A heart's bitterness

Front matter

i 1 A ><& ii

V

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Chapter I. “the Mother's Fate Pursues The Child."

“ Lady Burton — dear Lady Burton, only fancy what is the latest item of society news!"

Lady Burton slowly dropped the old and yellow letter with the faded lines, and turned to greet the brilliant girl, whose piquant, cheerful face looked out from under the plumed hat.

“ My dear Grace, you always have some startling ‘ Notes on the Fashionable World.' What now?"

Grace Fanshaw dropped on an ottoman, and laid her glove on her friend’s knee. She had news to startle Lady Burton. What joy!

“Violet Ainslie is to marry Lord Norman Leigh in a month."

“ Violet Ainslie to be married! and so soon! I cannot believe it, Grace."

“ You may, Lady Burton — it is certainly so. I was with Lady Clare Montressor last evening, and she showed me a note that Violet had written, asking her to be her first bride-maid."

“Two months ago Violet spent a week with me before I went to Italy, and she said that she did not wish nor expect

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to marry. She seemed to have an aversion to the idea of marriage.”

“ Well, poor dear, who wouldn’t in her case?” cried Grace. “ With two millions of pounds in her own right, what is a girl to look for? The instant she appears in public every eye is on her. How can she ever expect to be loved, followed, admired, courted, without reference to her immense fortune? Violet had come to have a mania about it.”

“ The perils of a great heiress are as terrible as those of a great beauty,” said Lady Burton. “ Violet had her millions impressed on her from the time she could hear anything — they had been the chorus of her life — and Lord Leigh is surely the — a ”

“ Happy man? Yes — at least Violet so asserts him in the note. You look doubtful, Lady Burton.”

“ I thought he was paying attention to Lady Clare Montressor herself, three years ago.”

“ That was before his father died — he has not since.”

“ But this is all very sudden. Lord Leigh was paying her no more attention than others were two months ago. Indeed Violet shrank from attention.”

“I know it. She seemed never able to receive it in pleased frankness as an honest tribute; there were always the millions, you know. And then, you know, Violet is as shy as a five-year-old child, and has been brought up in seclusion, like a nun — the Ainslies seemed always afraid some one would run off with the millions.”

“ The mother’s fate pursues the child,” sighed Lady Burton.

“ Hear Lady Burton, what are you saying? See, here is this letter you were reading fallen to the floor.”

“ My dear Grace, it is a singular coincidence; this old letter was written to me by Violet’s mother just before her marriage. I was her bride-maid. I loved her well.”

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“ She was a Lady Lucy Montressor, Lady Clare's aunt?"

“ Yes, and as unfortunate in having too little money as her child is in having too much. There were five daughters and a son — ancient and poor — as some recent earls had indulged in gambling and horse-racing. They all married rich — Lady Lucy, in marrying the banker, Frederick Ainslie, richest of all. The present earl married the heiress of a great manufacturer "

“ And Lady Lucy died young?"

“ She married at seventeen, and died at twenty-nine, when her only child was two years old."

“ Do you know, Violet seems to me like a little princess out of a fairy tale. J ust think of the ten years, from five to fifteen, that she spent with her grandmother in the great gray, grim, ancient mansion in the Lincolnshire fens — a real ‘ Mariana in the Moated Grange!' Fancy! She saw no one but the grandmother, the servants, the governess, the rector, and the lawyer. Every one of them older than the other, and she never was allowed to read poetry, except some dreadful old stuff out of date long ago, never a novel, nor to see a young person, and when the grandmother died, it was as if Violet was let out of a great state prison, as historic princesses from the tower."

“ It was so, indeed. And owing to her shyness, and the domestic tastes of her aunt, Mrs. Ainslie, Violet, with only her very moderate knowledge of society, gained in part of one quiet season, is still to all intents a twelve-year-old child!"

“You quite frighten me, putting it that way," said Grace, ready tears sweeping into her bright eyes. “ Indeed the girl can hardly know her mind."

Lady Burton bent her head on her hand, a look of deep anxiety passing over her pale, high-bred face.

