am quite at a loss to comprehend your meaning," she
said at last. "I have no near neighbour whom I can call my friend, unless
you mean Mrs. Patterly, the doctor's wife, who has taken such a warm
interest in my clothing-club, and who has such a beautiful mind. But you
would hardly call her a young lady."

"Patterly's wife! no, I should think not!" exclaimed Mr. Granger
impatiently: "I was speaking of Clarissa Lovel."

Miss Granger drew herself up suddenly, and pinched her lips together as if
they were never to unclose again. She did open them nevertheless, after a
pause, to say in an icy tone,--

"Miss Lovel is my acquaintance, but not my friend."

"Why should she not be your friend? She is a very charming girl."

"Oh, yes, I have no doubt of that, papa, from your point of view; that is
to say, she is very pretty, and thinks a great deal of dress, and is quite
ready to flirt with any one who likes to flirt with her--I'm sure you must
have seen _that_ at Hale Castle--and fills her scrap-book with portraits of
engaged men; witness all those drawings of Mr. Fairfax. I have no doubt she
is just the kind of person gentlemen call charming; but she is no friend of
mine, and she never will be."

"I am sorry to hear that," said her father sternly; "for she is very likely
to be your stepmother."

It was a death-blow, but one that Sophia Granger had anticipated for a long
time.

"You are going to marry Miss Lovel, papa--a girl two years younger than I
am?"

"Yes, I am going to marry Miss Lovel, and I am very proud of her youth
and beauty; but I do not admit her want of more solid charms than those,
Sophia. I have watched her conduct as a daughter, and I have a most perfect
faith in the goodness and purity of her heart."

"Oh, very well, papa. Of course you know what is best for your own
happiness. It is not for me to presume to offer an opinion; I trust I have
too clear a sense of duty for that." And here Miss Granger gave a sigh
expressive of resignation under circumstances of profound affliction.

"I believe you have, Sophy," answered her father kindly. "I believe that,
however unwelcome this change may be to you at first--and I suppose it is
only natural that it should be unwelcome--you will reconcile your mind to
it fully when you discover that it is for my happiness. I am not ashamed to
confess to you that I love Clarissa very fondly, and that I look forward
to a happy future when she is my wife."

"I hope, papa, that your life has not been unhappy hitherto--that I have
not in any manner failed in my duties as a daughter."

"Oh, dear no, child; of course not. That has nothing to do with the
question."

"Will it--the marriage--be very soon, papa?" asked Miss Granger, with
another gulp, as if there were still some obstructive substance in her
throat.

"I hope so, Sophy. There is no reason, that I can see, why it should not be
very soon."

"And will Mr. Lovel come to live with us?"

"I don't know; I have never contemplated such a possibility. I think Mr.
Lovel is scarcely the kind of person who would care to live in another
man's house."

"But this has been his own house, you see, papa, and will seem to belong to
him again when his daughter is the mistress of it. I daresay he will look
upon us as interlopers."

"I don't think so, Sophia. Mr. Lovel is a gentleman, and a sensible man
into the bargain. He is not likely to have any absurd ideas of that kind."

"I suppose he is very much pleased at having secured such a rich husband
for his daughter," Miss Granger hazarded presently, with the air of saying
something agreeable.

"Sophia!" exclaimed her father angrily, "I must beg that the question of
money may never be mooted in relation to Miss Lovel and myself--by you
above all people. I daresay there may be men and women in the world
malignant enough to say--mean enough to suppose--that this dear girl can
only consent to marry me because I am a rich man. It is my happiness to
know her to be much too noble to yield to any sordid consideration of that
kind. It is my happiness to know that her father has done nothing to urge
this marriage upon her. She gives herself to me of her own free-will, not
hurried into a decision by any undue persuasion of mine, and under no
pressure from outer circumstances."

"I am very glad to hear it, papa. I think I should have broken my heart, if
I had seen you the dupe of a mercenary woman."

