Lady Susan | Jane Austen

[v.a.y]

این کتاب در سال 1794 و در 42 فصل نوشته شده.

این رمان به صورت قطعه های جداگانه از آستن باقی ماند که به وسیله برادرزاده هایش در 1825 به چاپ رسید. در مارس 1817 جین برای معالجه سل با خواهر خود به وینچستر رفت ولی در همانجا درگذشت.




CHAPTER 1


LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MR. VERNON



Langford, Dec

MY DEAR BROTHER,— I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be acquainted with. My kind friends here are most affectionately urgent with me to prolong my stay, but their hospitable and cheerful dispositions lead them too much into society for my present situation and state of mind; and I impatiently look forward to the hour when I shall be admitted into Your delightful retirement.

I long to be made known to your dear little children, in whose hearts I shall be very eager to secure an interest. I shall soon have need for all my fortitude, as I am on the point of separation from my own daughter. The long illness of her dear father prevented my paying her that attention which duty and affection equally dictated, and I have too much reason to fear that the governess to whose care I consigned her was unequal to the charge. I have therefore resolved on placing her at one of the best private schools in town, where I shall have an opportunity of leaving her myself in my way to you. I am determined, you see, not to be denied admittance at Churchhill. It would indeed give me most painful sensations to know that it were not in your power to receive me.

Your most obliged and affectionate sister,
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 2





LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MRS. JOHNSON



Langford.

You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place for the rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were mistaken, for I have seldom spent three months more agreeably than those which have just flown away. At present, nothing goes smoothly; the females of the family are united against me. You foretold how it would be when I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so uncommonly pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for myself. I remember saying to myself, as I drove to the house, “I like this man, pray Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was determined to be discreet, to bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no one’s attentions but Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a little notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring; but, if the world could know my motive THERE they would honour me. I have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.

Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so violently against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the scheme for the present. I have more than once repented that I did not marry him myself; and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I certainly should: but I must own myself rather romantic in that respect, and that riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and Mrs. Mainwaring insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so enraged against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be surprized at her appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of addressing him: but there your husband stands my friend; and the kindest, most amiable action of his life was his throwing her off for ever on her marriage. Keep up his resentment, therefore, I charge you. We are now in a sad state; no house was ever more altered; the whole party are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me. It is time for me to be gone; I have therefore determined on leaving them, and shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in town within this week. If I am as little in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must come to me at 10 Wigmore street; but I hope this may not be the case, for as Mr. Johnson, with all his faults, is a man to whom that great word “respectable” is always given, and I am known to be so intimate with his wife, his slighting me has an awkward look.

I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village; for I am really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is my last resource. Were there another place in England open to me I would prefer it. Charles Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his wife. At Churchhill, however, I must remain till I have something better in view. My young lady accompanies me to town, where I shall deposit her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore street, till she becomes a little more reasonable. She will make good connections there, as the girls are all of the best families. The price is immense, and much beyond what I can ever attempt to pay.

Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive in town.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 3


MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY



Churchhill

My dear Mother,— I am very sorry to tell you that it will not be in our power to keep our promise of spending our Christmas with you; and we are prevented that happiness by a circumstance which is not likely to make us any amends

Lady Susan, in a letter to her brother-in-law, has declared her intention of visiting us almost immediately; and as such a visit is in all probability merely an affair of convenience, it is impossible to conjecture its length
I was by no means prepared for such an event, nor can I now account for her ladyship’s conduct; Langford appeared so exactly the place for her in every respect, as well from the elegant and expensive style of living there, as from her particular attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, that I was very far from expecting so speedy a distinction, though I always imagined from her increasing friendship for us since her husband’s death that we should, at some future period, be obliged to receive her
Mr. Vernon, I think, was a great deal too kind to her when he was in Staffordshire; her behaviour to him, independent of her general character, has been so inexcusably artful and ungenerous since our marriage was first in agitation that no one less amiable and mild than himself could have overlooked it all; and though, as his brother’s widow, and in narrow circumstances, it was proper to render her pecuniary assistance, I cannot help thinking his pressing invitation to her to visit us at Churchhill perfectly unnecessary
Disposed, however, as he always is to think the best of everyone, her display of grief, and professions of regret, and general resolutions of prudence, were sufficient to soften his heart and make him really confide in her sincerity; but, as for myself, I am still unconvinced, and plausibly as her ladyship has now written, I cannot make up my mind till I better understand her real meaning in coming to us
You may guess, therefore, my dear madam, with what feelings I look forward to her arrival
She will have occasion for all those attractive powers for which she is celebrated to gain any share of my regard; and I shall certainly endeavour to guard myself against their influence, if not accompanied by something more substantial
She expresses a most eager desire of being acquainted with me, and makes very gracious mention of my children but I am not quite weak enough to suppose a woman who has behaved with inattention, if not with unkindness, to her own child, should be attached to any of mine
Miss Vernon is to be placed at a school in London before her mother comes to us which I am glad of, for her sake and my own
It must be to her advantage to be separated from her mother, and a girl of sixteen who has received so wretched an education, could not be a very desirable companion here. Reginald has long wished, I know, to see the captivating Lady Susan, and we shall depend on his joining our party soon
I am glad to hear that my father continues so well; and am, with best love, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON



CHAPTER 4



MR. DE COURCY TO MRS. VERNON


Parklands

My dear Sister,— I congratulate you and Mr. Vernon on being about to receive into your family the most accomplished coquette in England

As a very distinguished flirt I have always been taught to consider her, but it has lately fallen in my way to hear some particulars of her conduct at Langford: which prove that she does not confine herself to that sort of honest flirtation which satisfies most people, but aspires to the more delicious gratification of making a whole family miserable. By her behaviour to Mr. Mainwaring she gave jealousy and wretchedness to his wife, and by her attentions to a young man previously attached to Mr. Mainwaring’s sister deprived an amiable girl of her lover

I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this neighbourhood (I have dined with him, at Hurst and Wilford), who is just come from Langford where he was a fortnight with her ladyship, and who is therefore well qualified to make the communication

What a woman she must be! I long to see her, and shall certainly accept your kind invitation, that I may form some idea of those bewitching powers which can do so much — engaging at the same time, and in the same house, the affections of two men, who were neither of them at liberty to bestow them- -and all this without the charm of youth! I am glad to find Miss Vernon does not accompany her mother to Churchhill, as she has not even manners to recommend her; and, according to Mr. Smith’s account, is equally dull and proud. Where pride and stupidity unite there can be no dissimulation worthy notice, and Miss Vernon shall be consigned to unrelenting contempt; but by all that I can gather Lady Susan possesses a degree of captivating deceit which it must be pleasing to witness and detect. I shall be with you very soon, and am ever,

Your affectionate brother
R. DE COURCY




CHAPTER 5


LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MRS. JOHNSON


Churchhill

I received your note, my dear Alicia, just before I left town, and rejoice to be assured that Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your engagement the evening before.
It is undoubtedly better to deceive him entirely, and since he will be stubborn he must be tricked.
I arrived here in safety, and have no reason to complain of my reception from Mr. Vernon; but I confess myself not equally satisfied with the behaviour of his lady
She is perfectly well-bred, indeed, and has the air of a woman of fashion, but her manners are not such as can persuade me of her being prepossessed in my favour
I wanted her to be delighted at seeing me.
I was as amiable as possible on the occasion, but all in vain. She does not like me.
To be sure when we consider that I DID take some pains to prevent my brother-in-law’s marrying her, this want of cordiality is not very surprizing, and yet it shows an illiberal and vindictive spirit to resent a project which influenced me six years ago, and which never succeeded at last.

I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did not let Charles buy Vernon Castle, when we were obliged to sell it; but it was a trying circumstance, especially as the sale took place exactly at the time of his marriage; and everybody ought to respect the delicacy of those feelings which could not endure that my husband’s dignity should be lessened by his younger brother’s having possession of the family estate.
Could matters have been so arranged as to prevent the necessity of our leaving the castle, could we have lived with Charles and kept him single, I should have been very far from persuading my husband to dispose of it elsewhere; but Charles was on the point of marrying Miss De Courcy, and the event has justified me
Here are children in abundance, and what benefit could have accrued to me from his purchasing Vernon?
My having prevented it may perhaps have given his wife an unfavourable impression, but where there is a disposition to dislike, a motive will never be wanting; and as to money matters it has not withheld him from being very useful to me
I really have a regard for him, he is so easily imposed upon! The house is a good one, the furniture fashionable, and everything announces plenty and elegance. Charles is very rich I am sure; when a man has once got his name in a banking-house he rolls in money; but they do not know what to do with it, keep very little company, and never go to London but on business. We shall be as stupid as possible. I mean to win my sister-in-law’s heart through the children;
I know all their names already, and am going to attach myself with the greatest sensibility to one in particular, a young Frederic, whom I take on my lap and sigh over for his dear uncle’s sake.

Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how much I miss him, how perpetually he is in my thoughts.
I found a dismal letter from him on my arrival here, full of complaints of his wife and sister, and lamentations on the cruelty of his fate. I passed off the letter as his wife’s, to the Vernons, and when I write to him it must be under cover to you.

Ever yours
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 6


MRS. VERNON TO MR. DE COURCY


Churchhill

Well, my dear Reginald, I have seen this dangerous creature, and must give you some description of her, though I hope you will soon be able to form your own judgment she is really excessively pretty; however you may choose to question the allurements of a lady no longer young, I must, for my own part, declare that I have seldom seen so lovely a woman as Lady Susan.
She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes and dark eyelashes; and from her appearance one would not suppose her more than five and twenty, though she must in fact be ten years older, I was certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon union of symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so gentle, frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much she has always disliked me for marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had never met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend. One is apt, I believe, to connect assurance of manner with coquetry, and to expect that an impudent address will naturally attend an impudent mind; at least I was myself prepared for an improper degree of confidence in Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her voice and manner winningly mild.

I am sorry it is so, for what is this but deceit? Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She is clever and agreeable, has all that knowledge of the world which makes conversation easy, and talks very well, with a happy command of language, which is too often used, I believe, to make black appear white. She has already almost persuaded me of her being warmly attached to her daughter, though I have been so long convinced to the contrary.

She speaks of her with so much tenderness and anxiety, lamenting so bitterly the neglect of her education, which she represents however as wholly unavoidable, that I am forced to recollect how many successive springs her ladyship spent in town, while her daughter was left in Staffordshire to the care of servants, or a governess very little better, to prevent my believing what she says.

If her manners have so great an influence on my resentful heart, you may judge how much more strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon’s generous temper.
I wish I could be as well satisfied as he is, that it was really her choice to leave Langford for Churchhill; and if she had not stayed there for months before she discovered that her friend’s manner of living did not suit her situation or feelings, I might have believed that concern for the loss of such a husband as Mr. Vernon, to whom her own behaviour was far from unexceptionable, might for a time make her wish for retirement.
But I cannot forget the length of her visit to the Mainwarings, and when I reflect on the different mode of life which she led with them from that to which she must now submit, I can only suppose that the wish of establishing her reputation by following though late the path of propriety, occasioned her removal from a family where she must in reality have been particularly happy. Your friend Mr. Smith’s story, however, cannot be quite correct, as she corresponds regularly with Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be exaggerated. It is scarcely possible that two men should be so grossly deceived by her at once.

Yours, &c

CATHERINE VERNON




CHAPTER 7

LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MRS. JOHNSON

Churchhill

My dear Alicia,— You are very good in taking notice of Frederica, and I am grateful for it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have any doubt of the warmth of your affection, I am far from exacting so heavy a sacrifice.
She is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend her.
I would not, therefore, on my account, have you encumber one moment of your precious time by sending for her to Edward Street, especially as every visit is so much deducted from the grand affair of education, which I really wish to have attended to while she remains at Miss Summers’s.
I want her to play and sing with some portion of taste and a good deal of assurance, as she has my hand and arm and a tolerable voice.
I was so much indulged in my infant years that I was never obliged to attend to anything, and consequently am without the accomplishments which are now necessary to finish a pretty woman.
Not that I am an advocate for the prevailing fashion of acquiring a perfect knowledge of all languages, arts, and sciences.
It is throwing time away to be mistress of French, Italian, and German: music, singing, and drawing, &c., will gain a woman some applause, but will not add one lover to her list — grace and manner, after all, are of the greatest importance.
I do not mean, therefore, that Frederica’s acquirements should be more than superficial, and I flatter myself that she will not remain long enough at school to understand anything thoroughly.
I hope to see her the wife of Sir James within a twelvemonth.
You know on what I ground my hope, and it is certainly a good foundation, for school must be very humiliating to a girl of Frederica’s age.
And, by-the-by, you had better not invite her any more on that account, as I wish her to find her situation as unpleasant as possible.
I am sure of Sir James at any time, and could make him renew his application by a line. I shall trouble you meanwhile to prevent his forming any other attachment when he comes to town.
Ask him to your house occasionally, and talk to him of Frederica, that he may not forget her.
Upon the whole, I commend my own conduct in this affair extremely, and regard it as a very happy instance of circumspection and tenderness. Some mothers would have insisted on their daughter’s accepting so good an offer on the first overture; but I could not reconcile it to myself to force Frederica into a marriage from which her heart revolted, and instead of adopting so harsh a measure merely propose to make it her own choice, by rendering her thoroughly uncomfortable till she does accept him — but enough of this tiresome girl.
You may well wonder how I contrive to pass my time here, and for the first week it was insufferably dull.
Now, however, we begin to mend, our party is enlarged by Mrs. Vernon’s brother, a handsome young man, who promises me some amusement.
There is something about him which rather interests me, a sort of sauciness and familiarity which I shall teach him to correct.
He is lively, and seems clever, and when I have inspired him with greater respect for me than his sister’s kind offices have implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt.
There is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, in making a person predetermined to dislike acknowledge one’s superiority.
I have disconcerted him already by my calm reserve, and it shall be my endeavour to humble the pride of these self important De Courcys still lower, to convince Mrs. Vernon that her sisterly cautions have been bestowed in vain, and to persuade Reginald that she has scandalously belied me.
This project will serve at least to amuse me, and prevent my feeling so acutely this dreadful separation from you and all whom I love.

Yours ever
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 8


MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY


Churchhill

My dear Mother,— You must not expect Reginald back again for some time. He desires me to tell you that the present open weather induces him to accept Mr. Vernon’s invitation to prolong his stay in Sussex, that they may have some hunting together.

He means to send for his horses immediately, and it is impossible to say when you may see him in Kent.
I will not disguise my sentiments on this change from you, my dear mother, though I think you had better not communicate them to my father, whose excessive anxiety about Reginald would subject him to an alarm which might seriously affect his health and spirits.
Lady Susan has certainly contrived, in the space of a fortnight, to make my brother like her.
In short, I am persuaded that his continuing here beyond the time originally fixed for his return is occasioned as much by a degree of fascination towards her, as by the wish of hunting with Mr. Vernon, and of course I cannot receive that pleasure from the length of his visit which my brother’s company would otherwise give me.
I am, indeed, provoked at the artifice of this unprincipled woman; what stronger proof of her dangerous abilities can be given than this perversion of Reginald’s judgment, which when he entered the house was so decidedly against her! In his last letter he actually gave me some particulars of her behaviour at Langford, such as he received from a gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which, if true, must raise abhorrence against her, and which Reginald himself was entirely disposed to credit. His opinion of her, I am sure, was as low as of any woman in England; and when he first came it was evident that he considered her as one entitled neither to delicacy nor respect, and that he felt she would be delighted with the attentions of any man inclined to flirt with her.
Her behaviour, I confess, has been calculated to do away with such an idea;
I have not detected the smallest impropriety in it — nothing of vanity, of pretension, of levity; and she is altogether so attractive that I should not wonder at his being delighted with her, had he known nothing of her previous to this personal acquaintance; but, against reason, against conviction, to be so well pleased with her, as I am sure he is, does really astonish me.
His admiration was at first very strong, but no more than was natural, and I did not wonder at his being much struck by the gentleness and delicacy of her manners; but when he has mentioned her of late it has been in terms of more extraordinary praise; and yesterday he actually said that he could not be surprised at any effect produced on the heart of man by such loveliness and such abilities; and when I lamented, in reply, the badness of her disposition, he observed that whatever might have been her errors they were to be imputed to her neglected education and early marriage, and that she was altogether a wonderful woman.
This tendency to excuse her conduct or to forget it, in the warmth of admiration, vexes me; and if I did not know that Reginald is too much at home at Churchhill to need an invitation for lengthening his visit, I should regret Mr. Vernon’s giving him any.
Lady Susan’s intentions are of course those of absolute coquetry, or a desire of universal admiration;
I cannot for a moment imagine that she has anything more serious in view; but it mortifies me to see a young man of Reginald’s sense duped by her at all.

