The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 146: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

eountenanco glowed with the ardour of passion and her melting blue eyes swam in the delicious languor that expressed soft desires. CHAPTER XXXVITII. THE SARL AKD COUNTESS OF DESBOROUGH. THe scene now shifts to a noble mansion in Berke- ley Square. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon of the day following the incidents just related; and in a splendidly-furnished apartment, in the lordly dwell. ing alluded to, a lady was seated—or rather re- clining in a negligent manner—uapon a sofa drawn near the fire. She was about twenty-eight years of age, and very handsome. Her complexion was a clear olive : but, beneath that transparent skin of delicately tinged bistre, glowed a fine carnation—the wnole effect being that of Softness combined with thriv- ing health. Her eyes were black—large—and brilliant; and, in the proud lustre of their rays, those magnificent orbs denoted the strength of the lady’s intellectual powers and the energy of her character—at the same time that they bore testimony to the ardour of her temperament and the warmth of her pas- sions. Her hair was dark as night—soft as silk—and shining as the glossy plumage of the rayen ;—and it was parted above a forehead somewhat project- ing, but high and spotless. Her eye-brows might have been considered too thick by any one disposed to be hypercritical; and they certainly imparted an air of masculine decision to her countenance. But then they were so well divided—so nobly arched— so admirably semicircular—and so faultlessly pen- cilled that they were broader in the middle than at the ends. Her ears were small—weil folded—and having a delicate tinge of red ;—and nothing cold exceed the beauty of the well-shaped neck— long, soft, easy, and flexibly swan-like. Her bust was of the most exquisite proportions: neither too much elevated, nor too much depressed,—and with the bosoms rising gently into moderate contours—firm and distinctly separated. She was tall in stature: her figure was slender and with softly flowing out- lines unequalled for graceful symmetry ;—and there was about her an air of elegance, entirely her own, and totally apart from the splendour by which she was surrounded. She was dressed in a charming deshabillée. A tasteful cap set off with its snowy whiteness the raven blackness of her hair;—a pale silk wrapper, open at the breast and trimmed with the finest lace, was gathered negligently round her form, the shape of which it rather developed than concealed ; —and the small, shapely feeé, thrust into satin slippers, peeped forth from beneath the flowing |} drapery. This lady was Eleanor, Countess of Desborough ; —and her husband, the Earl, was a fine handsome man, in his fortieth year. Nevertheless, she had not married him from love. Sho had been sacrificed to him on account of his enormous wealth: for he was one of the 133 largest of those few favoured thousands who, by an atrocious system, retained in thelr possession the entire soil of England. Possessed of vast estates in Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, and a prinecly mansion in each of those counties—having likewise a perfect palatial residence in Berkeley Square— and owning entire streets in the metropolis, in ad- dition to being an extensive fandholder, the Earl of Desborough might have been well deemed an excellent match by avaricious, selfish, and inter- ested parents. But he had long remained un- married, to the wonder of all his friends and the annoyance of mammas who had grown-up daughters and who marvelled when he would make his selec- tion. At length, after having passed the best years of his life in “single blessedness,” he was smitten with the charms of Lady Eleanor Sefton. This was about six years previously to the dats at warn our tale opened ;—and her ladyship was at that time attached to the person of the Princess Sophia —then a young girl of only twelye. The Earl pro- posed to Lady Eleanor, whose affections were cer- tainly disengaged, but who felt that she could not love him. Her parents, however — being more proud than wealthy—compelled her to accompany him to the altar ;—and thus, at the age of two-and- twenty the charming brunette, full of all the ardent fires of a glowing temperament and a vigorous youthfulness, was sacrificed to a man for whom she entertained not the slightest particle of affection. Six years had passed since this union, which was unblest by offspring ;—and although to the world the noble pair appeared contented and happy in their marriage-state, yet their private life seemed to tell another and far different tale. For they oc- cupied not the same sleeping-apartment; and the domestics in their service were wont to whisper to their friends, in gossiping moods, that the Ear! and Countess had never slept together since the first month of their alliance. We should nere observe, ere we resume the thread of our narrative, that the Earl of Des- borough had adopted and brought up an orphan nieee. This young tady was, at the period of which we are writing, in her eighteenth year; and she was as remarkable for the beauty of her person as for the masculine energy of her character—un- governable passions—impetuous disposition—and vindictive nature. But she was not now an inmate of the mansion in Berkeley Square: neither was she at either of her uncle's country seats in Derby- shire or Hertfordshire. It was reported that the Hon. Miss Fernanda A ylmer—for that was her name —had accompanied some of her noble relative’s friends on a tour in Italy ;—and this story was generally believed, inasmuch as it was supposed that her mind required change of scene on account of a disappointment in love which rumour alleged her to have experienced. Whether the fucts really were as currently stated, will presently appear: in the meantime, we return to the Countess of Des borough. It was, as we observed at the opening of this chapter, about two o’clock in the afternoon ;—and her ladyship was reclining in a negligent manner upon the sofa. A book, which she had been read- ing, lay near her: and the heading of the open pages showed that it was not one of the flimsy novels of the day—nor one of the licentious Maga- zineg then so much in vogue,—but a work of stern COMIC OOO SS co