Mr. Granger got up from his seat with an impatient air, and began to pace
the room. His daughter had said very little, but that little had been
beyond measure irritating to him. It galled him to think that this marriage
should seem to her an astonishing--perhaps even a preposterous--thing. True
that the woman he was going to marry was younger, by a year or two, than
his own daughter. In his own mind there was so little sense of age, that he
could scarcely understand why the union should seem discordant. He was not
quite fifty, an age which he had heard men call the very meridian of life;
and he felt himself younger now than he had ever been since he first
assumed the cares of manhood--first grew grave with the responsibilities
involved in the disposal of a great fortune. Was not this newly-born love,
this sudden awakening of a heart that had slumbered so long, a renewal of
youth? Mr. Granger glanced at his own reflection in a glass over a buffet,
as he paced to and fro. The figure that he saw there bore no sign of age.
It was a relief to him to discover that--a thing he had never thought of
till that moment.

"Why should she not love me?" he asked himself. "Are youth and a handsome
face the only high-road to a woman's heart? I can't believe it. Surely
constancy and devotion must count for something. Is there another man in
the world who would love her as well as I? who could say, at fifty years of
age, This is my first love?"

"I am to give up the housekeeping, of course, papa, when you are married,"
Miss Granger said presently, with that subdued air of resignation in which
she had wrapped herself as in a garment since her father's announcement.

"Give up the housekeeping!" he echoed a little impatiently; "I don't see
the necessity for that. Clarissa"--oh, how sweet it was to him to pronounce
her name, and with that delicious sense of proprietorship!--"Clarissa is
too young to care much for that sort of thing--dealing out groceries, and
keeping account-books, as you do. Very meritorious, I am sure, my dear, and
no doubt useful. No, I don't suppose you'll be interfered with, Sophy. In
all essentials you will still be mistress. If Clarissa is queen, you will
be prime minister; and you know it is the minister who really pulls the
strings. And I do hope that in time you two will get to love each other."

"I shall endeavour to do my duty, papa," Miss Granger answered primly. "We
cannot command our feelings."

It was some feeble relief to her to learn that her grocery-books, her
day-books by double-entry, and all those other commercial volumes dear to
her heart, were not to be taken away from her; that she was still to retain
the petty powers she had held as the sole daughter of Daniel Granger's
house and heart. But to resign her place at the head of her father's table,
to see Clarissa courted and caressed, to find faltering allegiance perhaps
even among her model poor--all these things would be very bitter, and in
her heart Sophia Granger was angry with her father for a line of conduct
which she considered the last stage of folly. She loved him, after her
own precise well-regulated fashion--loved him as well as a creature so
self-conscious could be expected to love; but she could not easily forgive
him for an act which seemed, in some sort, a fraud upon herself. She had
been brought up to believe herself his sole heiress, to look upon his
second marriage as an utter impossibility. How often had she heard
him ridicule the notion when it was suggested to him by some jocose
acquaintance! and it did seem a very hard thing that she should be pushed
all at once from this lofty stand-point, and levelled to the very dust.
There would be a new family, of course; a brood of sons and daughters to
divide her heritage. Hannah Warman had suggested as much when discussing
the probability of the marriage, with that friendly candour, and
disposition to look at the darker side of the picture, which are apt to
distinguish confidantes of her class.

"I am sure, papa," Miss Granger whimpered by-and-by, not quite able to
refrain from some expression of ill-temper, "I have scarcely had a pleasant
evening since you have known the Lovels. You are always there, and it is
very dull to be alone every night."

"It has been your own fault in some measure, Sophy. You might have had
Clarissa here, if you'd chosen to cultivate her friendship."

"Our inclinations are beyond our control, papa. Nothing but your express
commands, and a sense of duty, would induce me to select Miss Lovel for a
companion. There is no sympathy between us."

"Why should there not be? You cannot think her unamiable, nor question her
being highly accomplished."

"But it is not a question of playing, or singing, or painting, or talking
foreign languages, papa. One selects a friend for higher qualities than
those. There is Mary Anne Patterly, for instance, who can scarcely play
the bass in a set of quadrilles, but whose admirable gifts and Christian
character have endeared her to me. Miss Lovel is so frivolous. See how
stupid and listless she seemed that day we took her over the schools and
cottages. I don't believe she was really interested in anything she saw.
And, though she has been at home a year and a half, she has not once
offered to take a class in either of the schools."