I am, &c
CATHERINE VERNON



CHAPTER 9



MRS. JOHNSON TO LADY S. VERNON



Edward Street.

My dearest Friend,— I congratulate you on Mr. De Courcy’s arrival, and I advise you by all means to marry him; his father’s estate is, we know, considerable, and I believe certainly entailed.
Sir Reginald is very infirm, and not likely to stand in your way long.
I hear the young man well spoken of; and though no one can really deserve you, my dearest Susan, Mr. De Courcy may be worth having. Mainwaring will storm of course, but you easily pacify him; besides, the most scrupulous point of honour could not require you to wait for HIS emancipation.
I have seen Sir James; he came to town for a few days last week, and called several times in Edward Street.
I talked to him about you and your daughter, and he is so far from having forgotten you, that I am sure he would marry either of you with pleasure.
I gave him hopes of Frederica’s relenting, and told him a great deal of her improvements.
I scolded him for making love to Maria Mainwaring; he protested that he had been only in joke, and we both laughed heartily at her disappointment; and, in short, were very agreeable.
He is as silly as ever.

Yours faithfully,

ALICIA




CHAPTER 10

LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MRS. JOHNSON



Churchhill

I am much obliged to you, my dear Friend, for your advice respecting Mr. De Courcy, which I know was given with the full conviction of its expediency, though I am not quite determined on following it.
I cannot easily resolve on anything so serious as marriage; especially as I am not at present in want of money, and might perhaps, till the old gentleman’s death, be very little benefited by the match.
It is true that I am vain enough to believe it within my reach.
I have made him sensible of my power, and can now enjoy the pleasure of triumphing over a mind prepared to dislike me, and prejudiced against all my past actions.
His sister, too, is, I hope, convinced how little the ungenerous representations of anyone to the disadvantage of another will avail when opposed by the immediate influence of intellect and manner.
I see plainly that she is uneasy at my progress in the good opinion of her brother, and conclude that nothing will be wanting on her part to counteract me; but having once made him doubt the justice of her opinion of me, I think I may defy her.
It has been delightful to me to watch his advances towards intimacy, especially to observe his altered manner in consequence of my repressing by the cool dignity of my deportment his insolent approach to direct familiarity.
My conduct has been equally guarded from the first, and I never behaved less like a coquette in the whole course of my life, though perhaps my desire of dominion was never more decided.
I have subdued him entirely by sentiment and serious conversation, and made him, I may venture to say, at least half in love with me, without the semblance of the most commonplace flirtation.
Mrs. Vernon’s consciousness of deserving every sort of revenge that it can be in my power to inflict for her ill-offices could alone enable her to perceive that I am actuated by any design in behaviour so gentle and unpretending.
Let her think and act as she chooses, however.
I have never yet found that the advice of a sister could prevent a young man’s being in love if he chose.
We are advancing now to some kind of confidence, and in short are likely to be engaged in a sort of platonic friendship.
On my side you may be sure of its never being more, for if I were not attached to another person as much as I can be to anyone, I should make a point of not bestowing my affection on a man who had dared to think so meanly of me.
Reginald has a good figure and is not unworthy the praise you have heard given him, but is still greatly inferior to our friend at Langford.
He is less polished, less insinuating than Mainwaring, and is comparatively deficient in the power of saying those delightful things which put one in good humour with oneself and all the world.
He is quite agreeable enough, however, to afford me amusement, and to make many of those hours pass very pleasantly which would otherwise be spent in endeavouring to overcome my sister-in-law’s reserve, and listening to the insipid talk of her husband.
Your account of Sir James is most satisfactory, and I mean to give Miss Frederica a hint of my intentions very soon.

Yours, &c.,
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 11


MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY



Churchhill

I really grow quite uneasy, my dearest mother, about Reginald, from witnessing the very rapid increase of Lady Susan’s influence.
They are now on terms of the most particular friendship, frequently engaged in long conversations together; and she has contrived by the most artful coquetry to subdue his judgment to her own purposes.
It is impossible to see the intimacy between them so very soon established without some alarm, though I can hardly suppose that Lady Susan’s plans extend to marriage.
I wish you could get Reginald home again on any plausible pretence; he is not at all disposed to leave us, and I have given him as many hints of my father’s precarious state of health as common decency will allow me to do in my own house.
Her power over him must now be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all his former ill-opinion, and persuaded him not merely to forget but to justify her conduct.
Mr. Smith’s account of her proceedings at Langford, where he accused her of having made Mr. Mainwaring and a young man engaged to Miss Mainwaring distractedly in love with her, which Reginald firmly believed when he came here, is now, he is persuaded, only a scandalous invention.
He has told me so with a warmth of manner which spoke his regret at having believed the contrary himself.
How sincerely do I grieve that she ever entered this house! I always looked forward to her coming with uneasiness; but very far was it from originating in anxiety for Reginald.
I expected a most disagreeable companion for myself, but could not imagine that my brother would be in the smallest danger of being captivated by a woman with whose principles he was so well acquainted, and whose character he so heartily despised.
If you can get him away it will be a good thing.

Yours, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON

CHAPTER 12

SIR REGINALD DE COURCY TO HIS SON



Parklands

I know that young men in general do not admit of any enquiry even from their nearest relations into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my dear Reginald, that you will be superior to such as allow nothing for a father’s anxiety, and think themselves privileged to refuse him their confidence and slight his advice.
You must be sensible that as an only son, and the representative of an ancient family, your conduct in life is most interesting to your connections; and in the very important concern of marriage especially, there is everything at stake — your own happiness, that of your parents, and the credit of your name.
I do not suppose that you would deliberately form an absolute engagement of that nature without acquainting your mother and myself, or at least, without being convinced that we should approve of your choice; but I cannot help fearing that you may be drawn in, by the lady who has lately attached you, to a marriage which the whole of your family, far and near, must highly reprobate.
Lady Susan’s age is itself a material objection, but her want of character is one so much more serious, that the difference of even twelve years becomes in comparison of small amount.
Were you not blinded by a sort of fascination, it would be ridiculous in me to repeat the instances of great misconduct on her side so very generally known.

Her neglect of her husband, her encouragement of other men, her extravagance and dissipation, were so gross and notorious that no one could be ignorant of them at the time, nor can now have forgotten them.
To our family she has always been represented in softened colours by the benevolence of Mr. Charles Vernon, and yet, in spite of his generous endeavours to excuse her, we know that she did, from the most selfish motives, take all possible pains to prevent his marriage with Catherine.

My years and increasing infirmities make me very desirous of seeing you settled in the world.
To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my own will make me indifferent, but her family and character must be equally unexceptionable.
When your choice is fixed so that no objection can be made to it, then I can promise you a ready and cheerful consent; but it is my duty to oppose a match which deep art only could render possible, and must in the end make wretched.
It is possible her behaviour may arise only from vanity, or the wish of gaining the admiration of a man whom she must imagine to be particularly prejudiced against her; but it is more likely that she should aim at something further.
She is poor, and may naturally seek an alliance which must be advantageous to herself; you know your own rights, and that it is out of my power to prevent your inheriting the family estate.
My ability of distressing you during my life would be a species of revenge to which I could hardly stoop under any circumstances.

I honestly tell you my sentiments and intentions: I do not wish to work on your fears, but on your sense and affection.
It would destroy every comfort of my life to know that you were married to Lady Susan Vernon; it would be the death of that honest pride with which I have hitherto considered my son; I should blush to see him, to hear of him, to think of him.
I may perhaps do no good but that of relieving my own mind by this letter, but I felt it my duty to tell you that your partiality for Lady Susan is no secret to your friends, and to warn you against her.
I should be glad to hear your reasons for disbelieving Mr. Smith’s intelligence; you had no doubt of its authenticity a month ago.
If you can give me your assurance of having no design beyond enjoying the conversation of a clever woman for a short period, and of yielding admiration only to her beauty and abilities, without being blinded by them to her faults, you will restore me to happiness; but, if you cannot do this, explain to me, at least, what has occasioned so great an alteration in your opinion of her.

I am, &c., &c,

REGINALD DE COURCY



CHAPTER 13



LADY DE COURCY TO MRS. VERNON



Parklands.

