CHAPTER XVI.

Esmeralda went to her own room. She seemed in a dream. Every word Trafford had spoken came back to her; the touch of his hand was still with her. She felt happy, and yet—and yet there was still something wanting. She looked in the glass curiously, critically. Lord Trafford had said that she was beautiful. She compared herself with some of the ladies whom she had seen, and, with her lack of vanity, she thought that there were many more beautiful than she was. That he had asked her to be his wife filled her with surprise: she did not think of her two millions.

They went out that night to a dance, and Trafford was there, and came up to her soon after she arrived. He did not refer to what had passed between them, but he hovered about her, and danced with her several times. She noticed that the men who usually thronged about her drew back, and left her with Lord Trafford, as if he had a claim upon her. He saw her to her carriage, and at parting he raised her hand to his lips. The caress lingered with her until she fell asleep.

Two days afterward she received a letter. It was from Lady Lilias, asking her and Lady Wyndover to go and stay at Belfayre. It was a short note, but a very friendly one, and Esmeralda took it to Lady Wyndover.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

“Why, certainly!” exclaimed Lady Wyndover. “My dear child, you are the luckiest girl I ever heard of. Write and tell Lady Lilias that you will come on Thursday. That will give us four days, and Cerise can do wonders in four days—if she likes.”

They started for Belfayre on Thursday, and when they reached Waterloo, they found Lord Trafford waiting for them.

“I am glad you have come,” he said, as he held Esmeralda’s hand. Then he went and looked after the heavy baggage, also paid the excess, which was inevitable, and presently joined them in the first-class carriage which he had engaged.

Esmeralda had not left London since her arrival there with Mr. Pinchook, and the thought of leaving its smoky atmosphere filled her with delight. As they left the grimy town she looked from her window with eager pleasure, and when the green fields took the place of the crowded streets, she drew a long breath, and exclaimed:

“The country at last!”

[126]

Trafford arranged the blind for her so that she could look out without getting the glare of the sun in her eyes, and when, presently, she took off her hat, still gazing out of the window, he took it from her and carefully placed it upon the rack above. His attention was peculiar in its character, and was more marked than it would have been if he had loved her. It seemed to him that he would owe her so much, if she consented to be his wife, seeing that he could not give her what was her due—his heart. She appeared to forget her companions, and was quite absorbed in the scenery which they passed, every now and then uttering an exclamation of wonder and delight, as some object strange to her colonial experience caught her attention. Lady Wyndover and Trafford watched her as people watch a wayward but very precious child; and with Lady Wyndover’s affection was mingled no little respect for Esmeralda’s coming rank, for, notwithstanding Esmeralda’s repeated assertion, Lady Wyndover insisted upon regarding the engagement as an accomplished fact.

A few days ago she would have told Esmeralda that ladies do not remove their hats in the train, but she felt that the future Duchess of Belfayre could commit any solecism with impunity. Trafford took up a book and tried to read, but his eyes were drawn from a rather dull page to the lovely face in front of him, and he caught himself asking, of course, inaudibly, whether she would come to care for him.

At the end of the journey, which had seemed terribly long to Lady Wyndover, but very short to Esmeralda, they found the chariot and the footman awaiting them, and the usual fuss ensued; if anything, it was more marked than usual. Trafford did not walk this time, but rode in the carriage with the ladies, and, as they passed along, pointed out the various points of local interest, and was rewarded by Esmeralda’s exclamation of delight at her first glimpse of the sea.

“Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!” she cried. “And it is all in such order, like a big garden. And why do all the people touch their hats, and bob down to the ground as we pass?”

Trafford smiled.

“It’s a habit they have,” he said. “They don’t mean to be servile; in fact, they’re rather an independent crew, but they just do it out of politeness, and because they have known us all their lives.”

“You mean that they have known you,” said Esmeralda. “They can’t know me; and they can’t see you where you sit.”

“They will know you presently,” he said in a low voice.

[127]

Her long lashes swept her cheek, and she was silent for a moment or two, but as they passed through the lodge gates, she exclaimed again:

“What beautiful trees! And the road, it is like a garden path, like those paths in Kensington Park.” When the palace came in view she uttered no sound, but her eyes opened, and her lips parted with wonder and amazement. Lady Wyndover, also, was startled and surprised by the vastness and beauty of the place, though she, of course, had heard and read of it.

“And you live here?” said Esmeralda. “Why, it is big enough for an army. And those footmen might be soldiers,” she added, as they came out of the hall, and stood ready to receive the visitors.

“There have been soldiers here more than once,” said Trafford. “We held the place against Cromwell’s troops, and for a pretty long spell, too. I will show you a bit of the old castle to-morrow.”

