Chapter 22

Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON

_From Mr. Jenkings's_

Now, my dear Lady, the time is absolutely fix'd for our embarkation; the 22d, without fail.--Mr. Smith intends coming himself, to accompany me to London.--How very good and obliging this!--I shall say nothing of it to Lady Powis, till Lord Darcey is gone, which will be Saturday:--_he_ may go to France, if he pleases, but not with _me_.--

When I received Mrs. Smith's letter, he was mighty curious to know who it was from:--I found him examining the seal, as it lay on the table in Mr. Jenkings's parlour.--Here is a letter for you, Miss Warley, a good deal confus'd.--So I see, my Lord: I suppose from Lady Mary Sutton.

I fancy not;--it does not appear to be directed in the same hand with that my servant brought you last from the post-office.--I broke the seal; it was easy to perceive the contents gave me pleasure.

There is something, Miss Warley, which gives you particular satisfaction.

You are right, my Lord, I never was better pleas'd.

Then it is from Lady Mary?

_No_, not from Lady Mary.

From Mrs. Smith, _then?_--Do I guess _now?_--You say nothing; oh, there it is.--I could not forbear smiling.

Pray tell me, only _tell me_, and he caught one of my hands, if this letter does not fix the _very_ day of your setting out for France?

I thought him possest with the spirit of divination.--What could I do, in this case?--Falshoods I despise;--evasions are low, _very_ low, indeed:--yet I knew he ought not to be trusted with the contents, even at the expence of my veracity--I recollected myself, and looked grave.

My Lord, you must excuse me; this affair concerns only myself; even Lady Powis will not be acquainted with it yet.

I have done, if Lady Powis is not to be acquainted with it.--I have no right--I say _right_.--Don't look so, Miss Warley--_believe I did flare a little_--Time will unfold,--will cast a different light on things from that in which you now see them.

I was confus'd;--I put up my letter, went to the window, took a book from thence, and open'd it, without knowing what I did.

_Complete Pocket-Farrier; or, A Cure for all Disorders in Horses_, read his Lordship aloud, looking over my shoulder; for such was the title of the book.

What have you here, my love?

_My love_, indeed! Mighty free, mighty free, was it not, my Lady? I could not avoid laughing at the drollery of this accident, or I should have given him the look he deserved.--I thank God I am come to a state of _indifference_; and my time here is so short, I would willingly appear as little reserv'd as possible, that he might not think I have chang'd my sentiments since his _declaring off_: though I must own I have; but my pride will not suffer me to betray it to him.

If he has distress'd me,--if he has led my heart a little astray,--I am recovered now:--I have found out my mistake.--Should I suffer my eye to drop a tear, on looking back, for the future it will be more watchful;--it will guard, it will protect the poor wanderer.

He is very busy settling his affairs with Sir James:--three hours were they together with Mr. Jenkings in the library;--his books all pack'd up and sent away, to be sure he does not intend returning _here_ again soon.

I suppose he will settle;--he talks of new furnishing his house;--has consulted Lady Powis upon it.--If he did not intend marrying, if he had no Lady in his eye--

But what is all this to me? Can he or his house be of any consequence to my repose?--I enjoy the thoughts of going to France without him:--I suppose he will think me very sly, but no matter.--

That good-natur'd creature Edmund would match me to a prince, was it in his power.--He told me, yesterday, that he'd give the whole world, if I was not to go to France.--Why so, Edmund?--I shall see you again, said I, at my return to England.

Ay, but what will _somebody do_, in the mean time?

Who is _somebody?_

Can't you guess, Miss Warley?

I do guess, Edmund. But you was never more mistaken; the person you mean is not to be distress'd by _my_ absence.

He is, upon my honour;--I know _he is_.--Lord Darcey loves you to distraction.

Poh! Edmund; don't take such things into your head: I know _you_ wish me well; but don't be so sanguine!--Lord Darcey stoop to think of _me!_

Stoop to think of _you_, Miss Warley!--I am out of all patience: stoop to think of _you!_--I shall never forget _that_.--Greatly as I honour his Lordship, if he conceals his sentiments, if he trifles in an affair of such importance,--was he the first duke in the kingdom, I hold him below the regard even of such a one as _I_ am.--Pardon my curiosity, madam, I mean no ill; but surely he has made proposals to you.

Well, then, I will tell you, Edmund;--I'll tell you frankly, he never _has_ made proposals:--and further, I can answer for him, he never _will_.--His belief was stagger'd;--he stood still, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Are you _really_ in earnest, Miss Warley?

Really, Edmund.

Then, for heaven's sake, go to France.--But how can you tell, madam, he never intends to make proposals?

On which I related what passed at table, the day Lord Allen dined at the Abbey.--Nothing could equal his astonishment; yet would he fain have persuaded me that I did not understand him;--call'd it misapprehension, and I know not what.

He _will_ offer you his hand, Miss Warley; he certainly _will_.--I've known him from a school-boy;--I'm acquainted with every turn of his mind;--I know his very looks;--I have observ'd them when they have been directed to you:--he will, I repeat,--he will offer you his hand.

No! Edmund:--but if he _did_, his overtures should be disregarded.

Say not so, Miss Warley; for God's sake, say not so again;--it kills me to think you _hate_ Lord Darcey.

I speak to you, Edmund, as a friend, as a brother:--never let what has pass'd escape your lips.

If I do, madam, what must I deserve?--To be shut out from your confidence is a punishment only fit for such a breach of trust.--But, for heaven's sake, do not _hate_ Lord Darcey.

Mr. Jenkings appeared at this juncture, and look'd displeas'd.--How strangely are we given to mistakes!--I betray'd the same confusion, as if I had been really carrying on a clandestine affair with his son.--In a very angry tone he said, I thought, Edmund, you was to assist me, knowing how much I had on my hands, before Lord Darcey sets out;--but I find business is not _your_ pursuit:--I believe I must consent to your going into the army, after all.--On which he button'd up his coat, and went towards the Abbey, leaving me quite thunderstruck. Poor Edmund was as much chagrined as myself.--A moment after I saw Mr. Jenkings returning with a countenance very different,--and taking me apart from his son, said, I cannot forgive myself, my dear young Lady;--can you forgive me for the rudeness I have just committed?--I am an old man, Miss Warley;--I have many things to perplex me;--I should not,--I know I should _not_, have spoke so sharply to Edmund, when you had honour'd him with your company.

I made him easy by my answer; and since I have not seen a cloud on his brow.--I shall never think more, with concern, of Mr. Jenkings's suspicions.--Your Ladyship's last letter,--oh! how sweetly tender! tells me _he_ has _motives_ to which _I_ am a stranger.

We spent a charming day, last Monday, at Lord Allen's. Most of the neighbouring families were met there, to commemorate the happy festival.--Mr. Morgan made one of the party, and return'd with us to the Abbey, where he proposes waiting the arrival of his godson, Mr. Powis.--If I have any penetration, most of his fortune will center _there_,--For my part, I am not a little proud of stealing into his good graces:--I don't know for what, but Lady Powis tells me, I am one of his first favourites; he has presented me a pretty little grey horse, beautifully caparison'd; and hopes he says, to make me a good horsewoman.

As I have promis'd to be at the Abbey early, I shall close this letter; and, if I have an opportunity, will write another by the same packet.--Believe me ever, my dearest Lady, your most grateful and affectionate

F. WARLEY.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

BARFORD ABBEY,

A NOVEL:

IN A

SERIES of LETTERS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

MDCCLXVIII.

BARFORD ABBEY.