“Do not grieve, dear Lady Burton," said the spoiled beauty at her feet, patting her cheek; “let us have no dark

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prognostications at the marriage of so sweet a creature as Violet Ainslie.”

“She is sweet, indeed. I think- 1 never met a more fair, charming creature. Heaven only knows how I have hoped and prayed for her happiness.”

“I know you love her, even better than any of the rest of us, dear Lady Burton, and you are only too good to all of us.”

Lady Burton was the ideal and the idol of a large circle of young girls, and her influence over them was ennobling and delightful. She loved to surround herself with blooming youth and high spirits, to elevate their sentiments and cultivate their hearts. Her preference was a sort of high mark for the moral and mental dispositions of those she selected for her favorites. She smiled as Grace spoke.

“ I think it is impossible to be too good to any of you. It is indeed ‘a rosebud garden of girls/ by which I am continually surrounded,” and she bent to kiss the red, laughing lips.

“We shall be a rosebud garden, or garland of girls, I assure you, at Violet’s wedding — fourteen of us — only fancy.”

Lady Burton sighed deeply.

“Why, don’t sigh as if it was an execution, dearest,” cried the lively maiden. “ Violet is past eighteen, and — oh, let me tell you what my aunt said this very morning, ‘she is marrying one of the oldest titles in England.’ Just as if it were the title , not the man”

“Heaven send it is the man, with a good, true, loyal, well-founded love between them,” said Lady Burton, who had lived to see many very miserable matches, many shamefully broken ones, and many supremely happy ones. She herself could speak from experience on both sides. Her first marriage had been a misery, nobly endured, so long as God willed; her second a union of two brave, loving hearts.

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“ You must give her all manner of good advice," said Grace, tapping Lady Burton's hand, as she saw her fall into reverie.

“ I must, indeed. I returned only yesterday from France."

“And your poor cousin died while you were with her. Pardon me for not having spoken of it before.

“ It was an end long expected. I was looking in my cabinet for an old letter from her, when I came upon these, from my early friend. Lady Lucy Montressor."

“ At least. Lady Burton, Violet need not fear that Lord Leigh is marrying her for her millions. He can afford to marry for love; he is rich in money, as in antiquity of title; and he is young and good-looking, and a very good fellow. No one ever heard a word against him. He is grave, shy, not so very fond of society, a little gloomy, perhaps. I never saw any one take a thing to heart as he did his father's death, and you know the old saying, * a good son ’ makes a good husband.'"

“My dear Grace," cried Lady Burton, “let me kiss you. You are the most comforting creature. You always speak good of people. It is a lovely quality in you."

“ But in this case. Lady Burton, there is only good to be said. I hear your horses before the door. My aunt's coupe is there for me. My love to Violet."

A few moments after Lady Barton had entered her own coupe, and ordered the coachman “to 9 Portland place."

It was the residence of the banker, Henry Ainslie.

“Miss Ainslie is never engaged to you, my lady," said the footman, “ though she is refused to all others this morning."

Too impatient to sit down, Lady Burton walked about the drawing-room for a moment or two. The owner had no titles and the mistress of the house was but of homely taste, but, by grace of unlimited money, it was one of the

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finest drawing-rooms in London, as became the dwelling of a prince of finance. In a moment Violet’s maid entered.

“ Would you come up to Miss Ainslie’s boudoir, my lady? She is anxious to see you, but cannot come down.”

Chapter II. “do You Truly Love?”

Lady Burton went up the well-known stair, and the maid threw open the door of the heiress’ boudoir. The most fashionable mantau-maker in London, and her three chief assistants, were in possession. Leaning back in a great stuffed chair, her eye-glasses in hand, her face illuminated with pride and interest, was the portly, kindly figure of Mrs. Ainsliie, the banker’s wife.

In the center of the room, and the cynosure of all eyes, was a charming, dainty girl-figure, with white, dimpled arms, statuesquely folded, all clad from shoulders to toe in the white of a cambric dressing-jacket and her white petticoat, with its multitudinous lace frills, while before her knelt Madame Lamlini, the modiste, holding against her “subject” ample folds of silk and lace, a mass that looked like tne curled and crested foam-bright waves of the sea.