He helped them to alight, and he held Esmeralda’s hand as they went up the marble steps, and across the terrace into the hall. As they entered, Lady Lilias’s small figure was seen coming down the stairs. She came forward, and welcomed them in her grave little fashion; but Trafford saw a flash of surprise pass across her face as she saw Esmeralda.

“I am very glad you have come,” she said to them both, but letting her eyes rest on Esmeralda’s face. “Are you very tired? And will you have some tea before you go upstairs?”

A gypsy-table was already laid in the hall.

“I am not at all tired,” said Esmeralda. “Why should I be?”

Lady Lilias gave a little inaudible sigh of satisfaction as she heard the sweet, clear voice.

“It is such a long journey,” she said. “But you look very strong; and I am very glad that you are not very tired.”

Lady Wyndover declared for tea at once, and Lady Lilias gave it them. Esmeralda watched her curiously and with pleasure. She had never seen any one so small, so dainty, and with such a self-possessed and matronly air behind her youth. As they were drinking their tea and chatting, Lord Selvaine came in. He greeted Esmeralda as an old friend, and with a little empressement, which indicated his consciousness of her new importance.

“The duke begged me to say how sorry he was that he could not be down to receive you,” he said; “but he is feeling[128] a little tired this afternoon. He hopes to see you at dinner.”

“Would you like to go upstairs now?” said Lilias. “Your maids have gone to your rooms.”

She herself, as a special mark of welcome, escorted them. Esmeralda was amazed at the size of her rooms, and the magnificence of their appointments; and Barker, when the door had closed, could not help exclaiming:

“Oh, miss! What a wonderful place! I’ve never dreamed of anything like it!”

When Lord Selvaine and Trafford were left alone, they stood for a moment or two in silence. Trafford stood erect on the rug, with his hand upon the hound’s head; Lord Selvaine toyed with his cup and spoon.

“Well!” he said, at last. “You’ve done it, Traff?”

“Yes,” said Lord Trafford, very gravely. “I have proposed to Miss Chetwynde.”

“And she has accepted you? Thank the Lord!”

“You are a little too previous,” said Trafford, rather grimly. “She has not accepted me. She has asked for time to consider the proposal.”

Lord Selvaine smiled.

“The same thing, my dear Traff—at least, I trust so. The woman who hesitates is won.”

“Do not be too sure,” said Trafford. “It is as likely as not that she will refuse me in the end.”

Lord Selvaine smiled again; and the smile seemed to irritate Trafford.

“Do not be too confident,” he said. “Miss Chetwynde is— I do not think you understand her, Selvaine.”

“As long as you do, it does not matter,” said Lord Selvaine.

“Ah!” said Trafford. “I did not say that I myself understood her. She is unlike any woman I have ever met; and she will follow the dictates of her own heart.”

“Which you must lose no time in gaining,” said Lord Selvaine, not quickly, but slowly and softly.

Lady Lilias came down the stairs, and went straight to Trafford.

“Oh, Trafford, how beautiful she is!” she said in a low voice. “And what a sweet voice! And she is like a girl, too! I have never seen such lovely eyes, and such beautiful colored hair; it is like bronze and gold, or an autumn leaf! I am sure she is good and sweet-tempered; and I am not surprised—”

[129]

She did not finish the sentence, but pressed his arm, and looked into his face with a little blush.

Trafford had to explain again.

“As I wrote and told you, Lilias, nothing is settled,” he said, gravely; and Lilias smiled, as Lord Selvaine had done.

When Esmeralda had finished dressing—it had been hard work for Barker, for her mistress had broken away from her several times to gaze from the window at the superb view, and had been more than usually impatient—there came a gentle knock at the door, and in answer to Esmeralda’s “Come in!” Lilias’s soft voice said: “May I?”

Esmeralda opened the door.

“Oh, yes; come in!” she said.

“I came to see if there was anything you wanted,” said Lilias, regarding Esmeralda with a frank admiration: she looked still more lovely in her evening dress.

Esmeralda looked round the room with a smile.

“Does it look as if there was anything I could possibly want that isn’t here?” she asked. “There is everything. Is it time to go down yet? I don’t feel as if I could ever leave these beautiful rooms and that view.”

“I am very glad you are pleased,” said Lilias. “We want you to be very happy while you are here, and I hope you will be, Miss Chetwynde.”

“Then don’t call me ‘Miss Chetwynde,’” said Esmeralda.

Lady Lilias blushed with pleasure.

“I will call you Esmeralda, dear,” she said, yielding up her heart at once; “and you will call me Lilias? I hope we shall be great friends; indeed, I feel as if I had known you for a long time; Trafford’s letter told me so much about you. But I did not expect to see—”

Esmeralda smiled, and knit her brows.

“What did you think I was like?” she asked.