My dear Catherine,— Unluckily I was confined to my room when your last letter came, by a cold which affected my eyes so much as to prevent my reading it myself, so I could not refuse your father when he offered to read it to me, by which means he became acquainted, to my great vexation, with all your fears about your brother.
I had intended to write to Reginald myself as soon as my eyes would let me, to point out, as well as I could, the danger of an intimate acquaintance, with so artful a woman as Lady Susan, to a young man of his age, and high expectations.
I meant, moreover, to have reminded him of our being quite alone now, and very much in need of him to keep up our spirits these long winter evenings.
Whether it would have done any good can never be settled now, but I am excessively vexed that Sir Reginald should know anything of a matter which we foresaw would make him so uneasy.
He caught all your fears the moment he had read your letter, and I am sure he has not had the business out of his head since.
He wrote by the same post to Reginald a long letter full of it all, and particularly asking an explanation of what he may have heard from Lady Susan to contradict the late shocking reports.
His answer came this morning, which I shall enclose to you, as I think you will like to see it.
I wish it was more satisfactory; but it seems written with such a determination to think well of Lady Susan, that his assurances as to marriage, &c., do not set my heart at ease.
I say all I can, however, to satisfy your father, and he is certainly less uneasy since Reginald’s letter.
How provoking it is, my dear Catherine, that this unwelcome guest of yours should not only prevent our meeting this Christmas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and trouble!
Kiss the dear children for me.

Your affectionate mother,

C. DE COURCY

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 14

MR. DE COURCY TO SIR REGINALD


Churchhill

My dear Sir,— I have this moment received your letter, which has given me more astonishment than I ever felt before.
I am to thank my sister, I suppose, for having represented me in such a light as to injure me in your opinion, and give you all this alarm.
I know not why she should choose to make herself and her family uneasy by apprehending an event which no one but herself, I can affirm, would ever have thought possible.
To impute such a design to Lady Susan would be taking from her every claim to that excellent understanding which her bitterest enemies have never denied her; and equally low must sink my pretensions to common sense if I am suspected of matrimonial views in my behaviour to her.
Our difference of age must be an insuperable objection, and I entreat you, my dear father, to quiet your mind, and no longer harbour a suspicion which cannot he more injurious to your own peace than to our understandings.
I can have no other view in remaining with Lady Susan, than to enjoy for a short time (as you have yourself expressed it) the conversation of a woman of high intellectual powers.
If Mrs. Vernon would allow something to my affection for herself and her husband in the length of my visit, she would do more justice to us all; but my sister is unhappily prejudiced beyond the hope of conviction against Lady Susan.
From an attachment to her husband, which in itself does honour to both, she cannot forgive the endeavours at preventing their union, which have been attributed to selfishness in Lady Susan; but in this case, as well as in many others, the world has most grossly injured that lady, by supposing the worst where the motives of her conduct have been doubtful.
Lady Susan had heard something so materially to the disadvantage of my sister as to persuade her that the happiness of Mr. Vernon, to whom she was always much attached, would be wholly destroyed by the marriage.
And this circumstance, while it explains the true motives of Lady Susan’s conduct, and removes all the blame which has been so lavished on her, may also convince us how little the general report of anyone ought to be credited; since no character, however upright, can escape the malevolence of slander.
If my sister, in the security of retirement, with as little opportunity as inclination to do evil, could not avoid censure, we must not rashly condemn those who, living in the world and surrounded with temptations, should be accused of errors which they are known to have the power of committing.

I blame myself severely for having so easily believed the slanderous tales invented by Charles Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am now convinced how greatly they have traduced her.
As to Mrs. Mainwaring’s jealousy it was totally his own invention, and his account of her attaching Miss Mainwaring’s lover was scarcely better founded.
Sir James Martin had been drawn in by that young lady to pay her some attention; and as he is a man of fortune, it was easy to see HER views extended to marriage.
It is well known that Miss M. is absolutely on the catch for a husband, and no one therefore can pity her for losing, by the superior attractions of another woman, the chance of being able to make a worthy man completely wretched.
Lady Susan was far from intending such a conquest, and on finding how warmly Miss Mainwaring resented her lover’s defection, determined, in spite of Mr. and Mrs. Mainwaring’s most urgent entreaties, to leave the family.
I have reason to imagine she did receive serious proposals from Sir James, but her removing to Langford immediately on the discovery of his attachment, must acquit her on that article with any mind of common candour.
You will, I am sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and will hereby learn to do justice to the character of a very injured woman.
I know that Lady Susan in coming to Churchhill was governed only by the most honourable and amiable intentions; her prudence and economy are exemplary, her regard for Mr. Vernon equal even to HIS deserts; and her wish of obtaining my sister’s good opinion merits a better return than it has received.
As a mother she is unexceptionable; her solid affection for her child is shown by placing her in hands where her education will be properly attended to; but because she has not the blind and weak partiality of most mothers, she is accused of wanting maternal tenderness.
Every person of sense, however, will know how to value and commend her well-directed affection, and will join me in wishing that Frederica Vernon may prove more worthy than she has yet done of her mother’s tender care.
I have now, my dear father, written my real sentiments of Lady Susan; you will know from this letter how highly I admire her abilities, and esteem her character; but if you are not equally convinced by my full and solemn assurance that your fears have been most idly created, you will deeply mortify and distress me.

I am, &c., &c.,



CHAPTER 15

MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY


Churchhill

My dear Mother,— I return you Reginald’s letter, and rejoice with all my heart that my father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my congratulations; but, between ourselves, I must own it has only convinced ME of my brother’s having no PRESENT intention of marrying Lady Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so three months hence.
He gives a very plausible account of her behaviour at Langford;
I wish it may be true, but his intelligence must come from herself, and I am less disposed to believe it than to lament the degree of intimacy subsisting, between them implied by the discussion of such a subject.
I am sorry to have incurred his displeasure, but can expect nothing better while he is so very eager in Lady Susan’s justification.
He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I hope I have not been hasty in my judgment of her.
Poor woman! though I have reasons enough for my dislike, I cannot help pitying her at present, as she is in real distress, and with too much cause.
She had this morning a letter from the lady with whom she has placed her daughter, to request that Miss Vernon might be immediately removed, as she had been detected in an attempt to run away.
Why, or whither she intended to go, does not appear; but, as her situation seems to have been unexceptionable, it is a sad thing, and of course highly distressing to Lady Susan.
Frederica must be as much as sixteen, and ought to know better; but from what her mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a perverse girl.
She has been sadly neglected, however, and her mother ought to remember it.
Mr. Vernon set off for London as soon as she had determined what should be done.
He is, if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let Frederica continue with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her to Churchhill for the present, till some other situation can be found for her.
Her ladyship is comforting herself meanwhile by strolling along the shrubbery with Reginald, calling forth all his tender feelings, I suppose, on this distressing occasion.
She has been talking a great deal about it to me.
She talks vastly well; I am afraid of being ungenerous, or I should say, TOO well to feel so very deeply; but I will not look for her faults; she may be Reginald’s wife!
Heaven forbid it! but why should I be quicker-sighted than anyone else? Mr. Vernon declares that he never saw deeper distress than hers, on the receipt of the letter; and is his judgment inferior to mine?
She was very unwilling that Frederica should be allowed to come to Churchhill, and justly enough, as it seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving very differently; but it was impossible to take her anywhere else, and she is not to remain here long. “
It will be absolutely necessary,” said she, “as you, my dear sister, must be sensible, to treat my daughter with some severity while she is here; a most painful necessity, but I will ENDEAVOUR to submit to it.
I am afraid I have often been too indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s temper could never bear opposition well:
you must support and encourage me; you must urge the necessity of reproof if you see me too lenient.”
All this sounds very reasonable.
Reginald is so incensed against the poor silly girl.
Surely it is not to Lady Susan’s credit that he should be so bitter against her daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s description.
Well, whatever may be his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we have done our utmost to save him. We must commit the event to a higher power.

Yours ever, &c.,



CHAPTER 16


LADY SUSAN TO MRS. JOHNSON


Churchhill

Never, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in my life as by a letter this morning from Miss Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been trying to run away.

I had not a notion of her being such a little devil before, she seemed to have all the Vernon milkiness; but on receiving the letter in which I declared my intention about Sir James, she actually attempted to elope; at least, I cannot otherwise account for her doing it.
She meant, I suppose, to go to the Clarkes in Staffordshire, for she has no other acquaintances.

