The Young Duke

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With the wife leaning on his arm, the young Duke had the pleasure of
reading the following lines, written with the pencil of the husband:--

'After what has just occurred, only one more meeting can take place
between us, and the sooner that takes place the better for all parties.
This is no time for etiquette. I shall be in Kensington Gardens, in the
grove on the right side of the summer-house, at half-past six to-morrow
morning, and shall doubtless find you there.'

Sir Lucius was not out of sight when the Duke had finished reading his
cartel. Making some confused excuse to Lady Afy, which was not expected,
he ran after the Baronet, and soon reached him.

'Grafton, I shall be punctual: but there is one point on which I wish to
speak to you at once. The cause of this meeting may be kept, I hope, a
secret?'

'So far as I am concerned, an inviolable one,' bowed the Baronet,
stiffly; and they parted.

The Duke returned satisfied, for Sir Lucius Grafton ever observed his
word, to say nothing of the great interest which he surely had this time
in maintaining his pledge.

Our hero thought that he never should reach London. The journey seemed
a day; and the effort to amuse Lady Afy, and to prevent her from
suspecting, by his conduct, that anything had occurred, was most
painful. Silent, however, he at last became; but her mind, too, was
engaged, and she supposed that her admirer was quiet only because, like
herself, he was happy. At length they reached her house, but he excused
himself from entering, and drove on immediately to Annesley. He was at
Lady Bloomerly's. Lord Darrell had not returned, and his servant did not
expect him. Lord Squib was never to be found.

The Duke put on a great coat over his uniform and drove to White's; it
was really a wilderness. Never had he seen fewer men there in his life,
and there were none of his set. The only young-looking man was old
Colonel Carlisle, who, with his skilfully enamelled cheek, flowing
auburn locks, shining teeth, and tinted whiskers, might have been
mistaken for gay twenty-seven, instead of grey seventy-two; but the
Colonel had the gout, to say nothing of any other objections.

The Duke took up the 'Courier' and read three or four advertisements
of quack medicines, but nobody entered. It was nearly midnight: he
got nervous. Somebody came in; Lord Hounslow for his rubber. Even his
favoured child, Bagshot, would be better than nobody. The Duke protested
that the next acquaintance who entered should be his second, old or
young. His vow had scarcely been registered when Arundel Dacre came in
alone. He was the last man to whom the Duke wished to address himself,
but Fate seemed to have decided it, and the Duke walked up to him.

'Mr. Dacre, I am about to ask of you a favour to which I have no claim.'

Mr. Dacre looked a little confused, and murmured his willingness to do
anything.

'To be explicit, I am engaged in an affair of honour of an urgent
nature. Will you be my friend?'

'Willingly.' He spoke with more ease. 'May I ask the name of the other
party, the--the cause of the meeting?'

'The other party is Sir Lucius Grafton.'

'Hum!' said Arundel Dacre, as if he were no longer curious about the
cause. 'When do you meet?'

'At half-past six, in Kensington Gardens, to-morrow; I believe I should
say this morning.'

'Your Grace must be wearied,' said Arundel, with unusual ease and
animation. 'Now, follow my advice. Go home at once and get some rest.
Give yourself no trouble about preparations; leave everything to me.
I will call upon you at half-past five precisely, with a chaise and
post-horses, which will divert suspicion. Now, good night!'

'But really, your rest must be considered; and then all this trouble!'

'Oh! I have been in the habit of sitting up all night. Do not think of
me; nor am I quite inexperienced in these matters, in too many of which
I have unfortunately been engaged in Germany.'

The young men shook hands, and the Duke hastened home. Fortunately the
Bird of Paradise was at her own establishment in Baker Street, a bureau
where her secretary, in her behalf, transacted business with the various
courts of Europe and the numerous cities of Great Britain. Here many a
negotiation was carried on for opera engagements at Vienna, or Paris,
or Berlin, or St. Petersburg. Here many a diplomatic correspondence
conducted the fate of the musical festivals of York, or Norwich, or
Exeter.

CHAPTER XII.

An Affair of Honour.