In half-undress, standing to be draped and fitted, barenecked, bare-armed, pensive, silent, lost as in some curious maze, this was she, Violet Ainslie, the great heiress, the orphan holder of burdensome millions, doomed to be her curse.

The opening of the boudoir door drew the girl from her fancies with a start. She held out her hand.

“ I am a prisoner des modes,” she said.

Mrs. Ainslie came forward, her usual heartiness intensified by her honest regard and as honest awe for Lady Burton.

“ So good of you, Lady Burton, to come to us. Violet was to go to you as soon as Madame Lambini released her; but you see now we are so hurried in our preparations ”

Meanwhile two small, tremulous hands had seized upon Lady Burton, and held her fast, with a nervous, almost despairing clasp. Her right hand thus imprisoned. Lady

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II

Burton smiled, and was obliged to offer her left hand to Mrs. Ainslie, who accepted it with ardor.

(( I see,” said Lady Burton, looking about, “that it is true.”

“ Oh, yes, quite true,” said Mrs. Ainslie, with open delight.

Lady Burton turned a clear, steadfast, searching eye on Violet’s flushing face.

“ Let me go instantly, madam,” cried Violet. “ I have chosen enough for you to begin on. I am tired. Kate, a dressing-wrap.”

Kate threw a down-trimmed robe over her young lady’s shoulders; and Violet, still holding Lady Burton’s hand, drew her into her dressing-room, and, the instant the door was -shut, threw herself with a burst of tears upon the bosom of her friend.

Lady Burton, folding the girl in her arms, allowed this emotion to have its way. Presently Violet recovered herself, pushed back the moist ripples of brown hair from her forehead, and a smile flashed through her tears, like the sun through summer rain.

“Forgive me! You always look so motherly to me, that it is in your presence I give way.”

“ Let me be motherly,” said Lady Burton, leading her to a divan and holding her clasped in her a.rm. “ I loved your mother. To-day I come to you in her name. May I speak, and will you answer freely?”

“ Indeed, yes.”

“ Are these tears sorrow or excitement?”

“ I think — excitement,”, said Violet, with a fascinating little smile.

“My child, do you truly love the man you are to marry?” Violet locked and unlocked her pink fingers as she said, with a pathetic droop of her mouth, and her straight look:

“ Lady Burton, I do not know.”

Such an answer, before an announced engagement, would have roused Lady Burton to vigorous protest. Now another course was needful.

“Violet, do you love this man beyond all others? Is he more pleasing to you than other men?”

“ Lady Burton, you know I have seen almost nothing of men. I saw no men until I came here three years ago — few since, until this season; and then, oh, I have been

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taught to suspect them all. I have refused ten; ten who hardly knew me! It was too dreadful !”

“ Violet, are you sure you so much prefer this man to others, that he will always be your preference?”

“ Lady Burton,” said Violet, erecting her pretty head, “ I should never fail to do my duty!”

“Bear with me while I search your heart. We human beings are so weak, beyond our dream, that sometimes we are betrayed by ourselves, before we are aware. Is it a joy, a content, to think of spending your life with Lord Leigh ? The years of our life may be many and long. While youth is glowing, while maturity ripens, while age comes on, will you be content to spend your life in the shadow of this man’s love, and within the circle of his arm?”

“I suppose so,” said Violet, hesitatingly, and with a troubled look, “I have as yet thought of it only in this way. I shall be .safe only in my own home, and no longer the golden apple of conflict between the Ainslies and Montressors. My poor, kind aunt will not longer be victimized and tortured by the Montressor aunts on my behalf, my uncle will no longer assure me that he is getting gray in caring for my dreadful millions. I will no longer be pursued for my millions, and having old men and young, good and bad — men I hardly know by sight — flinging themselves at my feet, and protest they desire only my love, and to hear Uncle Henry say solemnly, ‘ Another, Violet!’ This is the sixth, eight, tenth, as the case may be, just as if I were the boldest coquette; and aunt reply, with a groan, ‘poor dear, what can you expect?’”

