Mrs. Loudon

“Thou, fairer than the spirit of the hills,
And blooming as the bow of the shower,
With thy soft hair, floating round thy beauty
Thus, like the bright curling mist of Cona,
Hast thou no welcome for Fingall?”

The likeness between the twins had nearly disappeared. The uncommon colour of the hair, indeed, blended of flaxen and light brown, with the luxuriance of its growth, and the peculiar golden lustre received by the curls when the light shone on them, was still the same in both sisters. The fairness of the skin, too, was much the same; but the rest will require separate portraits.

Frances’ colour was not quite so brilliant as her sister’s; yet it was, at once, lively and delicate, and came and went, in a slight degree, at every movement. Her blue eyes sparkled, almost continually, with unmixed delight. Her mouth was small, pretty, and peculiarly flexible, every moment escaping from any attempt at gravity, into smiles and laughs of various degrees, displaying the white, small, regular, pearly teeth. Her figure was slight and light, to a sylph-like degree, and so frequently seen in the active pursuit of some medium of pleasure, or means of mirth, that had her picture been taken in any attitude that did not indicate passing, that did not keep the beholder in constant dread of its disappearance, it would not have been like.

Julia’s figure was perfectly formed, taller than her sister’s, and, as we have before observed, as fully rounded as symmetry would permit; her neck and shoulders particularly fine. Her characteristic attitudes were those of graceful quiescence; yet, when she did move, it was with a freedom from effort, that preserved unbroken that dignity of carriage, for which, young as she was, she was already remarkable. She had an air too of quiet composure, equally beyond her years; though in this Julia was, unintentionally, a hypocrite, her seeming stillness of manner being the result of a conscious depth of enthusiastic feeling, sedulously concealed by extreme timidity, yet so pre-occupying her entire nature, that trifles had no power to excite, even in their due proportion. Her colour, as well as Frances’, came and went, but seldomer, and on greater occasions; and then its rising was more gradual, as if a silent effort to avoid the exposure of emotion had delayed, though it could not prevent, the blush. Nay, from the moment it did dawn on the cheek, it continued heightening, till it arrived at a painful degree of intensity, and then was as slow in retiring. Her mouth was perfectly formed, the lips fuller than her sister’s, but only sufficiently so, to give an additional luxuriance to her beauty; while her smile had a witchery about it, that no man whatever could behold with entire composure. Her nose was straight, her eyes hazel, their habitual expression softness; but, when she listened to any thing that interested her much, they assumed an eagerness of look, so enthusiastic, so natural, that it was at such moments her character was best understood.

At the dinner table, around which we left our party placing themselves, Edmund happened to be, as we have already noticed, seated facing Julia and Lord Morven. Thus situated, our ill-starred hero felt a fatal desire to watch the countenances and movements of his opposite neighbours. He did so, as closely as politeness would permit.

Lord Morven, in the course of conversation, observed (aside) to his companion, that Captain Montgomery was a very handsome fellow; and then talked (but still in an under tone, to avoid being heard by him who was the subject of his remarks,) of how gallantly he, the said captain, had behaved in his professional character; how highly he was esteemed by Lord Fitz-Ullin, &c.

A gradually spreading smile lit up every feature of Julia’s, as she listened.

Edmund, it may be remembered, had long ago said, that he had always thought Julia’s smile the thing in all nature the most beautiful to look on! He now thought so with more fervour than ever, but with less pleasure; for he now envied Lord Morven, each of whose supposed soft whispers seemed to be welcomed by the growing brightness of that smile, and by the corresponding glow that grew with it on the cheek, where sparkling dimples momentarily came, and went, and came again. And then, without distinctly determining why, he suddenly began to think of the vast disparity of birth, and consequent place in society, between himself and Julia; while some busy fiends seemed to press on his notice the exact suitability of Lord Morven’s rank and circumstances, in every particular.

Julia made some observation to his lordship.