LET us return to Sir Lucius Grafton. He is as mad as any man must be
who feels that the imprudence of a moment has dashed the ground all the
plans, and all the hopes, and all the great results, over which he had
so often pondered. The great day from which he had expected so much had
passed, nor was it possible for four-and-twenty hours more completely
to have reversed all his feelings and all his prospects. Miss Dacre had
shared the innocent but unusual and excessive gaiety which had properly
become a scene of festivity at once so agreeable, so various, and so
novel. Sir Lucius Grafton had not been insensible to the excitement. On
the contrary his impetuous passions seemed to recall the former and
more fervent days of his career, and his voluptuous mind dangerously
sympathised with the beautiful and luxurious scene. He was elated, too,
with the thought that his freedom would perhaps be sealed this evening,
and still more by his almost constant attendance on his fascinating
companion. As the particular friend of the Dacre family, and as the
secret ally of Mrs. Dallington Vere, he in some manner contrived always
to be at Miss Dacre's side. With the laughing but insidious pretence
that he was now almost too grave and staid a personage for such scenes,
he conversed with few others, and humourously maintaining that his
'dancing days were over,' danced with none but her. Even when her
attention was engaged by a third person, he lingered about, and with
his consummate knowledge of the world, easy wit, and constant resources,
generally succeeded in not only sliding into the conversation, but
engrossing it. Arundel Dacre, too, although that young gentleman had not
departed from his usual coldness in favour of Sir Lucius Grafton, the
Baronet would most provokingly consider as his particular friend; never
seemed to be conscious that his reserved companion was most punctilious
in his address to him; but on the contrary, called him in return
'Dacre,' and sometimes 'Arundel.' In vain young Dacre struggled to
maintain his position. His manner was no match for that of Sir Lucius
Grafton. Annoyed with himself, he felt confused, and often quitted his
cousin that he might be free of his friend. Thus Sir Lucius Grafton
contrived never to permit Miss Dacre to be alone with Arundel, and to
her he was so courteous, so agreeable, and so useful, that his absence
seemed always a blank, or a period in which something ever went wrong.

The triumphant day rolled on, and each moment Sir Lucius felt more
sanguine and more excited. We will not dwell upon the advancing
confidence of his desperate mind. Hope expanded into certainty,
certainty burst into impatience. In a desperate moment he breathed his
passion.

May Dacre was the last girl to feel at a loss in such a situation. No
one would have rung him out of a saloon with an air of more contemptuous
majesty. But the shock, the solitary strangeness of the scene, the
fear, for the first time, that none were near, and perhaps, also, her
exhausted energy, frightened her, and she shrieked. One only had heard
that shriek, yet that one was legion. Sooner might the whole world know
the worst than this person suspect the least. Sir Lucius was left silent
with rage, mad with passion, desperate with hate.

He gasped for breath. Now his brow burnt, now the cold dew ran off his
countenance in streams. He clenched his fist, he stamped with agony, he
found at length his voice, and he blasphemed to the unconscious woods.

His quick brain flew to the results like lightning. The Duke had escaped
from his mesh; his madness had done more to win this boy Miss Dacre's
heart than an age of courtship. He had lost the idol of his passion; he
was fixed for ever with the creature of his hate. He loathed the idea.
He tottered into the hermitage, and buried his face in his hands.

Something must be done. Some monstrous act of energy must repair this
fatal blunder. He appealed to the mind which had never deserted him. The
oracle was mute. Yet vengeance might even slightly redeem the bitterness
of despair. This fellow should die; and his girl, for already he hated
Miss Dacre, should not triumph in her minion. He tore a leaf from his
tablets, and wrote the lines we have already read.

The young Duke reached home. You expect, of course, that he sat up all
night making his will and answering letters. By no means. The first
object that caught his eye was an enormous ottoman. He threw himself
upon it without undressing, and without speaking a word to Luigi, and
in a moment was fast asleep. He was fairly exhausted. Luigi stared, and
called Spiridion to consult. They agreed that they dare not go to bed,
and must not leave their lord; so they played ecarte, till at last they
quarrelled and fought with the candles over the table. But even this did
not wake their unreasonable master; so Spiridion threw down a few chairs
by accident; but all in vain. At half-past five there was a knocking at
the gate, and they hurried away.

Arundel Dacre entered with them, woke the Duke, and praised him for his
punctuality. His Grace thought that he had only dozed a few minutes; but
time pressed; five minutes arranged his toilet, and they were first on
the field.

In a moment Sir Lucius and Mr. Piggott appeared. Arundel Dacre, on the
way, had anxiously enquired as to the probability of reconciliation, but
was told at once it was impossible, so now he measured the ground and
loaded the pistols with a calmness which was admirable. They fired at
once; the Duke in the air, and the Baronet in his friend's side. When
Sir Lucius saw his Grace fall his hate vanished. He ran up with real
anxiety and unfeigned anguish.