But she shall be punished, she shall have him.

I have sent Charles to town to make matters up if he can, for I do not by any means want her here.

If Miss Summers will not keep her, you must find me out another school, unless we can get her married immediately.
Miss S. writes word that she could not get the young lady to assign any cause for her extraordinary conduct, which confirms me in my own previous explanation of it,
Frederica is too shy, I think, and too much in awe of me to tell tales, but if the mildness of her uncle should get anything out of her, I am not afraid.
I trust I shall be able to make my story as good as hers.
If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. Consideration and esteem as surely follow command of language as admiration waits on beauty, and here I have opportunity enough for the exercise of my talent, as the chief of my time is spent in conversation.

Reginald is never easy unless we are by ourselves, and when the weather is tolerable, we pace the shrubbery for hours together.
I like him on the whole very well; he is clever and has a good deal to say, but he is sometimes impertinent and troublesome.
There is a sort of ridiculous delicacy about him which requires the fullest explanation of whatever he may have heard to my disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he thinks he has ascertained the beginning and end of everything.
This is one sort of love, but I confess it does not particularly recommend itself to me. I infinitely prefer the tender and liberal spirit of Mainwaring, which, impressed with the deepest conviction of my merit, is satisfied that whatever I do must be right; and look with a degree of contempt on the inquisitive and doubtful fancies of that heart which seems always debating on the reasonableness of its emotions.
Mainwaring is indeed, beyond all compare, superior to Reginald — superior in everything but the power of being with me! Poor fellow! he is much distracted by jealousy, which I am not sorry for, as I know no better support of love.
He has been teazing me to allow of his coming into this country, and lodging somewhere near INCOG.; but I forbade everything of the kind.
Those women are inexcusable who forget what is due to themselves, and the opinion of the world.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 17



MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY



Churchhill

My dear Mother,— Mr. Vernon returned on Thursday night, bringing his niece with him.
Lady Susan had received a line from him by that day’s post, informing her that Miss Summers had absolutely refused to allow of Miss Vernon’s continuance in her academy; we were therefore prepared for her arrival, and expected them impatiently the whole evening.
They came while we were at tea, and I never saw any creature look so frightened as Frederica when she entered the room.
Lady Susan, who had been shedding tears before, and showing great agitation at the idea of the meeting, received her with perfect self-command, and without betraying the least tenderness of spirit.
She hardly spoke to her, and on Frederica’s bursting into tears as soon as we were seated, took her out of the room, and did not return for some time.
When she did, her eyes looked very red and she was as much agitated as before.
We saw no more of her daughter.
Poor Reginald was beyond measure concerned to see his fair friend in such distress, and watched her with so much tender solicitude, that I, who occasionally caught her observing his countenance with exultation, was quite out of patience.
This pathetic representation lasted the whole evening, and so ostentatious and artful a display has entirely convinced me that she did in fact feel nothing.
I am more angry with her than ever since I have seen her daughter; the poor girl looks so unhappy that my heart aches for her.
Lady Susan is surely too severe, for Frederica does not seem to have the sort of temper to make severity necessary.
She looks perfectly timid, dejected, and penitent. She is very pretty, though not so handsome as her mother, nor at all like her.
Her complexion is delicate, but neither so fair nor so blooming as Lady Susan’s, and she has quite the Vernon cast of countenance, the oval face and mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar sweetness in her look when she speaks either to her uncle or me, for as we behave kindly to her we have of course engaged her gratitude.

Her mother has insinuated that her temper is intractable, but I never saw a face less indicative of any evil disposition than hers; and from what I can see of the behaviour of each to the other, the invariable severity of Lady Susan and the silent dejection of Frederica, I am led to believe as heretofore that the former has no real love for her daughter, and has never done her justice or treated her affectionately.
I have not been able to have any conversation with my niece; she is shy, and I think I can see that some pains are taken to prevent her being much with me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her reason for running away.
Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too fearful of distressing her to ask many questions as they travelled.
I wish it had been possible for me to fetch her instead of him.
I think I should have discovered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile journey.
The small pianoforte has been removed within these few days, at Lady Susan’s request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica spends great part of the day there, practising as it is called; but I seldom hear any noise when I pass that way; what she does with herself there I do not know.
There are plenty of books, but it is not every girl who has been running wild the first fifteen years of her life, that can or will read.
Poor creature! the prospect from her window is not very instructive, for that room overlooks the lawn, you know, with the shrubbery on one side, where she may see her mother walking for an hour together in earnest conversation with Reginald.
A girl of Frederica’s age must be childish indeed, if such things do not strike her.
Is it not inexcusable to give such an example to a daughter?
Yet Reginald still thinks Lady Susan the best of mothers, and still condemns Frederica as a worthless girl!
He is convinced that her attempt to run away proceeded from no justifiable cause, and had no provocation.
I am sure I cannot say that it HAD, but while Miss Summers declares that Miss Vernon showed no signs of obstinacy or perverseness during her whole stay in Wigmore Street, till she was detected in this scheme, I cannot so readily credit what Lady Susan has made him, and wants to make me believe, that it was merely an impatience of restraint and a desire of escaping from the tuition of masters which brought on the plan of an elopement.
O Reginald, how is your judgment enslaved! He scarcely dares even allow her to be handsome, and when I speak of her beauty, replies only that her eyes have no brilliancy!
Sometimes he is sure she is deficient in understanding, and at others that her temper only is in fault.
In short, when a person is always to deceive, it is impossible to be consistent.
Lady Susan finds it necessary that Frederica should be to blame, and probably has sometimes judged it expedient to $2 ([فقط کاربران عضو می توانند لینک ها را ببینند .]$1) excuse her of ill-nature and sometimes to lament her want of sense. Reginald is only repeating after her ladyship.

I remain, &c., &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON



CHAPTER 18


FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME


Churchhill

My dear Mother,— I am very glad to find that my description of Frederica Vernon has interested you, for I do believe her truly deserving of your regard; and when I have communicated a notion which has recently struck me, your kind impressions in her favour will, I am sure, be heightened.

I cannot help fancying that she is growing partial to my brother.

I so very often see her eyes fixed on his face with a remarkable expression of pensive admiration.

He is certainly very handsome; and yet more, there is an openness in his manner that must be highly prepossessing, and I am sure she feels it so.

Thoughtful and pensive in general, her countenance always brightens into a smile when Reginald says anything amusing; and, let the subject be ever so serious that he may be conversing on, I am much mistaken if a syllable of his uttering escapes her.

I want to make him sensible of all this, for we know the power of gratitude on such a heart as his; and could Frederica’s artless affection detach him from her mother, we might bless the day which brought her to Churchhill.

I think, my dear mother, you would not disapprove of her as a daughter.
She is extremely young, to be sure, has had a wretched education, and a dreadful example of levity in her mother; but yet I can pronounce her disposition to be excellent, and her natural abilities very good.

Though totally without accomplishments, she is by no means so ignorant as one might expect to find her, being fond of books and spending the chief of her time in reading.

Her mother leaves her more to herself than she did, and I have her with me as much as possible, and have taken great pains to overcome her timidity.

We are very good friends, and though she never opens her lips before her mother, she talks enough when alone with me to make it clear that, if properly treated by Lady Susan, she would always appear to much greater advantage.

There cannot be a more gentle, affectionate heart; or more obliging manners, when acting without restraint; and her little cousins are all very fond of her.

Your affectionate daughter,

C. VERNON



CHAPTER 19


LADY SUSAN TO MRS. JOHNSON




Churchhill.

You will be eager, I know, to hear something further of Frederica, and perhaps may think me negligent for not writing before.
She arrived with her uncle last Thursday fortnight, when, of course, I lost no time in demanding the cause of her behaviour; and soon found myself to have been perfectly right in attributing it to my own letter.
The prospect of it frightened her so thoroughly, that, with a mixture of true girlish perverseness and folly, she resolved on getting out of the house and proceeding directly by the stage to her friends, the Clarkes; and had really got as far as the length of two streets in her journey when she was fortunately missed, pursued, and overtaken.
Such was the first distinguished exploit of Miss Frederica Vernon; and, if we consider that it was achieved at the tender age of sixteen, we shall have room for the most flattering prognostics of her future renown.
I am excessively provoked, however, at the parade of propriety which prevented Miss Summers from keeping the girl; and it seems so extraordinary a piece of nicety, considering my daughter’s family connections, that I can only suppose the lady to be governed by the fear of never getting her money.
Be that as it may, however, Frederica is returned on my hands; and, having nothing else to employ her, is busy in pursuing the plan of romance begun at Langford.
She is actually falling in love with Reginald De Courcy!
To disobey her mother by refusing an unexceptionable offer is not enough; her affections must also be given without her mother’s approbation.
I never saw a girl of her age bid fairer to be the sport of mankind.
Her feelings are tolerably acute, and she is so charmingly artless in their display as to afford the most reasonable hope of her being ridiculous, and despised by every man who sees her.