“ Yes, my child, I understand. This is a little evil picture, that comes linked with your great fortune. But do you love your chosen husband enough to yield to his wishes; to prefer his wishes to your own, to seek first his comfort? To make his comfort the study of your life, as heretofore your own comfort has been?”

“ Must I do all that?” said Violet, innocently.

“ These expectations and plans seem natural to real love.”

“Perhaps they will come in time?” suggested Violet.

“ Love can and does grow if cherished. But let me warn you, dear, that no woman, not even an unloved wife, is so unhappy as an unloving wife. Love and self-sacrifice bring their own consolations. I see no comfort for the wife who does not love.”

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“ Perhaps I do love Lord Leigh; he is very — nice,” said Violet, meditatively, but the tone made Lady Burton's heart sink with fear; while the girl added quickly, “And really, he is, I think, very fond of me. He has asked me three times ”

“Fond of you!” cried Lady Burton, “could any man in his senses be less than fond of such an innocent, winsome creature as you, Violet?”

“You see, he is so rich, I feel as if he can love me for myself,” said Violet, with a flush. “ He cannot he fortune-hunting. I respect Lord Leigh. I like him; and when I get used to the idea, I think, Lady Burton, I am capable of loving.”

“ My darling, you were born to love — warmly.”

“ But, if I found he had deceived me — not loved me for myself — oh, how unutterably I should hate him, or any one.”

Lady Burton trembled at the girl's tone and her pallor.

“ It is not likely in his case. But, Violet, do delay this marriage.”

“No, no; it is too late. I cannot endure this being hunted. No, I must take my risk now, before I am hunted to death.”

CHAPTEE III.

THE SMITTEN BKIEE.

Leaving Violet in the hands of maids and modistes, Lady Burton went down stairs with the effusive Mrs. Ainslie at her side.

“ Dear Lady Burton, I hope you are pleased. If we had had your address you should have been the first to be forewarned, but, then, it has really been very sudden, and Violet was going to you this morning.”

“ But what was the occasion of so hasty a decision?” asked Lady Burton, calmly. “I had hoped Violet, in her peculiar position, would wait a year or two.”

“ Oh, Lady Burton, a year or two! How can you! I assure you Henry and I would both be in our graves with anxiety. He is more weighed down by the care of her fortune than by all his other business. And as for me, I can

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hardly sleep nights for fear the darling girl should make a bad match. Lord Leigh is such an admirable match, every way. His title, family, great fortune, manners — a little cold and sad — but amiable, honorable, unblemished reputation. Why," cried Mrs. Ainslie, warming with her subject, he is the great match of the season; every* one wanted him!"

Lady Burton smiled a little at that way of putting it.

“But, Mrs. Ainslie, while I know all this is true, if she does not really love him, what comfort in marriage?"

“ Love, my dear Lady Burton, for her it will come in its day. She knows no more of it now than a vestal, and she never will until she is married. She is a victim of a mania about fortune-hunters."

“ She lacks vanity — a consciousness of her own desert — and I think you have all contributed to this idea."

“ Well, I really believe she loves Lord Leigh, and that he loves her. Why not?"

“I don't see how he could help it, truly."

“ Do, Lady Burton, peep into the conservatory. Is it not exquisite? Well, just there, on that seat, under the orange tree in bloom, he proposed. I came in after a few minutes. I admit I was distracted to know if she would do what was for her happiness; and he said, ' Mrs. Ainslie, Violet has done me the honor to accept me.' Think if I was glad!"

“Still, I wish they would wait a year to consider."

“Oh, Lady Burton, a year! Why, she wanted to wait three months, and he was so desperate for an immediate marriage that finally she yielded. And for me it comes just right. I expect to have the two elder girls introduced next season, and I shall take the whole family to the Continent as soon as Violet is off my hands. The girls need six months there to finish up their French and German. Dear things, I can now give up all my time to them. Only think, how dangerously Violet would have been in their way, and now she will help them on. With Lady Leigh they can go everywhere. It will relieve me of half my cares."

“ I see; but in this marriage Violet is the one to consider."

“ But I do consider. Think if I am not proud and glad to restore her to the position her grandmother Montressor occupied — an earl's wife. Violet will be a sweet countess."