"I daresay she sees the schools are well officered, my dear, and doesn't
like to interfere with your functions."

"No, papa, it is not that. She has no vocation for serious things. Her mind
is essentially frivolous; you will discover that for yourself by-and-by. I
speak in perfect candour, you know, papa. Whatever your feelings about Miss
Lovel may be, I am above concealing mine. I believe I know my duty; but I
cannot stoop to hypocrisy."

"I suppose not. But I must say, you might have taken this business in a
pleasanter spirit, Sophia. I shall expect, however, to see you take more
pains to overcome your prejudice against the young Indy I have chosen for
my wife; and I shall be rather slow to believe in your affection for myself
unless it shows itself in that manner."

Miss Granger covered her face with her handkerchief, and burst into a flood
of tears.

"Oh, papa, papa, it only needed that! To think that any one's influence can
make my father doubt my affection for him, after all these years of duty
and obedience!"

Mr. Granger muttered something about "duty," which was the very reverse of
a blessing, and walked out of the room, leaving Sophia to her tears.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXV.

WEDDING BELLS.

There was no reason why the marriage should not take place very soon. Mr.
Granger said so; Mr. Lovel agreed with him, half reluctantly as it were,
and with the air of a man who is far from eager to precipitate events.
There was no imaginable reason for delay.

Upon this point Mr. and Mrs. Oliver were as strong as Daniel Granger
himself. A union in every way so propitious could not be too speedily made
secure. Matthew Oliver was full of demonstrative congratulation now when he
dined at Mill Cottage.

"Who would have guessed when I brought you home from the station that
morning, and we drove through the park, that you were going to be mistress
of it so soon, Clary?" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Do you remember crying
when you heard the place was sold? I do, poor child; I can see your piteous
face at this moment. And now it is going to be yours again. Upon my word,
Providence has been very good to you, Clarissa."

Providence had been very good to her. They all told her the same story.
Amongst her few friends there was not one who seemed to suspect that this
marriage might be a sacrifice; that in her heart of hearts there might be
some image brighter than Daniel Granger's.

She found herself staring at these congratulatory friends in blank
amazement sometimes, wondering that they should all look at this engagement
of hers from the same point of view, all be so very certain of her
happiness.

Had she not reason to be happy, however? There had been a time when she had
talked and thought of her lost home almost as Adam and Eve may have done
when yet newly expelled from Paradise, with the barren world in all its
strangeness before them. Was it not something to win back this beloved
dwelling-place--something to obtain comfort for her father's age--to secure
an income which might enable her to help her brother in the days to come?
Nor was the man she had promised to marry obnoxious to her. He had done
much towards winning her regard in the patient progress of his wooing. She
believed him to be a good and honourable man, whose affection was something
that a woman might be proud of having won--a man whom it would be a bitter
thing to offend. She was clear-sighted enough to perceive his superiority
to her father--his utter truthfulness and openness of character. She did
feel just a little proud of his love. It was something to see this big
strong man, vigorous in mind as in body, reduced to so complete a bondage,
yet not undignified even in his slavery.

What was it, then, which came between her and the happiness which that
congratulatory chorus made so sure of? Only the image of the man she
had loved--the man she had rejected for honour's sake one bleak October
evening, and whom she had never ceased to think of since that time. She
knew that Daniel Granger was, in all likelihood, a better and a nobler
man than George Fairfax; but the face that had been with her in the
dimly-lighted railway-carriage, the friendly voice that had cheered her on
the first night of her womanhood, were with her still.

More than once, since that wintry afternoon when Mr. Granger had claimed
her as his own for the first time--taking her to his breast with a grave
and solemn tenderness, and telling her that every hope and desire of his
mind was centred in her, and that all his life to come would be devoted to
securing her happiness--more than once since that day she had been tempted
to tell her lover all the truth; but shame kept her silent. She did not
know how to begin her confession. On that afternoon she had been strangely
passive, like a creature stunned by some great surprise; and yet, after
what she had said to her father, she had expected every day that Mr.
Granger would speak.