Edmund’s eyes rested on the motions of her lips while she spoke; and (strange flight of fancy!) he, at this critical moment, called to mind an ancient family legend, which asserted, that eighteen years since he had actually kissed those lips—those very lips! Eighteen years! nay, five years since, could he not himself perfectly remember having, as a matter of course, on his arrival, kissed little Julia most affectionately; while those white arms, which now dazzled his sight across the table, had hung around his neck. He wondered if she remembered it, and what she thought about it, if she did. He supposed such a salutation would now be considered very strange—indeed quite improper, quite impertinent, even had they not met before so large a company. He wondered too, how little consequence he had attached to the circumstance at the time, though he had always idolized her as a child, from the enthusiastic fondness she had always shown for him. Did any of that feeling still exist? How well he could remember her insisting on sitting close beside him, with a hand of his in both of hers, and her full eyes raised to his, to watch his every look. Unlucky recollections! for, in efforts of the imagination to identify the Julia so remembered, with the Julia now before him, he nearly lost his dinner. He rejected and accepted, in the same breath, whatever was offered him; allowed the plates that had each, for a limited time, stood before him in due succession, to go away almost untouched; and when rallied by Lord Arandale on his want of appetite, and asked whether he had left his heart with some foreign fair one, or eat luncheon, he replied, that he had made an excellent dinner. When, however, convicted of having scarcely tasted any thing, by the united testimony both of Frances and Lady Susan, who had hitherto only suppressed their laughter, for fear of awaking him from his reverie, he changed his ground of defence, said he was too much fatigued to eat, and called for wine and water.

Mrs. Montgomery feared he was ill. He declared he was perfectly well, and helped himself largely from a fluted shape of jelly just set down before him; the elegant form of which he thus cruelly defaced, without the slightest consideration for all the anxiety it had cost good Mrs. Smyth.

On the gentlemen repairing to the drawing-room, Edmund, who entered the apartment immediately after Lord Morven, saw his lordship go forward and take up a lover-like position, leaning on the back of Julia’s chair. Frances and Lady Susan were at the pianoforte, singing a duet. Our hero, who thought that under the circumstances he must not approach Julia, as, after his so recent return, had else been natural, possessed himself of a sort of neutral ground between the parties, where he stood listening to, or intending to listen to, the music. His attention, however, was much disturbed by observing the confidential manner of Julia and Lord Morven, and the interest with which they seemed to converse. He had certainly no intention of becoming a listener; nor, for some time, did a single word alarm his sense of honour by reaching his sense of hearing.

At length, during a diminuendo passage in the singing, he distinctly heard Lord Morven say,

“We can spend a couple of years abroad while the building of our new house is completing.”

And Julia’s sweet voice reply, with perfect complacency,

“That will be rather agreeable than otherwise.”

Edmund’s heart beat to such an excess that he could scarcely breathe; but he resolutely moved to a greater distance: the duet, too, having just concluded, the final symphony began to thunder away, drowning all other sounds, so that, for the present, he heard no more.

When the music had ended, however, Frances sent him (for by that time he was standing by the pianoforte) to request that Julia would sing. He went towards her accordingly; but before he could draw her attention, her head being turned back over her shoulder speaking to Lord Morven, he was in a manner compelled to hear her say:

“Remember, the promise I have given is only conditional; my father’s consent, of course, must be obtained, before I can be considered to have formed an engagement of so serious a nature.”

Edmund, confounded, uncertain whether he ought to retreat or speak immediately, stammered out her name. She looked round with a sort of start, and blushed. He hastened to relieve her embarrassment by delivering his message; but so confused were his own ideas, that he could scarcely find words in which to make himself understood. When at length he succeeded in doing so, Julia declined singing: her alleged reason was, that dancing, she believed, was about to commence. Music, at the same time, striking up in an adjoining apartment, the company, in general, directed their steps towards the inspiring sounds.

“She is going to marry him!” thought Edmund, as he moved unconsciously in the same direction with those around him.