'Have I hit you? by h-ll!'

His Grace was magnanimous, but the case was urgent. A surgeon gave a
favourable report, and extracted the ball on the spot. The Duke was
carried back to his chaise, and in an hour was in the state bed, not of
the Alhambra, but of his neglected mansion.

Arundel Dacre retired when he had seen his friend home, but gave urgent
commands that he should be kept quiet. No sooner was the second out
of sight than the principal ordered the room to be cleared, with the
exception of Spiridion, and then, rising in his bed, wrote this note,
which the page was secretly to deliver.

'----House, ----, 182-.

'Dear Miss Dacre,

'A very unimportant but somewhat disagreeable incident has occurred.
I have been obliged to meet Sir Lucius Grafton, and our meeting has
fortunately terminated without any serious consequences. Yet I wish that
you should hear of this first from me, lest you might imagine that I had
not redeemed my pledge of last night, and that I had placed for a moment
my own feelings in competition with yours. This is not the case, and
never shall be, dear Miss Dacre, with one whose greatest pride is to
subscribe himself

'Your most obedient and faithful servant,

'St. James.'

CHAPTER XIII.

_A Mind Distraught_

THE world talked of nothing but the duel between the Duke of St. James
and Sir Lucius Grafton.

It was a thunderbolt; and the phenomenon was accounted for by every
cause but the right one. Yet even those who most confidently solved the
riddle were the most eagerly employed in investigating its true meaning.
The seconds were of course applied to. Arundel Dacre was proverbially
unpumpable; but Peacock Piggott, whose communicative temper was an
adage, how came he on a sudden so diplomatic? Not a syllable oozed from
a mouth which was ever open; not a hint from a countenance which never
could conceal its mind. He was not even mysterious, but really looked
just as astonished and was just as curious as themselves. Fine times
these for 'The Universe' and 'The New World!' All came out about Lady
Afy; and they made up for their long and previous ignorance, or, as they
now boldly blustered, their long and considerate forbearance. Sheets
given away gratis, edition on Saturday night for the country, and
woodcuts of the Pavilion fete: the when, the how, and the wherefore.
A. The summer-house, and Lady Aphrodite meeting the young Duke. B.
The hedge behind which Sir Lucius Grafton was concealed. C. Kensington
Gardens, and a cloudy morning; and so on. Cruikshank did wonders.

But let us endeavour to ascertain the feelings of the principal agents
in this odd affair. Sir Lucius now was cool, and, the mischief being
done, took a calm review of the late mad hours. As was his custom, he
began to enquire whether any good could be elicited from all this
evil. He owed his late adversary sundry moneys, which he had never
contemplated the possibility of repaying to the person who had eloped
with his wife. Had he shot his creditor the account would equally have
been cleared; and this consideration, although it did not prompt, had
not dissuaded, the late desperate deed. As it was, he now appeared still
to enjoy the possession both of his wife and his debts, and had lost
his friend. Bad generalship, Sir Lucy! Reconciliation was out of the
question. The Duke's position was a good one. Strongly entrenched with a
flesh wound, he had all the sympathy of society on his side; and, after
having been confined for a few weeks, he could go to Paris for a few
months, and then return, as if the Graftons had never crossed his eye,
rid of a troublesome mistress and a troublesome friend. His position was
certainly a good one; but Sir Lucius was astute, and he determined to
turn this Shumla of his Grace. The quarrel must have been about her
Ladyship. Who could assign any other cause for it? And the Duke must now
be weak with loss of blood and anxiety, and totally unable to resist
any appeal, particularly a personal one, to his feelings. He determined,
therefore, to drive Lady Afy into his Grace's arms. If he could only get
her into the house for an hour, the business would be settled.

These cunning plans were, however, nearly being crossed by a very simple
incident. Annoyed at finding that her feelings could be consulted only
by sacrificing those of another woman, Miss Dacre, quite confident that,
as Lady Aphrodite was innocent in the present instance, she must be
immaculate, told everything to her father, and, stifling her tears,
begged him to make all public; but Mr. Dacre, after due consideration,
enjoined silence.