After a good deal of discussion among third parties, and an undeviating
urgency on the part of Mr. Granger himself, it was arranged that the
wedding should take place at the end of May, and that Clarissa should see
Switzerland in its brightest aspect. She had once expressed a longing for
Alpine peaks and glaciers in her lover's presence, and he had from that
moment, determined that Switzerland should be the scene of his honeymoon.
They would go there so early as to avoid the herd of autumnal wanderers. He
knew the country, and could map out the fairest roads for their travels,
the pleasantest resting-places for their repose. And if Clarissa cared to
explore Italy afterwards, and spend October and November in Rome, she
could do so. All the world would be bright and new to him with her for his
companion. He looked forward with boyish eagerness to revisiting scenes
that he had fancied himself weary of until now. Yes; such a love as this
was indeed a renewal of youth.

To all arrangements made on her behalf Clarissa was submissive. What could
a girl, not a quite twenty, urge against the will of a man like Daniel
Granger, supported by such powerful allies as father, and uncle and aunt,
and friends? She thanked him more warmly than usual when he proposed the
Swiss tour. Yes; she had wished very much to see that country. Her brother
had gone there on a walking expedition when he was little more than a boy,
and had very narrowly escaped with his life from the perils of the road.
She had some of his Alpine sketches, in a small portfolio of particular
treasures, to this day.

Mrs. Oliver revelled in the business of the trosseau. Never since the
extravagant days of her early youth had she enjoyed such a feast of
millinery. To an aunt the provision of a wedding outfit is peculiarly
delightful. She has all the pomp and authority of a parent, without a
parent's responsibility. She stands _in loco parentis_ with regard
to everything except the bill. No uneasy twinge disturbs her, as the
glistening silk glides through the shopman's hands, and ebbs and flows in
billows of brightness on the counter. No demon of calculation comes between
her and the genius of taste, when the milliner suggests an extra flounce of
Marines, or a pelerine of Honiton.

A trip to London, and a fortnight or so spent in West-end shops, would have
been very agreeable to Mrs. Oliver; but on mature reflection she convinced
herself that to purchase her niece's trosseau in London would be a foolish
waste of power. The glory to be obtained in Wigmore or Regent-street was
a small thing compared with the _kudos_ that would arise to her from the
expenditure of a round sum of money among the simple traders of Holborough.
Thus it was that Clarissa's wedding finery was all ordered at Brigson and
Holder's, the great linendrapers in Holborough market-place, and all made
by Miss Mallow, the chief milliner and dressmaker of Holborough, who was in
a flutter of excitement from the moment she received the order, and held
little levees amongst her most important customers for the exhibition of
Miss Lovel's silks and laces.

Towards the end of April there came a letter of congratulation from Lady
Laura Armstrong, who was still in Germany; a very cordial and affectionate
letter, telling Clarissa that the tidings of her engagement had just
reached Baden; but not telling her how the news had come, and containing
not a word of allusion to Lady Geraldine or George Fairfax.

"Now that everything is so happily settled, Clary," wrote my lady,
"without any finesse or diplomacy on my part, I don't mind telling
you that I have had this idea in my head from the very first day I
saw you. I wanted you to win back Arden Court, the place you love so
dearly; and as Mr. Granger, to my mind, is a very charming person,
nothing seemed more natural than that my wishes should be realised.
But I really did not hope that matters would arrange themselves so
easily and so speedily. A thousand good wishes, dear, both for
yourself and your papa. We hope to spend the autumn at Hale, and I
suppose I shall then have the pleasure of seeing you begin your
reign as mistress of Arden Court. You must give a great many
parties, and make yourself popular in the neighbourhood at once.
_Entre nous_, I think our friend Miss Granger is rather fond of
power. It will be wise on your part to take your stand in the
beginning of things, and then affairs are pretty sure to go
pleasantly. Ever your affectionate