“I knew that you must be very nice,” said Lilias, “or Trafford would not have— But I did not know that you were so young and so pretty.”

Esmeralda laughed slightly.

“I might say the same of you,” she said. “I thought that ‘Lady Lilias’ was quite a woman. How do you manage this great place?”

“I have been used to it all my life,” said Lilias. She smiled and blushed. “You will not find it so difficult when you have tried.”

Esmeralda looked at her in her direct way.

[130]

“I don’t know yet that I shall ever try,” she said, very quietly.

Lilias began to see now that Esmeralda was different to the girls with whom Lady Lilias had associated. Not one of them would have spoken so openly and frankly. She did not like Esmeralda the less.

“Oh, I hope so! I hope so!” she said; “for Trafford’s sake.”

“You are very fond of him?” said Esmeralda, after a pause. The two girls were standing by the window, and the bright sunlight only served to accentuate Esmeralda’s fresh loveliness.

“Oh, yes—yes,” said Lilias. “We have been together all our lives; we are just brother and sister.”

It flashed upon Esmeralda that Lady Ada had said almost the same thing.

“No one who knows Trafford could help loving him,” said Lilias, her soft gray eyes glowing. “He is everything that is noble and good. There is no one so unselfish. We all worship him. You think me extravagant?” she added, with a blush. “But I am always so when I think or speak of Trafford, for he has been my beau ideal since I can remember. Even as a boy he was brave, and manly, and self-sacrificing; he was always ready to give up anything, however dearly he prized it. All our people regard him as a kind of hero and king.” She laughed a little. “It is scarcely too much to say that any one of them would die for him.”

Esmeralda looked at her thoughtfully.

“I’ve read of that sort of thing,” she said. “Yes, I can understand it,” she added, almost to herself.

“But you must forgive me for singing his praises so wildly,” said Lilias, with sweet humility. “And it must be unnecessary; for you know him.”

“I’ve only seen Lord Trafford a few times,” said Esmeralda, almost gravely.

“You’ll see more of him, now you’re here,” said Lady Lilias. “And I am sure—” She checked herself. “What a pretty dress that is!” she said, looking at Esmeralda, rather than the dress. “I suppose it is the very latest fashion. You must have beautiful taste.”

Esmeralda glanced down indifferently at her superb costume.

“It’s Lady Wyndover,” she said. “She knows all about this kind of thing, and spends nearly all her time studying it. I don’t know anything. How should I? We didn’t[131] wear evening dress at Three Star, and didn’t see any fashions. Three Star is the place I came from,” she went on quickly, and as if she were repeating a lesson: she had said the same thing so often. “Don’t you know that I came from the diggers’ camp, that I was quite poor until Mr. Pinchook found me; that I don’t know anything, and scarcely have learned to behave properly? Though I think I’m learning,” she added, simply.

The sensitive Lilias was almost shocked.

“Oh, don’t say that!” she said. “You should not say such things of yourself; it is not just! You behave like—like any one else, and no one would know—not that it matters whether they did or not.”

“Doesn’t it?” said Esmeralda. “I thought it did. Everybody in London seems to be so proud of being a lord or a lady, and to look down upon everybody who isn’t.”

“Then we are different to people in London,” said Lilias, smiling. “But I think you are mistaken,” she added, quickly. “At any rate, no one would think of looking down upon you. I have to look up a long way,” she said, na?vely.

“Yes, you are small,” said Esmeralda. “You are like a little girl. I believe I could carry you in my arms like a child.”

With a little laugh and a merry flash of the beautiful eyes, she took Lilias in her arms, and raised her aloft. Lilias, taken by surprise, crimsoned, then laughed, too.

“Oh, you’re as strong as a giant!” she said.

Esmeralda held her for a moment or two with perfect ease; then, as she put her down, she kissed her on the lips. Lilias uttered a faint cry of delight, and returned the kiss.

“Ah! I do not wonder at Trafford,” she said, and ran out of the room.

Soon after Esmeralda heard the great bell in the old tower clang out the dinner-hour, and Lady Wyndover came to her. Her ladyship was all in a little flutter of excitement and delight.

“Isn’t it a wonderful place, Esmeralda?” she exclaimed. “Are you ready? Let me look at you. Why, your lace is all awry, and your hair is tumbled—that stupid Barker!”

“It’s not Barker’s fault,” said Esmeralda. “It doesn’t matter; I shall do. Lady Lilias and I have been romping.”

“Lady Lilias been—romping—with you?” exclaimed Lady Wyndover, with wonder and something like awe.

“Why not?” said Esmeralda; “she’s only a girl!”

Lady Wyndover was incapable of speech. To her, Lady[132] Lilias, one of the great Belfayres, was an object of respect; and this wild girl from the woods had already been romping with her!