In the meantime the young Duke was not in so calm a mood as Sir Lucius.
Rapidly the late extraordinary events dashed through his mind, and
already those feelings which had prompted his soliloquy in the garden
were no longer his. All forms, all images, all ideas, all memory, melted
into Miss Dacre. He felt that he loved her with a perfect love: that she
was to him what no other woman had been, even in the factitious delirium
of early passion. A thought of her seemed to bring an entirely novel
train of feelings, impressions, wishes, hopes. The world with her must
be a totally different system, and his existence in her society a new
and another life. Her very purity refined the passion which raged even
in his exhausted mind. Gleams of virtue, morning streaks of duty, broke
upon the horizon of his hitherto clouded soul; an obscure suspicion
of the utter worthlessness of his life whispered in his hollow ear;
he darkly felt that happiness was too philosophical a system to be the
result or the reward of impulse, however unbounded, and that principle
alone could create and could support that bliss which is our being's end
and aim.

But when he turned to himself, he viewed his situation with horror,
and yielded almost to despair. What, what could she think of the impure
libertine who dared to adore her? If ever time could bleach his own soul
and conciliate hers, what, what was to become of Aphrodite? Was his new
career to commence by a new crime? Was he to desert this creature of his
affections, and break a heart which beat only for him? It seemed that
the only compensation he could offer for a life which had achieved
no good would be to establish the felicity of the only being whose
happiness seemed in his power. Yet what a prospect! If before he had
trembled, now----

But his harrowed mind and exhausted body no longer allowed him even
anxiety. Weak, yet excited, his senses fled; and when Arundel Dacre
returned in the evening he found his friend delirious. He sat by his bed
for hours. Suddenly the Duke speaks. Arundel Dacre rises: he leans over
the sufferer's couch.

Ah! why turns the face of the listener so pale, and why gleam those eyes
with terrible fire? The perspiration courses down his clear but sallow
cheek: he throws his dark and clustering curls aside, and passes his
hand over his damp brow, as if to ask whether he, too, had lost his
senses from this fray.

The Duke is agitated. He waves his arm in the air, and calls out in a
tone of defiance and of hate. His voice sinks: it seems that he breathes
a milder language, and speaks to some softer being. There is no sound,
save the long-drawn breath of one on whose countenance is stamped
infinite amazement. Arundel Dacre walks the room disturbed; often he
pauses, plunged in deep thought. 'Tis an hour past midnight, and he
quits the bedside of the young Duke.

He pauses at the threshold, and seems to respire even the noisome air
of the metropolis as if it were Eden. As he proceeds down Hill Street he
stops, and gazes for a moment on the opposite house. What passes in
his mind we know not. Perhaps he is reminded that in that mansion dwell
beauty, wealth, and influence, and that all might be his. Perhaps love
prompts that gaze, perhaps ambition. Is it passion, or is it power? or
does one struggle with the other?

As he gazes the door opens, but without servants; and a man, deeply
shrouded in his cloak, comes out. It was night, and the individual
was disguised; but there are eyes which can pierce at all seasons and
through all concealments, and Arundel Dacre marked with astonishment Sir
Lucius Grafton.

CHAPTER XIV.

_Reconciliation_

WHEN it was understood that the Duke of St. James had been delirious,
public feeling reached what is called its height; that is to say, the
curiosity and the ignorance of the world were about equal. Everybody was
indignant, not so much because the young Duke had been shot, but because
they did not know why. If the sympathy of the women could have consoled
him, our hero might have been reconciled to his fate. Among these, no
one appeared more anxious as to the result, and more ignorant as to
the cause, than Mrs. Dallington Vere. Arundel Dacre called on her the
morning ensuing his midnight observation, but understood that she had
not seen Sir Lucius Grafton, who, they said, had quitted London, which
she thought probable. Nevertheless Arundel thought proper to walk down
Hill Street at the same hour, and, if not at the same minute, yet in due
course of time, he discovered the absent man.

In two or three days the young Duke was declared out of immediate
danger, though his attendants must say he remained exceedingly restless,
and by no means in a satisfactory state; yet, with their aid, they had
a right to hope the best. At any rate, if he were to go off, his friends
would have the satisfaction of remembering that all had been done
that could be; so saying, Dr. X. took his fee, and Surgeons Y. and Z.
prevented his conduct from being singular.

