The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 170: what you’re looking at

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156 a few moments’ hesitation, she added in a lower voice, ‘You are right, Ethel—you are right> You are gazing upon the portrait of—of—my daughter.” “Your daughter?” repeated Ethel: and then recollecting how her ladyship had informed her, on the very first day of their interview, that all her children had gone down into the grave, she sighed and bent a deeply compassionating look upon her patroness. “‘ Restore that volume to the place whence you took it,” said Lady Langport; ‘‘ for now that you have seen Mildred’s portrait, I will without further delay enter upon my own strange romantic history.” The Album was returned to the console—the drawer was locked—the bunch of keys was re- stored to Lady Langport’s keeping ; and Ethel prepared herself to listen to the narrative which will be found in the ensuing chapter. ———— CHAPTER XXXIV. LADY LANGPORT’S HISTORY “You already know that I am close upon my sixtieth year. It is a long time to look back to my youthful period; and the retrospect cannot be otherwise than accompanied by many a bitter pang. Perhaps you have not altogether fathomed my true character, Ethel!—perhaps you have not entirely comprehended my besetting sin—the vice, the weakness—the foible, the failing—I scarcely know how to denominate it—which has exercised so vast an influence over my entire life. Its name is however expressive enough. It is Vanity. As a girl I was exceedingly beautiful. I was an only daughter—the darling of doting parents, who spoilt me. Every one told me that I was beautiful, until my head was completely turned with this incessant adulation. My father was a country-gentleman, living in very tolerable style: he was a good easy man, exceedingly hos- pitable, and very careless in money matters. My mother belonged to the younger branch of some very grand aristocratic family; and though so excessively fond and indulgent in respect to my- self, Iam afraid that if I represent her in her true character, I must depict her as frivolous and narrow-minded, of a boundless extravagance, very proud of her high birth, and very supercilious towards those who were of an inferior degree. My father died when I was about fourteen or fifteen; and it then transpired that his pecuniary affairs were in a most desperate condition. His estates were mortgaged—heavy debts were claimed by wine-merchants, lawyers, and money-lenders ; and as if nothing should be wanting to achieve the catastrophe, my mother’s creditors, consisting of jewellers, linendrapers, and milliners, whom for years she had managed to keep quiet or to pacify with small payments, became clamorous for the seftlement of their accounts. Everything was therefore seized and sold; and my mother— overwhelmed with shame and grief, unable to lift up her head amongst her former friends, and having nothing to hope for on the part of her own poor but proud family—retired with me to a THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. humble residence in a village far distant from the county where these misfortunes occurred. ‘‘My mother had no moral courage to sustain her under the weight of adversity. Instead of striving to bear up against her evil fortune, she seemed to abandon herself willingly to despair. In me she found no consolation—but quite the re- verse. She loved me as tenderly as ever—but not with the love that could teach her to summon all her fortitude to her aid and try to live for her daughter’s sake: but it was with that doting blindness and weakness, and prostration of energy, which made her incessantly weep-over me, won- dering what was to become of her ‘dear darling child!’ She had fancied in the days of her frivolity and fond maternal vanity, that I should form some very high and grand matrimonial alliance : but now that we were completely down in the world, and had suddenly fallen from the higher circles of society, my mother was inces- santly deploring the destruction of all her brilliant hopes in that respect. Thus, what with continued fretting, she brought herself to the very verge of the grave; and her medical attendant recom- mended her to remove to the sea-side that with change of air and scene there might be yet a chance of saving her life. We accordingly re- paired to a watering-place, where after a lingering illness my poor mother breathed her last, leaving me at the age of sixteen an orphan and almost penniless. ‘Amongst the very few acquaintances that we had formed at the watering-place, was a Mr. Mal- colm. He was about thirty years of age at the time of which Iam speaking—by no means good- looking, but of gentlemanly appearance, and of manners that were sufficiently agreeable although they had something in them which bespoke a business-like precision. He was the son of a wealthy merchant in London; and he was in partnership with his father. His mother was dead—he was aun only child—and his present position was not only good, but his prospects were excellent. The mercantile firm traded chiefly in Baltic produce, and had established a branch at St. Petersburgh in Russia. Edward Malcolm had been for the last five or six years superintending that branch: his health had suffered—and for its renovation he had returned to his native country. As I have already said, he was staying at the watering-place in Devonshire where my mother died; and I may now add that he displayed the greatest sympathy towards myself. He remained at the watering-place much longer than he had originally intended: his attentions soon became marked, though they were indeed most delicately paid, for I was wearing mourning for the parent whom I had only so recently consigned to the tomb. At length he made me an offer of his hand: and I accepted it. I was then barely seventeen years of age—friendless otherwise than in his friendship, and with but a slender purse, the bottom of which would in a short time be reached. What, then, could I do but accept Edward Mal- colm’s proposal? I did not love him—but I liked him. There was not the slightest romance in the feeling which I entertained towards him. I could have lived with him altogether as a friend or companion, without any emotion or desire be- yond. I even reproached myself for egotism and interested motives at the very time when I gavs YN Wn) COMO ae Colin