He next began to think, would there be any use in asking Julia to dance, and to fear that, of course, Lord Morven had already done so, when he heard a stranger behind him say:

“I suppose Lady Julia L. will commence the dancing with Lord Borrowdale;” and at the same moment he saw a young man of very fashionable appearance go towards Julia, and lead her to the head of the room. He turned towards Frances, whom next to Julia he loved; but, just as he reached her, she took the arm of Lord Morven, and moved on. Edmund now gave up all thoughts of dancing, and stood with his arms folded, watching every movement of Julia’s. His thoughts adverted, with strong emotion, to his boyish days, when he had ever found Lodore House in quiet seclusion; when his return thither seemed to be considered as an event; when neither of his little sisters, as he called them then, seemed to have a thought, a wish, an amusement, or a happiness, that was not found in his society. But the scene was changed; his play-fellows were become women, were surrounded by men of their own rank in life; while the affection, which he had hitherto freely declared for them, and which he, who had no other friends, still fondly felt for them, now seemed, even to himself, a sort of presumption.

The sisters, with their respective partners, stood opposite couples. Lord Borrowdale took Julia’s hand, and, leading her forward, left her beside Lord Morven, and returned to his place. Lord Morven took her hand: Edmund thought lords very disagreeable sort of people. Lord Morven proceeded to lead both sisters forward, then all three fell back to the position they had left: and Lord Borrowdale, coming forward alone, figured before them, laughing and talking carelessly; then joining all hands round, led Julia back to her place, (Edmund thought,) with an air of triumph that seemed to say, “this is my share;” at the same time, his lordship, stooping towards her and whispering something, she looked up and smiled as she replied. Edmund thought Lord Borrowdale an insolent, conceited-looking puppy. Lord Morven then led Frances forward, and, while leaving her on the further hand of Lord Borrowdale, bent across and said something to Julia: she answered with another smile, and Edmund came to the sage conclusion that exalted rank and sounding titles were quite indispensable to happiness.

“While I,” he mentally continued, “have not even a name, but a borrowed one, for the use of which I am indebted to the compassionate kindness of her grandmother.”

Julia, at this moment, looked towards Edmund, and perceiving that he seemed grave and was not dancing, she smiled, and made a signal with her fan for him to approach. He was at her elbow in a moment, his heart beating, and his hatred to lords considerably diminished.

“Why are you not dancing, Edmund?” asked Julia.

“You were engaged,” he replied, “and so was Frances; and I, you know, have been scarcely ashore since I was a boy, and am, therefore, quite a stranger. But—the next dance—perhaps—you—”

“Unfortunately,” she replied, “I have just promised Lord Morven to dance with him: and Frances too, I know, is engaged to Lord Borrowdale.”

“The deuce take those lords!” thought Edmund.

“Unfortunately for me, certainly!” he replied aloud; the smile, with which Julia’s summons had lit up his features, fading quite away.

“But Lady Susan,” continued Julia, “perhaps she is not engaged: or, if she is, grandmamma, I am sure, can get you a partner.”

“You, then, are engaged for the whole evening, I suppose?” said Edmund.

“Oh, no! only for the next set.”

“Then, will you dance the one after with me?”

“Certainly! and Frances the one after that. But I am so sorry,” she added, “that you have not been dancing all the time.”

At this instant, Lord Borrowdale snatched up her hand, as the music indicated the moment, and led her forward again to perform some new evolution of the dance. When the music ceased, Julia said something to Lady Susan: and, on receiving her reply and smile, looked towards Edmund, and telegraphed the smile with the yes it implied. Our hero was accustomed in his own profession to understanding and obeying signals; he, therefore, stepped forward, requested the honour of Lady Susan’s hand for the next set, and received a ready assent.

The music now commenced a waltz tune, and Lord Morven immediately began to wheel himself round and round, and holding up his arms in a circular position, to approach Julia.

“Just one round of the room!” he cried; “pray do!”

Edmund’s heart stopped beating to await her reply, while one foot was unconsciously advanced at the moment, as if to avert the apprehended catastrophe. Julia laughed at the many entreating attitudes Lord Morven thought fit to assume, but shook her head, and answered, “No! no!” on which his lordship seized his sister, Lady Susan, in his arms, and whirled her round and round the room.

“It would, I fear,” said Lord Borrowdale, addressing our heroine, with affected humility, “be too great presumption in me, after Morven’s discomfiture, to think of changing your ladyship’s determination?” Julia declined. “Morven,” proceeded his lordship, “certainly has no right to esteem himself quite irresistible, notwithstanding the present favourable juncture of his stars. In a day or two, at farthest, this gay monopolizer of all that is brightest and loveliest, must, I understand, withdraw from Cupid’s lists, and confess himself a mere married man!”

Edmund, though he heard not a word of what Frances was very kindly saying to him about not having danced, yet heard every word of Lord Borrowdale’s speech. All the blood in his system seemed to rush to his face, it suffused even his forehead, and mounted to the very roots of his hair. “In a day or two! In a day or two!” he repeated to himself. “So public, so ascertained a thing, that other men think themselves at liberty to speak to her on the subject in this free and careless manner!”

Lady Susan, whirling over at the moment, almost fell against Edmund’s arm, on which, laughing at the reeling of her head, she rested a finger to steady herself. Her ladyship was all fair, all soft, and without much form; but, being young, she was by no means forbidding; and her countenance exhibited such a ceaseless sunshine of smiles, and was so much adorned by the undulating movement of its dimples, now deepening, now spreading on rosy cheeks, or playing around ruby lips, that the beholder had no leisure to observe its dumpling contour, or criticise its want of feature.

“How fond my brother is of being a beau!” observed Lady Susan to her partner, as Julia and Lord Morven took their places opposite.

“His lordship must resign that character shortly, I understand,” said Edmund, with effort.

“In a day or two, I suppose,” replied her ladyship. “You have observed, I dare say, what an admirer he is of his cousin, Lady Julia?”

“It is very apparent, certainly,” replied Edmund.

“There!” exclaimed her ladyship, “so I tell him! I don’t know what his wife will say to all this, when she comes!”

“His wife!” exclaimed Edmund, unable to trust his ears.

“She has no right to complain, to be sure!” continued Lady Susan, “for she is an unconscionable flirt herself!”

“His wife!” again reiterated Edmund.

“Yes, his wife,” she repeated.

“So, then, Lord Morven is a married man!” said Edmund.

“Is there any thing so very astonishing in that?” demanded her ladyship.

“No—oh no,” he stammered out.

“Lady Morven is expected here in a few days,—that is, if she does not disappoint, as usual,” continued Lady Susan.

“In a few days!” repeated Edmund.

“Did you then think my brother so very disagreeable, or ugly, or what, that he could not get a wife?” she asked, laughing.

“Ugly! disagreeable!” repeated Edmund, glancing a complacent look at Lord Morven, (for his own good-humour was fast returning,) “quite the contrary; your brother is extremely handsome!” and he might have added, “so is your ladyship,” had he spoken all he thought: for Lady Susan’s smiling countenance, just then, appeared the most charming in the world, Julia’s only excepted, at which, from an involuntary impulse, he at the instant stole a glance. He met her eyes—she smiled—a kind of intoxication came over his spirits—he danced as if on air, and talked an immensity. His partner thought him quite fascinating. When the dance was over, Frances and several other ladies congratulated Lady Susan, with much laughing, on her sudden conquest, telling her she had already made quite another being of Captain Montgomery! Frances said she should resign any claims she might have on the score of old acquaintanceship, for she thought Edmund quite spoiled, he was grown so affected.

He, for his part, had flown to avail himself of Julia’s promise. He had forgotten disparity of rank, want of fortune, mystery of birth, everything, but that she was not going to be married to Lord Morven! He could now feel only, that he was near to, dancing with, looking upon a being altogether captivating; and experiencing, in so doing, a delight he had never known before; while blending itself with, and lending an additional interest to, the natural admiration of personal loveliness, there was, as he gazed, an unexamined, yet endearing consciousness, that this was indeed the self-same being, not only whom he had all his life tenderly loved, but, still more, who had always shown the strongest, the most enthusiastic affection for him. It was as a child, certainly—but it was delightful to remember it! And as she sat at the supper-table, trying with now downcast, now averted eyes, to laugh off the blushes which Edmund’s extravagant compliments on her growth and improvement had called up; and that he, turning towards her, his arm leaning on the table before her, forgetting all present but herself, the moments flew in a delirium of absolute happiness, till all but the thus engrossed couple having risen from their seats, they too were reminded that it was time to move: and the gay scene closed for the night.