Now began the operations on the Grafton side. A letter from Lady
Aphrodite full of distraction. She was fairly mystified. What could
have induced Lucy suddenly to act so, puzzled her, as well it might. Her
despair, and yet her confidence in his Grace, seemed equally great. Some
talk there was of going off to Cleve at once. Her husband, on the whole,
maintained a rigid silence and studied coolness. Yet he had talked of
Vienna and Florence, and even murmured something about public disgrace
and public ridicule. In short, the poor lady was fairly worn out, and
wished to terminate her harassing career at once by cutting the Gordian
knot. In a word, she proposed coming on to her admirer and, as she
supposed, her victim, and having the satisfaction of giving him his
cooling draughts and arranging his bandages.

If the meeting between the young Duke and Sir Lucius Grafton had been
occasioned by any other cause than the real one, it is difficult to say
what might have been the fate of this proposition. Our own opinion is,
that this work would have been only in one volume; for the requisite
morality would have made out the present one; but, as it was, the
image of Miss Dacre hovered above our hero as his guardian genius. He
despaired of ever obtaining her; but yet he determined not wilfully to
crush all hope. Some great effort must be made to right his position.
Lady Aphrodite must not be deserted: the very thought increased his
fever. He wrote, to gain time; but another billet, in immediate answer,
only painted increased terrors, and described the growing urgency of her
persecuted situation. He was driven into a corner, but even a stag at
bay is awful: what, then, must be a young Duke, the most noble animal in
existence?

Ill as he was, he wrote these lines, not to Lady Aphrodite, but to her
husband:--

'My Dear Grafton,

'You will be surprised at hearing from me. Is it necessary for me to
assure you that my interference on a late occasion was accidental? And
can you, for a moment, maintain that, under the circumstances, I could
have acted in a different manner? I regret the whole business; but most
I regret that we were placed in collision.

'I am ready to cast all memory of it into oblivion; and, as I
unintentionally offended, I indulge the hope that, in this conduct, you
will bear me company.

'Surely, men like us are not to be dissuaded from following our
inclinations by any fear of the opinion of the world. The whole affair
is, at present, a mystery; and I think, with our united fancies,
some explanation may be hit upon which will render the mystery quite
impenetrable, while it professes to offer a satisfactory solution.

'I do not know whether this letter expresses my meaning, for my mind is
somewhat agitated and my head not very clear; but, if you be inclined
to understand it in the right spirit, it is sufficiently lucid. At any
rate, my dear Grafton, I have once more the pleasure of subscribing
myself, faithfully yours,

'St. James.'

This letter was marked 'Immediate,' consigned to the custody of Luigi,
with positive orders to deliver it personally to Sir Lucius; and, if not
at home, to follow till he found him.

He was not at home, and he was found at----'s Clubhouse. Sullen,
dissatisfied with himself, doubtful as to the result of his fresh
manouvres, and brooding over his infernal debts, Sir Lucius had stepped
into----, and passed the whole morning playing desperately with Lord
Hounslow and Baron de Berghem. Never had he experienced such a smashing
morning. He had long far exceeded his resources, and was proceeding with
a vague idea that he should find money somehow or other, when this note
was put into his hand, as it seemed to him by Providence. The signature
of Semiramis could not have imparted more exquisite delight to a
collector of autographs. Were his long views, his complicated objects,
and doubtful results to be put in competition a moment with so decided,
so simple, and so certain a benefit? certainly not, by a gamester. He
rose from the table, and with strange elation wrote these lines:--

'My Dearest Friend,

'You forgive me, but can I forgive myself? I am plunged in overwhelming
grief. Shall I come on? Your mad but devoted friend,

'Lucius Grafton.

'The Duke of St. James.'

They met the same day. After a long consultation, it was settled that
Peacock Piggott should be entrusted, in confidence, with the secret
of the affair: merely a drunken squabble, 'growing out' of the Bird of
Paradise. Wine, jealousy, an artful woman, and headstrong youth will
account for anything; they accounted for the present affair. The story
was believed, because the world were always puzzled at Lady Aphrodite
being the cause. The Baronet proceeded with promptitude to make the
version pass current: he indicted 'The Universe' and 'The New World;'
he prosecuted the caricaturists; and was seen everywhere with his wife.
'The Universe' and 'The New World' revenged themselves on the Signora;
and then she indicted them. They could not now even libel an opera
singer with impunity; where was the boasted liberty of the press?

In the meantime the young Duke, once more easy in his mind, wonderfully
recovered; and on the eighth day after the Ball of Beauty he returned to
the Pavilion, which had now resumed its usual calm character, for fresh
air and soothing quiet.

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