Artlessness will never do in love matters; and that girl is born a simpleton who has it either by nature or affectation.
I am not yet certain that Reginald sees what she is about, nor is it of much consequence.
She is now an object of indifference to him, and she would be one of contempt were he to understand her emotions.
Her beauty is much admired by the Vernons, but it has no effect on him.
She is in high favour with her aunt altogether, because she is so little like myself, of course.
She is exactly the companion for Mrs. Vernon, who dearly loves to be firm, and to have all the sense and all the wit of the conversation to herself:
Frederica will never eclipse her.
When she first came I was at some pains to prevent her seeing much of her aunt; but I have relaxed, as I believe I may depend on her observing the rules I have laid down for their discourse.
But do not imagine that with all this lenity I have for a moment given up my plan of her marriage.
No; I am unalterably fixed on this point, though I have not yet quite decided on the manner of bringing it about.
I should not chose to have the business brought on here, and canvassed by the wise heads of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now afford to go to town.
Miss Frederica must therefore wait a little.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 20

MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY


Churchhill

We have a very unexpected guest with us at present, my dear Mother: he arrived yesterday.

I heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting with my children while they dined; and supposing I should be wanted, left the nursery soon afterwards, and was half-way downstairs, when Frederica, as pale as ashes, came running up, and rushed by me into her own room.

I instantly followed, and asked her what was the matter. “Oh!” said she, “he is come — Sir James is come, and what shall I do?” This was no explanation;

I begged her to tell me what she meant.
At that moment we were interrupted by a knock at the door: it was Reginald, who came, by Lady Susan’s direction, to call Frederica down.
“It is Mr. De Courcy!” said she, colouring violently.
“Mamma has sent for me; I must go.”
We all three went down together; and I saw my brother examining the terrified face of Frederica with surprize.
In the breakfast-room we found Lady Susan, and a young man of gentlemanlike appearance, whom she introduced by the name of Sir James Martin — the very person, as you may remember, whom it was said she had been at pains to detach from Miss Mainwaring; but the conquest, it seems, was not designed for herself, or she has since transferred it to her daughter; for Sir James is now desperately in love with Frederica, and with full encouragement from mamma.
The poor girl, however, I am sure, dislikes him; and though his person and address are very well, he appears, both to Mr. Vernon and me, a very weak young man.
Frederica looked so shy, so confused, when we entered the room, that I felt for her exceedingly.
Lady Susan behaved with great attention to her visitor; and yet I thought I could perceive that she had no particular pleasure in seeing him.

Sir James talked a great deal, and made many civil excuses to me for the liberty he had taken in coming to Churchhill — mixing more frequent laughter with his discourse than the subject required — said many things over and over again, and told Lady Susan three times that he had seen Mrs. Johnson a few evenings before.
He now and then addressed Frederica, but more frequently her mother.
The poor girl sat all this time without opening her lips — her eyes cast down, and her colour varying every instant; while Reginald observed all that passed in perfect silence.
At length Lady Susan, weary, I believe, of her situation, proposed walking; and we left the two gentlemen together, to put on our pelisses.
As we went upstairs Lady Susan begged permission to attend me for a few moments in my dressing-room, as she was anxious to speak with me in private.
I led her thither accordingly, and as soon as the door was closed, she said: “I was never more surprized in my life than by Sir James’s arrival, and the suddenness of it requires some apology to you, my dear sister; though to ME, as a mother, it is highly flattering. He is so extremely attached to my daughter that he could not exist longer without seeing her.
Sir James is a young man of an amiable disposition and excellent character; a little too much of the rattle, perhaps, but a year or two will rectify THAT: and he is in other respects so very eligible a match for Frederica, that I have always observed his attachment with the greatest pleasure; and am persuaded that you and my brother will give the alliance your hearty approbation.
I have never before mentioned the likelihood of its taking place to anyone, because I thought that whilst Frederica continued at school it had better not be known to exist; but now, as I am convinced that Frederica is too old ever to submit to school confinement, and have, therefore, begun to consider her union with Sir James as not very distant, I had intended within a few days to acquaint yourself and Mr. Vernon with the whole business.
I am sure, my dear sister, you will excuse my remaining silent so long, and agree with me that such circumstances, while they continue from any cause in suspense, cannot be too cautiously concealed.
When you have the happiness of bestowing your sweet little Catherine, some years hence, on a man who in connection and character is alike unexceptionable, you will know what I feel now; though, thank Heaven, you cannot have all my reasons for rejoicing in such an event.
Catherine will be amply provided for, and not, like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate establishment for the comforts of life.”
She concluded by demanding my congratulations.
I gave them somewhat awkwardly, I believe; for, in fact, the sudden disclosure of so important a matter took from me the power of speaking with any clearness, She thanked me, however, most affectionately, for my kind concern in the welfare of herself and daughter; and then said: “I am not apt to deal in professions, my dear Mrs. Vernon, and I never had the convenient talent of affecting sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I trust you will believe me when I declare, that much as I had heard in your praise before I knew you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I now do; and I must further say that your friendship towards me is more particularly gratifying because I have reason to believe that some attempts were made to prejudice you against me.
I only wish that they, whoever they are, to whom I am indebted for such kind intentions, could see the terms on which we now are together, and understand the real affection we feel for each other; but I will not detain you any longer.
God bless you, for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue to you all your present happiness.”
What can one say of such a woman, my dear mother?
Such earnestness such solemnity of expression! and yet I cannot help suspecting the truth of everything she says.
As for Reginald, I believe he does not know what to make of the matter.
When Sir James came, he appeared all astonishment and perplexity; the folly of the young man and the confusion of Frederica entirely engrossed him; and though a little private discourse with Lady Susan has since had its effect, he is still hurt, I am sure, at her allowing of such a man’s attentions to her daughter.
Sir James invited himself with great composure to remain here a few days — hoped we would not think it odd, was aware of its being very impertinent, but he took the liberty of a relation; and concluded by wishing, with a laugh, that he might be really one very soon.
Even Lady Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this forwardness; in her heart I am persuaded she sincerely wished him gone.
But something must be done for this poor girl, if her feelings are such as both I and her uncle believe them to be. She must not be sacrificed to policy or ambition, and she must not be left to suffer from the dread of it.
The girl whose heart can distinguish Reginald De Courcy, deserves, however he may slight her, a better fate than to be Sir James Martin’s wife.
As soon as I can get her alone, I will discover the real truth; but she seems to wish to avoid me.
I hope this does not proceed from anything wrong, and that I shall not find out I have thought too well of her.
Her behaviour to Sir James certainly speaks the greatest consciousness and embarrassment, but I see nothing in it more like encouragement.
Adieu, my dear mother.

Yours, &c.,
C. VERNON

CHAPTER 21


MISS VERNON TO MR DE COURCY


Sir,— I hope you will excuse this liberty; I am forced upon it by the greatest distress, or I should be ashamed to trouble you.

I am very miserable about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in the world of helping myself but by writing to you, for I am forbidden even speaking to my uncle and aunt on the subject; and this being the case,
I am afraid my applying to you will appear no better than equivocation, and as if I attended to the letter and not the spirit of mamma’s commands.

But if you do not take my part and persuade her to break it off, I shall be half distracted, for I cannot bear him.
No human being but YOU could have any chance of prevailing with her.

If you will, therefore, have the unspeakably great kindness of taking my part with her, and persuading her to send Sir James away,
I shall be more obliged to you than it is possible for me to express.
I always disliked him from the first: it is not a sudden fancy, I assure you, sir;

I always thought him silly and impertinent and disagreeable, and now he is grown worse than ever.

I would rather work for my bread than marry him.

I do not know how to apologize enough for this letter; I know it is taking so great a liberty.