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“ Would she be a happy countess?” thought Lady Burton.

It was idle to stay and hear Mrs. Ainslie talk longer. The best-natured creature in the world, she had attained the nearest summit of her hopes, and saw before her, in joyful near existence, pinnacles of coroneted glory for her troop of plain, jolly, honest-hearted girls.

Mrs. Ainslie kept Violet in a tumult of splendid preparations. Gifts poured in. Ainslie and Leigh jewels were reset to grace the wealthiest bride that ever had entered the ever fortunate house of Leigh. As for Violet, hers was an hour of bewilderment. Her aunt’s approbation shone on her; the congratulations of all the family greeted her; peace was proclaimed between the Montressors — her mother’s patrician house — and the rich Ainslies, who had been left guardian of her person and property by her father. She drifted on this favoring tide.

Lady Burton spoke again to Violet upon the subject of her marriage.

“ My child, if you have any hesitation or objection, it is not too late. Better be called a coquette, than be a loveless, reluctant wife. Leave all, and come with me. I will take you to America, to Egypt, anywhere, until the comment has passed.”

“No, Lady Burton, I think I am right, and shall be happy. I think I am loved for myself alone. The only time any one seemed to care for me, not knowing I was rich, that one forgot me at one q— forgot me !”

“ Violet, is there any one whom you love, whose image lies in your heart?”

“Indeed, no — a thousand times no! I hate him! — the mercenary wretch!”

“ Why, Violet!” said Lady Burton, “I am surprised!”

She could say no more, for a secret feeling of honor held her bound. By her first marriage Lady Burton had a son — Lord Kenneth Keith — and she had hoped, solely because she loved Violet, that some day Violet and Kenneth might meet and love. Violet’s singular whim — fostered, yes, implanted by her grandmother, that all who sought her sought her for her fortune — had kept Lady Burton from speaking of her son, who was abroad, and from bringing him home to introduce to Violet. She had wished Violet to have experience and freedom of choice before they met. But this, her secret wish, held her from opposing this mar-

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riage. Might she not be speaking rather her own desire* than inner righteousness in the case?

The marriage morning, the first of June* dawned fair — matchless day for a matchless wedding scene.

The space about the chancel of St. George seemed as if filled by bands of angels, when Violet Ainslee stood there, with her fourteen lovely attendants. Surrounded with beauty, music, flowers, fragrance, friends, Violet held out that soft, white, well-dowered hand to Lord Norman Leigh* and her sweet lips said, softly* “ I will.”

Neither bride, nor groom* nor priest, nor people dreamed that, heavy and remorseless as the blow of “the hammer of Thor,” a terrible wrong and fate would crush and Shatter that vow before it had been kept for one brief hour! Sunshine in glory blazing all about her, and, under the sunshine, cruel destruction darkening over the life of this innocent child.

******

The wedding breakfast is over; carriages wait; the Ainslies and the Montressors are in blissful amity. In the magnificent boudoir of Mrs. Ainslie the groom is to see his bride for a moment alone before she is taken to put on her traveling-dress, as they set forth for Paris and Italy. A matchless bride of sweet and sunny beauty, and all blessed possibilities, she stands, as her aunt left her, gleaming in satin, lace, and pearls, her bridal flowers in her hand, her face bent over the sweet, languishing, fatal breath, of one central tuberose.

A tuberose in a bridal bouquet!

*******

Mrs. Ainslie opens the door for Lord Norman Leigh.

“ Here is your bride.”

The scarcely uttered words die in a wild scream at a terrible sight.

Yes, here is his bride — a white, still, prostrate figure, lying supine on the floor, in all her glory of iewels and lace, in all the gorgeous color of the boudoir— all the hope and the radiance gone out of her bridal day!

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Chapter IV. The Terrible Truth

What had smitten hope, courage, happiness out of the bride of an hour? What had stopped the bounding pulses of her sweet young life, and laid her cold, silent, prostrate, as one dead?

These are not Borgia or De Medici times, when one sends poison in a bouquet. It was not her bridal flowers, not even Lady Clare Montressor’s tuberose that had sealed her fate. No. Upon her untried, innocent, unspecting ear had fallen the unaccustomed voice of truth; and oh, how chilling, how cruel, how terrible, how fatal truth can sometimes be! The naked truth is sometimes as deadly and unsparing as a naked sword.

When Mrs. Ainslie, full of pride, joy, benevolence to all the world, threw open the door of her boudoir to her new and titled nephew, to put him face to face with the charming, white- vailed, innocent creature, whose life had just been indissolubly bound to his own, and instead of blushing cheeks and smiling eyes, saw prostration, rigidity, pallor, unconsciousness, she gave a wild cry:

“■She is dead! she is dead!"

Lord Leigh, with a look of terror, bent over his fallen bride. The treasure he had won with a swift good fortune that surprised himself, was it to be lost as soon as won? Then he felt life still fluttering in the tender frame, and recalled that the house was full of guests. He was one who lived in careful regard of public opinion, concealing all that might arouse remark.

“It is a fainting attack," he said. “ Give me your vinagrette. Call Sir Roger Parker, please; he is below; and bring a maid, Mrs. Ainslie; but do not seem alarmed."

His composed manner had neither the ardor nor anxiety of a devoted young lover trembling for his idol; but its calm practicality restored Mrs. Ainslie’s courage.

Left alone for an instant with his insensible bride. Lord Leigh, while- endeavoring to restore her, had his eyes fixed

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rather on the room than on Violet. He scanned every corner. It was a room without concealments — no closets, no heavy draperies.

“ If that demon has done this,” he said, between his set teeth, his usually indifferent, grave face contracting in a look of rage, “ I would feel equal to something desperate. But no! she cannot have been here.”

“What is this?” cried a voice at his side. “ Oh, I knew something would happen!”

It was Lady Burton. Mrs. Ainslie’s cry had reached an ear alert for sounds of woe. All that brilliant wedding-day Lady Burton had been haunted by anxiety, and when that one scream came to her, as she stood with some of the lady’s maids in Violet s boudoir waiting to see the bride dressed in her traveling costume, she felt the shrill cry of confirmation of her fears, and hastened to the room where was the new-made Countess of Leigh.

“ This is not an ordinary fainting fit,” said Lady Burton, as Sir Roger Parker bent over the still form, and Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie anxiously awaited his verdict.

“ It looks like a severe and sudden nervous shock,” said the court physician ; “yet that is quite impossible.”

“ Certainly it is impossible,” said Lord Leigh. “ She is all health and happiness, and has not been alone five minutes to-day.”

She had been alone fifteen — a fatal fifteen.

“She is reviving,” said Mrs. Ainslie, presently, and stole away to still any rumors that might arise among her guests.

Shortly life came back in tremulous thrills to that prostrate form; the delicate color stole into the round cheeks; the pearly throat began to flutter with returning respiration, and then the sweet brown eyes opened wide. Sir Roger naturally thought that the face of the young husband would be the most comforting sight for those lovely eyes, and stepped back to give place to his lordship, who bent over his bride •with a look of assured possession.

Violet met that look with a gaze of horror and intense aversion. Then the dainty form shook from head to foot, entire consciousness had come with a weight of woe; her hand, that soft little hand, whereon shone the diamond half-circle of their engagement-ring, and the plain thick circle given that morning at the sacred altar, was laid upon

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her bridegroom's breast, as with all her little strength she pushed him from her.

Then, she turned, threw her arm about Lady Burton's neck, hid her face on her bosom, and burst into tears.

“ I think we will do well to leave your countess alone for a time with Lady Burton," said Sir Roger, calmly.

“What do you think of her? What does this mean?" asked Lord Leigh, as he left the room with the physician.

“ Simply terror, excitement, a sudden vague alarm," said Sir Roger, quietly. “ The feelings of young girls have very singular developments. I am surprised at nothing. In a little time she will recover herself."

Lord Leigh looked at him narrowly. He had seen, and had he not comprehended the look in Violet's eyes, the action of her hand? Evidently not. They meant much to Lord Leigh, although he could not reach their cause.