The Manoeuvring Mother (Vol. 1-3). Lady Charlotte Campbell Bury
laughed, and her laugh led Tom Pynsent to form a wrong conjecture upon the state of her feelings towards himself. He pressed her hand with considerable force, which Julia resented by withdrawing her arm.
"Pray don't be angry, my dear Miss Julia, at a good fox-hunting squeeze: I am not used to press ladies' hands, but the firmer I shake a friend's hand, the stronger is my pleasure at receiving him, and, if my grasp offends you, set it down to my affection."
Julia made no reply, but she retreated to her party; Lady Wetheral was impatient at her return, but Julia's indignation heeded not the hopes and fears which struggled in her mother's bosom; she was offended at Tom Pynsent's misconstruction of her laugh, and she stationed herself by the side of her sister. Tom Pynsent stood bewildered. The colour rose in Lady Wetheral's cheeks with alarm.
"My dear Julia, you have quitted Mr. Pynsent in a very extraordinary manner; I am really hurt; Mr. Pynsent! my dear Mr. Pynsent!"
Tom Pynsent advanced, but his mind was in a labyrinth of confused astonishment:—"Bless my soul, Lady Wetheral, I suppose I have done something wrong; but the deuce take me if I know what brought all this about!"
"Some little misunderstanding, my dear Mr. Pynsent; little misunderstandings, we are told, often lead to agreeable and sincere friendships; dine with us to-morrow, and make up this little fracas."
Tom Pynsent bowed, with a look indicative of pleased stupidity.
"I shall be very happy; I am in the wrong box, somehow; but I can't, for the soul of me, think why Miss Julia ran away from me."
There was a silence of some moments; Tom Pynsent could not catch Julia's eye to learn whether its glance was of good or evil, therefore, he sought consolation in addressing Anna Maria.
"Miss Wetheral, you are not offended; perhaps you will condescend to accept my arm?"
Poor Anna Maria mechanically obeyed the request, and Julia again took possession of her partner. The exchange was made in silence, and apparently to the great satisfaction of Lord Ennismore. Tom Pynsent walked forward with Anna Maria, and made his remark upon Julia's desertion.
"Upon my word, Miss Wetheral, I did nothing to give your sister offence, except squeezing her hand, which no lady takes offence at, particularly when a man is making love. I love her better than any woman I know, and I would not do any thing improper for the world; but a squeeze of the hand, now, Miss Wetheral, was that a thing to quarrel about?"
A cold unearthly smile was Anna Maria's answer to this appeal.
"I shall have it all out to-morrow, however. I suppose Miss Julia means to have me, as she laughed when I spoke seriously. She does not like that fellow Ennismore, does she, Miss Wetheral?"
"I cannot tell," answered Anna Maria, in a voice so low it was scarcely audible.
"I wish I knew! Miss Julia laughed when I put the question to herself, which, I suppose, is encouragement, but I shall see to-morrow. I shall speak in time, for fear she should take a fancy to that lanky dog behind us. But who would suppose any woman so shy at a squeeze? If I had kissed her, it might have been another thing! Bless my soul, what odd things women are!"
There was no time for further remark on either side; the carriage was ready, and no pause allowed a continuation of complaint. Tom Pynsent assisted Julia to ascend the steps of the barouche, but she would not address him, or grant him one look to enable him to discover the real state of her feelings. Lady Wetheral bent forward as the door was closing.
"We shall expect you very early to-morrow, my dear Mr. Pynsent, and pray do not treat us as common acquaintance: Sir John was wishing for you yesterday."
"I shall come very early—perhaps to luncheon," replied Tom Pynsent, resting his broad hand on the carriage-door, and fixing his eyes upon Julia, "I have something particular to say to Sir John."
"Oh! delightful!" cried Lady Wetheral, bowing and smiling; "this will be something enlivening to tell Sir John. Something, of course, about hunting or shooting, the idol of men's hearts."
"It's not about hunting or shooting this time, Lady Wetheral."
"Ah! you mean to be mysterious, to raise our curiosity—what can it be? We must be calm, however, and try to wait patiently till to-morrow, or rather till this afternoon, for I fancy it is half-past twelve."
Tom Pynsent bowed, and the party proceeded homewards, enclosing four hearts, labouring under conflicting and powerful feelings. Lady Wetheral's happy, uncontrollable emotions were in strange contrast with Anna Maria's deeply-pained feelings, which lay concealed under impenetrable silence. Julia also was silent and sad; her situation with respect to Tom Pynsent and Lord Ennismore gave her young heart its first painful impressions. Lord Ennismore replied to Lady Wetheral's eager, agitated remarks with an absence of mind which proved his lordship equally occupied with his feelings; and all this was originated in the well-filled, gay ball-room, which had long been considered the cradle of happiness and the grave of care. So prone is nature to seek suffering under the mask of pleasure, that all hearts court its renewal.
Lady Spottiswoode's parties were the scene of cruel disappointment, and the cause of repeated disquietude, yet did the young and fair of that day crowd to her assemblies, and severe illness alone obliged a reluctant invalid to remain perdue, when Lady Spottiswoode issued her cards from the Abbey foregate.
----Oh! that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.
Anna Maria had borne her short but destroying colloquy with Tom Pynsent without giving way to the pain which wrung her heart; and, during the drive to Wetheral, she had restrained the swelling of her soul, and made a strong effort to subdue the tears which rushed into her eyes; but when she had gained the sanctuary of her own apartment, all restraint was at an end, and Julia bent over the unfortunate girl as she lay extended hopelessly and helplessly upon her bed.
"My dear sister, is this horrible grief indeed given to Tom Pynsent?"
"God knows it is! Julia, but do not ridicule a sorrow you cannot comprehend. When I heard him this night declare his love for you, and when he whispered it to my own self, then I felt as all women feel who find their affection is unheeded and unvalued. I felt, Julia, as keenly as if Tom Pynsent had been admired and loved by hundreds."
"But, my dear Anna, you will not love a man who places so little value—and is so very—" Julia hesitated.
"It matters little," replied Anna Maria, with impetuosity, "who cares for Tom Pynsent, or who expresses astonishment at my attachment. Every woman wonders at her neighbour's choice, and it is sufficient that I am most unhappy. You, Julia, need not tell me I am little valued by him; I know and feel it, but the information does not come well from your lips, who have gained the heart I can never cease to covet."
"Tom Pynsent can never be any thing to me," said Julia.
"And thus it is," continued Anna Maria, speaking in mournful accents. "We are doomed to helpless misery from our birth, and we prey upon each other's peace. Why did he constantly attend upon me, when his heart was free? and why did my mother teach my first thoughts to rest upon a man whose affections she could not ensure me? I tell you, it was wrong!—I tell you, Julia, it was altogether ungenerous and cruel. I have been sacrificed to a selfish policy; and on the very threshold of life my happiness has been wrecked, to make existence a burthen for ever!" She clasped her hands tightly together, and, rising suddenly from her bed, paced her room with rapid steps, talking apparently to herself.
"What was to be gained by my misery? has it soothed my mother's ambition? She spurns me as the object who has disappointed her hopes. Has it gained the long-sought aim of my own anxious love? He told me himself he loved my sister. Am I to bear all this with smiling indifference? Julia, Julia!" she screamed, "I cannot smile, I will not smile, and no one shall see me smile more."
Julia endeavoured to soothe Anna Maria into calmness, but all efforts were unavailing; her impetuous nature was roused, and it must take its own course: resistance could only increase its fury.
"Leave me to myself, Julia—leave me.