They went down to the great drawing-room. Lilias, Trafford, and Selvaine were already there. Trafford came forward, and said a few words to Esmeralda.

“My father will be here presently,” he said. “He is looking forward to seeing you.”

As he spoke, the door opened, and the duke entered, leaning on the arm of his valet. Trafford went forward to take the man’s place, and the duke peered round the room, and was led up to Lady Wyndover, and bid her welcome.

“This is my father, Miss Chetwynde,” said Trafford, taking him up to her.

The duke looked at her with curiosity veiled behind his kind and courtly smile; then he extended his long, white hand, and held hers, as he said in his low, slow voice, which had a ring of Trafford’s in it:

“I’m very glad to see you, Miss Chetwynde. I hope you have forgiven me for not being present to receive you, but I am an old man, and am obliged to hoard my strength. Trafford has told me a great deal about you, and I am very, very pleased to see you. It is very kind of you to leave London and come to us, and I hope—I do hope—that you will not find it dull. We will do our best to amuse you and make you forget all that you lose by coming to us.”

Her beauty had by this time dawned upon him, and not only her beauty, but her girlishness. His smile grew more paternal, and he patted her hand, which he still held.

Esmeralda’s heart was touched by the warmth of his greeting. She felt her eyes grow dim, and unconsciously her hand fluttered in the old man’s as she caught Trafford’s eyes fixed upon her with a “Did I not tell you so?” expression.

“Dinner is served, my lady,” said the stately butler.

Trafford took the duke to Lady Wyndover, and then offered his arm to Esmeralda; Lord Selvaine and Lilias brought up the rear.

Though Esmeralda was by this time growing accustomed to luxury and splendor, she was almost startled by the magnificence of the dining-room. For this occasion the famous Belfayre gold plate had been produced; and the table, furnished with the precious metal, and decorated by Lilias’s own hands, was a noteworthy spectacle.

Esmeralda was placed on the duke’s right, and his grace exerted himself to entertain the two ladies as he had not done[133] for years; but after awhile he devoted himself to Esmeralda. He could see her loveliness more distinctly in the soft candle-light, and the Belfayres were quick to appreciate feminine beauty. He noticed, as Lilias had done, the sweetness and clearness of her voice, and her unconventional frankness and candor charmed him. She was not awed for a moment by her surroundings—as it must be confessed Lady Wyndover was—and she talked freely. Trafford heard his father’s rare laugh more than once, and once he saw his grace bend forward, and lay his hand upon Esmeralda’s.

The dinner seemed to Esmeralda interminable, and, after a time, she grew tired of saying, “No, thank you,” to the long array of dishes and wines which the noiseless servants offered her. The duke himself cut some grapes for her, and selected some of the largest of the hot-house strawberries, and was so engaged with her that he did not notice Lilias’s attempts to signal for the ladies to leave the room. They could hear him talking to Esmeralda as if he had known her for years.

“I must tell you all about our scheme for making a watering-place of the bay, my dear,” he said. It had come to “my dear,” instead of “Miss Chetwynde,” already. “I will come into the drawing-room for a little while, and you must tell me about that queer place, Five Stars—Three Stars. How amusing it must have been! You must have enjoyed your visit there immensely.” He had quite failed to grasp the fact that she had been brought up in a diggers’ camp.

Lady Lilias at last succeeded in rising, and his grace, as he rose, watched Esmeralda with an interested and even an affectionate smile, as she left the room. Then he sunk into his chair and nodded smilingly at Trafford.

“My dear Trafford, she is charming!” he said—“perfectly charming! I do not know that I have ever met any one so fresh and intensely interesting. Chetwynde? There are the Chetwyndes of Warwickshire; I knew some of them—but they were stupid people—quite stupid!”

“Miss Chetwynde is not a Warwickshire Chetwynde—fortunately,” said Lord Selvaine, blandly.

Trafford looked at his plate.

“Ah! probably she belongs to the Suffolk branch?” said the duke. “She really is witty!” He chuckled as if he were recalling something Esmeralda had said. “And so exceedingly beautiful, too—not that that matters!”

“All women should be beautiful,” said Lord Selvaine.

“All women are, my dear Selvaine,” said the duke, with delicious courtliness. “But few are as beautiful as Miss Chetwynde.[134] My dear Trafford, I congratulate you with all my heart. You have shown excellent taste—as you always do. My dear boy, you have made me very happy. I could almost say that I am as happy as you must be—though that is impossible.”

Trafford looked straight before him at the opposite wall. And at that moment he did not look very happy, for there rose before him the face of Ada Lancing, and he seemed to hear her voice, hoarse with agony.

Lord Selvaine, as he watched him covertly, saw the handsome face grow pale, and the hand that held the wine-glass close so tightly that the slender stem snapped in two.