CHAPTER 2 A RIFT IN THE LUTE
“She is the loveliest girl in all England,” the papers said, when the engagement of Sir Harold Annesley and Lady Elaine Seabright was announced. “And Sir Harold is the lion of the season. Both are extremely wealthy, and it is in every way a most suitable match.”
The wooing and winning had been short and decisive. It was love at first sight on both sides, and the Earl of Seabright was gratified that his beautiful but capricious daughter was at last conquered.
He was an easy-going nobleman of the old school, intensely proud of his ancient line, but indolent to a selfish degree where the best interests of his only child were concerned.
He wished to see her well married, but did not care whom to so long as there was no blemish on his prospective son-in-law’s name. The man’s private character was nothing to him if he could boast of wealth and an ancient pedigree.
“I congratulate you, my boy,” he said, genially, to Sir Harold. “My willful beauty has been endless trouble to me. All the men at her feet, you know, and if you had not come upon the scene so opportunely, she would have struck her colors to Viscount Rivington, I verily believe. Poor fellow! It will be no end of an upset for him.”
Sir Harold frowned.
“I do not think that Elaine ever dreamed of such a thing,” he said.
“Well, well,” laughed the earl; “if you are satisfied, what does it matter? One word, my boy; deal gently with her. She is very young, and has never yet been thwarted. ‘Happy’s the wooing that’s not long a-doing,’ you know, but these sudden engagements are apt to be as quickly broken.”
Sir Harold could not forget the words of the earl for some days. The impression left from them was far from pleasant. He was giving all to the woman he loved—the past, the present, and the future—and he expected an undivided return.
So rapid had been the wooing that the plans of Margaret Nugent and Viscount Rivington had not been permitted formation. It was as impossible to keep these two apart as to keep the needle from the magnet.
An early marriage had been suggested by the impatient lover, and Elaine was not averse to anything which would please Sir Harold. She worshiped him as a being far above her, though at times his jealous fears pained her bitterly.
This takes the reader back to the opening words of our story.
Sir Harold was an almost daily visitor at Seabright Hall. His own estate was but ten miles distant, and, mounted upon his favorite horse, his had become a familiar figure to the rustics of Seabright.
It was a warm July day, and the few visitors at the Hall were sunning themselves on the lawn, and listening to my lord’s sporting reminiscences, while the lovers had wandered to a bower festooned with roses and fragrant clematis.
“But you have not answered my question, Elaine,” Sir Harold went on, and there was an earnestness in his tones that surprised her.
She turned her eyes toward him—lustrous eyes, like pansies wet with dew, saying, “Harold, I believe that you are jealous, and I dislike jealous people.”
“Then I am to understand that you dislike me?” he smiled; but there was an undercurrent of sadness in his voice.
“Oh, my darling! how foolish you are! Why will you tease me so?”
Lady Elaine clung to him in a passion of love, and yet he was far from being satisfied.
“I believe that I am of a jealous nature,” he said. “It is one of the misfortunes of my race.”
“I am glad that you call it a misfortune,” the girl observed, her lips trembling, “and I sincerely trust that you will never be jealous of me, Harold. Where there is jealousy there cannot be true love. You must trust me all in all, or not at all!”
He was silent for a few minutes, and gnawed his mustache impatiently.
“My darling,” he said, at last, “I have laid bare my life to you. My notions of love and marriage may seem peculiar, but the thought that the woman I love had ever willingly accepted the attentions of another man would be torture to me. I have never had a sweetheart before, I have never pressed my lips to those of a girl, or written one line of nonsense to any woman living. I give you all—unreservedly—my first and my last love.”
She waited for him to continue, her heart burning resentfully.
“I know that I am accounted the luckiest and most enviable mortal on earth because I have stepped in and taken the prize that so many sighed for in vain; but, Elaine, my darling, now that we are engaged, it maddens me to see such men as Viscount Rivington forever dancing attendance upon you.”
“Harold,” she said, calmly, “what am I to do?”
“You must show by your manners that—that——”
“I cannot be rude to my father’s friend,” she replied, decidedly. “You are asking too much, Sir Harold. You insult me.”
He had seized her hand in a moment, and was showering kisses upon it.
“No, no, Elaine, a thousand times no! It is only my great love for you that makes me so exacting. You will forgive me, darling, when I tell you that I have heard from several people that you were all but engaged to Viscount Rivington, when I arrived in England, but two short months since. I want you to deny this, and I shall be eternally satisfied.”
Lady Elaine had turned as pale as death.
“I do deny it, Sir Harold, unequivocally.”
She looked at him fearlessly, and his heart smote him.
“My dear love,” he whispered, remorsefully, “I am satisfied. I will never doubt you again. This has been a bitter torture to me. Your father hinted at it long ago, and—and——”
“Well?”
Her tones were cold and hard.
“You told me that it was not true.”
“And you have listened to other falsehoods—to other childish tittle-tattle. Oh, Harold! what will my future life be if I wed a jealous man?”
“It shall never occur again, my darling. Do not punish me more, I beseech you!” cried Sir Harold.
“Why do you not question the viscount?” she demanded, scornfully.
Then she bowed her head and sobbed bitterly.
Sir Harold returned home that evening with a heavy heart. For the first time since their engagement he and Elaine had not exchanged a kiss at parting.
She had persistently remained in her own apartments, and at a late hour he had ridden away to Annesley Park, his heart torn with conflicting doubts and fears.
And Viscount Henry Rivington saw through it all and smiled.