I am aware how dreadfully angry it will make mamma, but I remember the risk.

I am, Sir, your most humble servant

F. S. V

CHAPTER 22


LADY SUSAN TO MRS. JOHNSON



Churchhill.

This is insufferable! My dearest friend, I was never so enraged before, and must relieve myself by writing to you, who I know will enter into all my feelings.
Who should come on Tuesday but Sir James Martin! Guess my astonishment, and vexation —for, as you well know,
I never wished him to be seen at Churchhill. What a pity that you should not have known his intentions!
Not content with coming, he actually invited himself to remain here a few days.
I could have poisoned him! I made the best of it, however, and told my story with great success to Mrs. Vernon, who, whatever might be her real sentiments, said nothing in opposition to mine.
I made a point also of Frederica’s behaving civilly to Sir James, and gave her to understand that I was absolutely determined on her marrying him.
She said something of her misery, but that was all.
I have for some time been more particularly resolved on the match from seeing the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald, and from not feeling secure that a knowledge of such affection might not in the end awaken a return.
Contemptible as a regard founded only on compassion must make them both in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such might not be the consequence.
It is true that Reginald had not in any degree grown cool towards me; but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said something in praise of her person.
HE was all astonishment at the appearance of my visitor, and at first observed Sir James with an attention which I was pleased to see not unmixed with jealousy; but unluckily it was impossible for me really to torment him, as Sir James, though extremely gallant to me, very soon made the whole party understand that his heart was devoted to my daughter.
I had no great difficulty in convincing De Courcy, when we were alone, that I was perfectly justified, all things considered, in desiring the match; and the whole business seemed most comfortably arranged.
They could none of them help perceiving that Sir James was no Solomon; but I had positively forbidden Frederica complaining to Charles Vernon or his wife, and they had therefore no pretence for interference; though my impertinent sister, I believe, wanted only opportunity for doing so.
Everything, however, was going on calmly and quietly; and, though I counted the hours of Sir James’s stay, my mind was entirely satisfied with the posture of affairs. Guess, then, what I must feel at the sudden disturbance of all my schemes; and that, too, from a quarter where I had least reason to expect it.
Reginald came this morning into my dressing-room with a very unusual solemnity of countenance, and after some preface informed me in so many words that he wished to reason with me on the impropriety and unkindness of allowing Sir James Martin to address my daughter contrary to her inclinations.
I was all amazement.
When I found that he was not to be laughed out of his design, I calmly begged an explanation, and desired to know by what he was impelled, and by whom commissioned, to reprimand me.
He then told me, mixing in his speech a few insolent compliments and ill-timed expressions of tenderness, to which I listened with perfect indifference, that my daughter had acquainted him with some circumstances concerning herself, Sir James, and me which had given him great uneasiness.
In short, I found that she had in the first place actually written to him to request his interference, and that, on receiving her letter, he had conversed with her on the subject of it, in order to understand the particulars, and to assure himself of her real wishes.
I have not a doubt but that the girl took this opportunity of making downright love to him.
I am convinced of it by the manner in which he spoke of her.
Much good may such love do him! I shall ever despise the man who can be gratified by the passion which he never wished to inspire, nor solicited the avowal of.
I shall always detest them both. He can have no true regard for me, or he would not have listened to her; and SHE, with her little rebellious heart and indelicate feelings, to throw herself into the protection of a young man with whom she has scarcely ever exchanged two words before!
I am equally confounded at HER impudence and HIS credulity.
How dared he believe what she told him in my disfavour!
Ought he not to have felt assured that I must have unanswerable motives for all that I had done? Where was his reliance on my sense and goodness then? Where the resentment which true love would have dictated against the person defaming me — that person, too, a chit, a child, without talent or education, whom he had been always taught to despise?
I was calm for some time; but the greatest degree of forbearance may be overcome, and I hope I was afterwards sufficiently keen. He endeavoured, long endeavoured, to soften my resentment; but that woman is a fool indeed who, while insulted by accusation, can be worked on by compliments. At length he left me, as deeply provoked as myself; and he showed his anger more.
I was quite cool, but he gave way to the most violent indignation;
I may therefore expect it will the sooner subside, and perhaps his may be vanished for ever, while mine will be found still fresh and implacable.
He is now shut up in his apartment, whither I heard him go on leaving mine.
How unpleasant, one would think, must be his reflections! but some people’s feelings are incomprehensible.
I have not yet tranquillised myself enough to see Frederica.
SHE shall not soon forget the occurrences of this day; she shall find that she has poured forth her tender tale of love in vain, and exposed herself for ever to the contempt of the whole world, and the severest resentment of her injured mother.
Your affectionate
S. VERNON

[v.a.y]

CHAPTER 23


MRS. VERNON TO LADY DE COURCY



Churchhill.

Let me congratulate you, my dearest Mother!
The affair which has given us so much anxiety is drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect is most delightful, and since matters have now taken so favourable a turn, I am quite sorry that I ever imparted my apprehensions to you; for the pleasure of learning that the danger is over is perhaps dearly purchased by all that you have previously suffered.
I am so much agitated by delight that I can scarcely hold a pen; but am determined to send you a few short lines by James, that you may have some explanation of what must so greatly astonish you, as that Reginald should be returning to Parklands.
I was sitting about half an hour ago with Sir James in the breakfast parlour, when my brother called me out of the room.
I instantly saw that something was the matter; his complexion was raised, and he spoke with great emotion; you know his eager manner, my dear mother, when his mind is interested.
“Catherine,” said he, “I am going home to-day; I am sorry to leave you, but I must go: it is a great while since I have seen my father and mother.
I am going to send James forward with my hunters immediately; if you have any letter, therefore, he can take it.
I shall not be at home myself till Wednesday or Thursday, as I shall go through London, where I have business; but before I leave you,” he continued, speaking in a lower tone, and with still greater energy, “
I must warn you of one thing — do not let Frederica Vernon be made unhappy by that Martin. He wants to marry her; her mother promotes the match, but she cannot endure the idea of it.
Be assured that I speak from the fullest conviction of the truth of what I say; I Know that Frederica is made wretched by Sir James’s continuing here.
She is a sweet girl, and deserves a better fate. Send him away immediately; he is only a fool: but what her mother can mean, Heaven only knows! Good bye,” he added, shaking my hand with earnestness; “
I do not know when you will see me again; but remember what I tell you of Frederica; you MUST make it your business to see justice done her.
She is an amiable girl, and has a very superior mind to what we have given her credit for.”
He then left me, and ran upstairs.
I would not try to stop him, for I know what his feelings must be.
The nature of mine, as I listened to him, I need not attempt to describe; for a minute or two I remained in the same spot, overpowered by wonder of a most agreeable sort indeed; yet it required some consideration to be tranquilly happy.
In about ten minutes after my return to the parlour Lady Susan entered the room.
I concluded, of course, that she and Reginald had been quarrelling; and looked with anxious curiosity for a confirmation of my belief in her face.
Mistress of deceit, however, she appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after chatting on indifferent subjects for a short time, said to me, “I find from Wilson that we are going to lose Mr. De Courcy — is it true that he leaves Churchhill this morning?”
I replied that it was.

“He told us nothing of all this last night,” said she, laughing, “or even this morning at breakfast; but perhaps he did not know it himself.
Young men are often hasty in their resolutions, and not more sudden in forming than unsteady in keeping them.
I should not be surprised if he were to change his mind at last, and not go.”
She soon afterwards left the room.
I trust, however, my dear mother, that we have no reason to fear an alteration of his present plan; things have gone too far.
They must have quarrelled, and about Frederica, too.
Her calmness astonishes me.
What delight will be yours in seeing him again; in seeing him still worthy your esteem, still capable of forming your happiness!
When I next write I shall be able to tell you that Sir James is gone, Lady Susan vanquished, and Frederica at peace.
We have much to do, but it shall be done.
I am all impatience to hear how this astonishing change was effected.
I finish as I began, with the warmest congratulations.

Yours ever, &c.,

CATH. VERNON




CHAPTER 24


FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME



Churchhill.

Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter, that the delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo so speedy, so melancholy a reverse.
I never can sufficiently regret that I wrote to you at all.
Yet who could have foreseen what has happened?
My dear mother, every hope which made me so happy only two hours ago has vanished.
The quarrel between Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and we are all as we were before.
One point only is gained.
Sir James Martin is dismissed.
What are we now to look forward to?
I am indeed disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered and all but brought to the door; who would not have felt safe?
For half an hour I was in momentary expectation of his departure.
After I had sent off my letter to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over the whole matter, and then determined to look for Frederica, whom I had not seen since breakfast.
I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was crying.
“My dear aunt,” said she, “he is going — Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault. I am afraid you will be very angry with me. but indeed I had no idea it would end so.” “My love,” I replied, “do not think it necessary to apologize to me on that account.
I shall feel myself under an obligation to anyone who is the means of sending my brother home, because,” recollecting myself, “I know my father wants very much to see him. But what is it you have done to occasion all this?
” She blushed deeply as she answered:
“I was so unhappy about Sir James that I could not help — I have done something very wrong, I know; but you have not an idea of the misery I have been in: and mamma had ordered me never to speak to you or my uncle about it, and —” “You therefore spoke to my brother to engage his interference,” said I, to save her the explanation.
“No, but I wrote to him — I did indeed, I got up this morning before it was light, and was two hours about it; and when my letter was done I thought I never should have courage to give it.
After breakfast however, as I was going to my room, I met him in the passage, and then, as I knew that everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to give it. He was so good as to take it immediately.
I dared not look at him, and ran away directly.
I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe.
My dear aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been.”
“Frederica” said I, “you ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found in me a friend always ready to assist you.
Do you think that your uncle or I should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?” “Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness,” said she, colouring again, “but I thought Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I was mistaken: they have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is going away.
Mamma will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than ever.”
“No, you shall not,” I replied; “in such a point as this your mother’s prohibition ought not to have prevented your speaking to me on the subject.
She has no right to make you unhappy, and she shall NOT do it.
Your applying, however, to Reginald can be productive only of good to all parties.
I believe it is best as it is. Depend upon it that you shall not be made unhappy any longer.”
At that moment how great was my astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan’s dressing-room.
My heart misgave me instantly.
His confusion at seeing me was very evident.
Frederica immediately disappeared.
“Are you going?” I said; “you will find Mr. Vernon in his own room.”
“No, Catherine,” he replied, “I am not going.
Will you let me speak to you a moment?” We went into my room.
“I find,” he continued, his confusion increasing as he spoke, “that I have been acting with my usual foolish impetuosity.
I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the point of leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct.
There has been some very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I fancy.
Frederica does not know her mother.
Lady Susan means nothing but her good, but she will not make a friend of her.
Lady Susan does not always know, therefore, what will make her daughter happy. Besides, I could have no right to interfere.
Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying to me.
In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but it is now all happily settled.
Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you about it, if you are at leisure.”
“Certainly,” I replied, deeply sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however, for words would have been vain.

Reginald was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious, indeed, to hear her account of it.
“Did I not tell you,” said she with a smile, “that your brother would not leave us after all?” “You did, indeed,” replied I very gravely; “but I flattered myself you would be mistaken.”
“I should not have hazarded such an opinion,” returned she, “if it had not at that moment occurred to me that his resolution of going might be occasioned by a conversation in which we had been this morning engaged, and which had ended very much to his dissatisfaction, from our not rightly understanding each other’s meaning. This idea struck me at the moment, and I instantly determined that an accidental dispute, in which I might probably be as much to blame as himself, should not deprive you of your brother.
If you remember, I left the room almost immediately.
I was resolved to lose no time in clearing up those mistakes as far as I could. The case was this — Frederica had set herself violently against marrying Sir James.”
“And can your ladyship wonder that she should?” cried I with some warmth; “Frederica has an excellent understanding, and Sir James has none.”
“I am at least very far from regretting it, my dear sister,” said she; “on the contrary, I am grateful for so favourable a sign of my daughter’s sense.
Sir James is certainly below par (his boyish manners make him appear worse); and had Frederica possessed the penetration and the abilities which I could have wished in my daughter, or had I even known her to possess as much as she does, I should not have been anxious for the match.”
“It is odd that you should alone be ignorant of your daughter’s sense!” “Frederica never does justice to herself; her manners are shy and childish, and besides she is afraid of me.
During her poor father’s life she was a spoilt child; the severity which it has since been necessary for me to show has alienated her affection; neither has she any of that brilliancy of intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which will force itself forward.”
“Say rather that she has been unfortunate in her education!”
“Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am aware of that; but I would wish to forget every circumstance that might throw blame on the memory of one whose name is sacred with me.
” Here she pretended to cry; I was out of patience with her.
“But what,” said I, “was your ladyship going to tell me about your disagreement with my brother?”
“It originated in an action of my daughter’s, which equally marks her want of judgment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been mentioning — she wrote to Mr. De Courcy.”
“I know she did; you had forbidden her speaking to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her distress; what could she do, therefore, but apply to my brother?”
“Good God!” she exclaimed, “what an opinion you must have of me! Can you possibly suppose that I was aware of her unhappiness! that it was my object to make my own child miserable, and that I had forbidden her speaking to you on the subject from a fear of your interrupting the diabolical scheme?
Do you think me destitute of every honest, every natural feeling?
Am I capable of consigning HER to everlasting: misery whose welfare it is my first earthly duty to promote? The idea is horrible!”
“What, then, was your intention when you insisted on her silence?”
“Of what use, my dear sister, could be any application to you, however the affair might stand?
Why should I subject you to entreaties which I refused to attend to myself?
Neither for your sake nor for hers, nor for my own, could such a thing be desirable. When my own resolution was taken I could nor wish for the interference, however friendly, of another person.
I was mistaken, it is true, but I believed myself right.”
“But what was this mistake to which your ladyship so often alludes! from whence arose so astonishing a misconception of your daughter’s feelings!
Did you not know that she disliked Sir James?”
“I knew that he was not absolutely the man she would have chosen, but I was persuaded that her objections to him did not arise from any perception of his deficiency.
You must not question me, however, my dear sister, too minutely on this point,” continued she, taking me affectionately by the hand; “I honestly own that there is something to conceal.
Frederica makes me very unhappy!
Her applying to Mr. De Courcy hurt me particularly.”
“What is it you mean to infer,” said I, “by this appearance of mystery?
If you think your daughter at all attached to Reginald, her objecting to Sir James could not less deserve to be attended to than if the cause of her objecting had been a consciousness of his folly; and why should your ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with my brother for an interference which, you must know, it is not in his nature to refuse when urged in such a manner?”

“His disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with me; his compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in distress!
We misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame than I really was;
I considered his interference less excusable than I now find it.
I have a real regard for him, and was beyond expression mortified to find it, as I thought, so ill bestowed We were both warm, and of course both to blame.
His resolution of leaving Churchhill is consistent with his general eagerness.
When I understood his intention, however, and at the same time began to think that we had been perhaps equally mistaken in each other’s meaning, I resolved to have an explanation before it was too late.
For any member of your family I must always feel a degree of affection, and I own it would have sensibly hurt me if my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy had ended so gloomily.
I have now only to say further, that as I am convinced of Frederica’s having a reasonable dislike to Sir James, I shall instantly inform him that he must give up all hope of her.
I reproach myself for having even, though innocently, made her unhappy on that score.
She shall have all the retribution in my power to make; if she value her own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and command herself as she ought, she may now be easy.
Excuse me, my dearest sister, for thus trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character; and after this explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your opinion.”
I could have said, “Not much, indeed!” but I left her almost in silence.
It was the greatest stretch of forbearance I could practise.
I could not have stopped myself had I begun.
Her assurance! her deceit! but I will not allow myself to dwell on them; they will strike you sufficiently.
My heart sickens within me.
As soon as I was tolerably composed I returned to the parlour. Sir James’s carriage was at the door, and he, merry as usual, soon afterwards took his leave.
How easily does her ladyship encourage or dismiss a lover! In spite of this release, Frederica still looks unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of her mother’s anger; and though dreading my brother’s departure, jealous, it may be, of his staying.
I see how closely she observes him and Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope for her. There is not a chance of her affection being returned.
He thinks very differently of her from what he used to do; he does her some justice, but his reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer hope.
Prepare, my dear mother, for the worst!
The probability of their marrying is surely heightened!
He is more securely hers than ever.
When that wretched event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly to us.
I am thankful that my last letter will precede this by so little, as every moment that you can be saved from feeling a joy which leads only to disappointment is of consequence.

Yours ever, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON