The Life and Legacy of Harriette Wilson. Harriette Wilson
will do," he continued, observing Lord Palmerston, who was in the act of making his bow to Amy, having just looked in on her from Lady Castlereagh's.
"I don't want any of Lady Castlereagh's men," said Amy. "Let all those who prefer her Saturday-night to mine, stay with her."
"Who on earth," said Luttrell, with his usual earnestness—"who on earth would think of Lady Castlereagh when they might be here?"
"Why Brummell went there for an hour before he came here," said Alvanly.
"Mr. Brummell had better go and pass a second hour with her ladyship," retorted Amy, "for we are really too full here."
"I am going for one," I said, putting on my shawl; for I began to think it would not do to neglect Argyle altogether. I made use of one of the Russian's carriages, to which Brummell handed me.
"To Argyle House, I suppose?" said Brummell, and then whispered in my ear, "You will be Duchess of Argyle, Harriette."
I found Argyle at his door, with his key, a little impatient. I asked him why he did not go to Amy's.
"I don't know your sister," answered his grace, "and I dislike what I have seen of her. She makes so many advances to me!"
I defended my sister as warmly as though she had really treated me with kindness, and felt at that time seriously angry with the duke for abusing her.
The next morning from my window I saw Amy drive up to my door, in the Count Palmella's barouche. "She wants me to write a copy of a letter for some of her men," thought I, well knowing that affection never brought Amy to visit me.
"Are you alone?" asked Amy, bouncing into the room.
"Then tell that count, downstairs, he may go home," addressing my servant.
"Poor little man!" I remarked, "how terribly rude! I could not be rude to such a very timid, gentlemanly man as that!"
"Oh, he makes me sick," said Amy, "and I am come to consult you as to what I had better do. I like liberty best. If I put myself under the protection of anybody, I shall not be allowed to give parties and sit up all night; but then I have my desk full of long bills, without receipts!"
"I thought you were to marry Beckendorff and go to Russia," I observed.
"Oh true, I have come to tell you about Beckendorff. He is off for Russia this morning, to try to obtain the consent of the Emperor and that of his his own family. There was no harm in sending him there you know; for I can easily change my mind when he comes back, if anything which I like better occurs. He wished George to be his aide-de-camp; but George would not go."
"Is not Beckendorff a general in the service of the Emperor?" I asked.
"Yes, yes! but never mind Beckendorff," answered Amy impatiently. "I want two hundred pounds directly. It spoils all one's independence and one's consequence, to ask Englishmen for money. Palmella wishes to have me altogether under his protection. He is rich; but—but I like Colonel Sydenham best."
"Sydenham has no money," said I. "Palmella seems disposed to do a great deal for you and he is very gentlemanlike; therefore, if a man you must have, my voice is for Palmella!"
"Well," said Amy, "I cannot stop! I do not much care. Palmella makes me sick too. It cannot be helped. You write me a copy directly, to say I consent to enter into the arrangement, as he calls it, which he proposed; namely, two hundred pounds a month paid in advance, and the use of his horses and carriage." This letter was soon despatched to his Excellency Palmella; and Amy shortly afterwards took her leave.
The next day as I was returning home from my solitary walk, reflections, the most despondingly melancholy, crowded on my mind. I thought of the youth I was passing away in passions wild and ungovernable, and, though ever ready to sacrifice more than life for those I have loved, with real genuine warmth and tenderness of heart, yet I had perhaps deserved that none should hereafter remember me with affection; for my actions had been regulated by the impulse and feelings of that heart alone, void of any other principle than what it had dictated. I was roused by a sudden tap on the shoulder from the coarse, red, ungloved hand of my old friend, Lord Frederick Bentinck.
"My lord, I was just going to drown myself, therefore pray do not leave me here alone."
"I must," said his lordship, panting, "for I have a great deal to do. I ought to be at the Horse Guards at this moment."
"Nonsense! But if you really can do anything, I wish to heaven you would put on a pair of gloves."
"I only wish," answered his lordship, speaking loud, in a good-natured passion, "I only wish that you were compelled to listen to the sort of things I am obliged to attend to daily. Everybody wants promotion. No man will be satisfied with an answer. For my part, I have got into a way of writing my letters as soon as I have stated all that is to be said. I hate talking, many people expose themselves in that way, so, adio!"
It occurred to me as soon as his lordship had left me how unfortunate for his taciturn disposition was the meeting of Sir Murray Maxwell's friends, which took place some time ago, to commemorate that highly respected gentleman's broken pate. The noble lord was chosen steward of the feast and, whatever might be the exposure, either in the way or lack of intellect, Lord Frederick must inevitably come forward with a maiden-speech. The said discourse however would, no doubt, have redounded to the credit and glory of his lordship's able attorney, in spite of the many restrictions he had received not to put in any break-teeth long words; but, alas! his lordship was not aware of the defect of a memory which had never been so exerted, and, at the very critical moment, after he had risen to address the attentive assembly, he discovered with dismay that he had forgotten every word of his speech. What was to be done? He resolved to address them in detached sentences, delivered in a voice of thunder; such as, "my principles, gentlemen—likewise—observe—my friends—but I therefore—being, as I say—a man of few words, gentlemen." The intervals being filled up with much gesticulation, everybody advanced their heads and redoubled their attention, to try to hear what could not be heard. Those who were at a distance said "we are too far off," and those immediately next to him thought themselves too near, or suspected the wine had taken an unusual effect, owing to the heated atmosphere of the crowded apartment. All resolved to secure better situations on the next meeting, that they might profit by so fine and affecting a discourse.
The season for Argyle's departure from London for the North was now drawing very near. He often spoke of it with regret, and sometimes he talked about my accompanying him.
"Not I, indeed!" was my answer; for I was an unsettled sort of being; and nothing but the whole heart of the man I loved could settle me.
Lorne had fascinated me and was the first man for whom I had felt the least passion; but his age made him fitter to be my father than my friend and companion: and then this Lady W——! How could I fix my affections on a man whom I knew to be attached still to another woman! Indeed, even his inconstancy to Lady W—— often disgusted me.
"You will not accompany me to Scotland then?" said the duke.
"No!"
"Cela, donc, est décidé."
"Oui."
I was getting into debt, as well as my sister Amy, when it so came to pass, as I have since heard say, that the—immortal!
No; that's common; a very outlandish distinction, fitter for a lady in a balloon.
The terrific! that will do better. I have seen his grace in his cotton nightcap. Well then; the terrific Duke of Wellington! the wonder of the world! Having six feet from the tail to the head, and—but there is a certain technicality in the expressions of the gentleman at Exeter Change, when he has occasion to show off a wild beast, which it would be vanity in me to presume to imitate; so leaving out his dimensions, &c. &c., it was even the Duke of Wellington, whose laurels, like those of the giant in The Vicar of Wakefield, had been hardly earned by the sweat of his little dwarf's brows, and the loss of their little legs, arms and eyes; who, feeling himself amorously given—it was in summer—one sultry evening, ordered his coachman to set him down at