Wife in Name Only by Charlotte Mary Brame (top 10 motivational books .txt) π
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- Author: Charlotte Mary Brame
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pride and delight in his daughter were so great. Lord Arleigh said a few words in response to this splendid reception--and he was not ashamed of His own inability to finish what he had intended to say.
There had never been such a home-coming within one's memory The old house was filled with guests, all the _Γ©lite_ of the county were there. There was a grand dinner, followed by a grand ball, and there was feasting for the tenantry--everything that could be thought of for the amusement of the vast crowd.
On that evening, while the festivities were at their height, Lord Arleigh and his lovely young wife stole away from their guests and went up to the picture-gallery. The broad, silvery moonbeams fell on the spot where they had once endured such cruel anguish. The fire seemed to have paled in the rubies round the white neck of Titian's gorgeous beauty. Lord Arleigh clasped his wife in his arms, and then he placed her at some little distance from himself, where the silvery moonlight fell on the fair, lovely profile, on the golden head, on the superb dress of rich white silk and on the gleaming diamonds.
"My darling," he said, "you are thousand times lovelier than even Titian's beauty here! Do you remember all we suffered in this spot?'
"I can never forget it," she replied.
"But you must forget it--it is for that I have brought you hither. This is the pleasantest nook in our house, and I want you to have pleasant associations with it. Where we suffered hear me say----" He paused.
"What is it?" she asked, quietly.
He threw his arms round her, and drew her to his breast.
"Hear me say this, my darling--that I love you with all my heart; that I will so love you, truthfully and faithfully, until death; and that I thank Heaven for the sweetest and best of all blessings, the gift of a good, pure, and loving wife."
Chapter XL.
Philippa, Duchess of Hazlewood, was sitting in the superb drawing-room at Vere Court. It was some time since she had left town, but she had brought some portion of the gay world back with her. The court was filled with visitors, and nothing was thought of but brilliant festivities and amusement. The duchess was queen of all gayety; the time that had passed had simply added to her beauty--she was now one of the handsomest women in society.
It was a warm day, the last day in June, and Vere Court had never seemed so brilliant. The lovely young duchess had withdrawn for a short time from her guests. Most of them had gone out riding or driving. There was to be a grand ball that evening and her Grace of Hazlewood did not wish to fatigue herself before it came off. As for driving or riding in the hot sun simply because the day was fine and the country fair, she did not believe in it. She had retired to her drawing-room; a soft couch, had been placed near one of the open windows, and the breeze that came in was heavy with perfume. On the stand by her side lay a richly-jeweled fan, a bottle of sweet scent, a bouquet of heliotrope--her favorite flower--and one or two books which she had selected to read. She lay, with her dark, queenly head on the soft cushion of crimson velvet in an attitude that would have charmed a painter. But the duchess was not wasting the light of her dark eyes over a book. She had closed them, as a flower closes its leaves in the heat of the sun. As she lay there, beautiful, languid, graceful, the picture she formed was a marvelous rich study of color. So thought the duke, who, unheard by her, had entered the room.
Everything had prospered with his grace. He had always been extremely wealthy, but his wealth had been increased in a sudden and unexpected fashion. On one of his estates in the north a vein of coal had been discovered, which was one of the richest in England. The proceeds of it added wonderfully to his income, and promised to add still more. No luxury was wanting; the duchess had all that her heart, even in its wildest caprices, could desire. The duke loved her with as keen and passionate a love as ever. He had refused to go out this morning, because she had not gone; and now he stood watching her with something like adoration in his face--the beautiful woman, in her flowing draperies of amber and white. He went up to her and touched her brow lightly with his lips.
"Are you asleep, my darling?" he asked.
"No," she replied, opening her eyes.
"I have something to read to you--something wonderful."
She roused herself.
"Your geese are generally swans, Vere. What is the wonder?"
"Listen, Philippa;" and, as the duke scanned the newspaper in his hands, he sang the first few lines of his favorite song:
"'Queen Philippa sat in her bower alone.'
"Ah, here it is!" he broke off. "I am sure you will say that this is wonderful. It explains all that I could not understand--and, for Arleigh's sake, I am glad, though what you will say to it, I cannot think."
And, sitting down by her side, he read to her the newspaper account of the Arleigh romance.
He read it without interruption, and the queenly woman listening to him knew that her revenge had failed, and that, instead of punishing the man who had slighted her love, she had given him one of the sweetest, noblest and wealthiest girls in England. She knew that her vengeance had failed--that she had simply crowned Lord Arleigh's life with the love of a devoted wife.
When the duke looked up from his paper to see what was the effect of his news, he saw that the duchess had quietly fainted away, and lay with the pallor of death on her face. He believed that the heat was the cause, and never suspected his wife's share in the story.
She recovered after a few minutes. She did not know whether she was more glad or sorry at what she had heard. She had said once before of herself that she was not strong enough to be thoroughly wicked--and she was right.
* * * * *
A year had elapsed, and Lord Arleigh and his wife were in town for the season, and were, as a matter of course, the objects of much curiosity. He was sitting one evening in the drawing-room of his town-house, when one of the servants told him that a lady wished to see him. He inquired her name and was told that she declined to give it. He ordered her to be shown into the room where he was, and presently there entered a tall stately lady, whose face was closely vailed; but the imperial figure, the stately grace were quite familiar to him.
"Philippa!" he cried, in astonishment.
Then she raised her vail, and once again he saw the grandly-beautiful face of the woman who had loved him with such passionate love.
"Philippa!" he repeated.
"Yes," said the duchess, calmly. "And do you know why I am here?"
"I cannot even guess," he replied.
"I am here to implore your pardon," she announced, with deep humility--"to tell you that neither by night nor by day, since I planned and carried out my revenge, have I known peace. I shall neither live nor die in peace unless you forgive me, Norman."
She bent her beautiful, haughty head before him--her eyes were full of tears.
"You will forgive me, Norman?" she said in her low, rich voice. "Remember that it was love for you which bereft me of my reason and drove me mad--love for you. You should pardon me."
Leaving her standing there, Lord Arleigh drew aside the velvet hangings and disappeared. In a few moments he returned leading his wife by the hand.
"Philippa," he said, gravely, "tell my wits your errand; hear what she says. We will abide by her decision."
At first the duchess drew back with a haughty gesture.
"It was you I came to see," she said to Lord Arleigh; and then the sweet face touched her and her better self prevailed.
"Madaline," she said, quietly, "you have suffered much through me--will you pardon me?"
The next moment Lady Arleigh's arms were clasped round her neck, and the pure sweet lips touched her own.
"It was because you loved him," she whispered, "and I forgive you."
* * * * *
The Duke of Hazlewood did not understand the quarrel between his wife and Lord Arleigh, nor did he quite understand the reconciliation; still he is very pleased that they are reconciled, for he likes Lord Arleigh better than any friend he has ever had. He fancies, too, that his beautiful wife always seems kinder to him when she has been spending some little time with Lady Arleigh.
In the gallery at Verdun Royal there is a charming picture called "The Little Lovers." The figures in it are those of a dark-haired, handsome boy of three whose hand is filled with cherries, and a lovely little girl, with hair like sunshine and a face like a rosebud, who is accepting the rich ripe fruit. Those who understand smile as they look at this painting, for the dark-haired boy is the son and heir of the Duke of Hazlewood, and the fair-faced girl is Lord Arleigh's daughter.
The Earl of Mountdean and his wife, _neΓ©_ Lady Lily Gordon, once went to see that picture, and, as they stood smiling before it, he said:
"It may indicate what lies in the future. Let us hope it does for the greatest gift of Heaven is the love of a good and pure-minded wife."
Imprint
There had never been such a home-coming within one's memory The old house was filled with guests, all the _Γ©lite_ of the county were there. There was a grand dinner, followed by a grand ball, and there was feasting for the tenantry--everything that could be thought of for the amusement of the vast crowd.
On that evening, while the festivities were at their height, Lord Arleigh and his lovely young wife stole away from their guests and went up to the picture-gallery. The broad, silvery moonbeams fell on the spot where they had once endured such cruel anguish. The fire seemed to have paled in the rubies round the white neck of Titian's gorgeous beauty. Lord Arleigh clasped his wife in his arms, and then he placed her at some little distance from himself, where the silvery moonlight fell on the fair, lovely profile, on the golden head, on the superb dress of rich white silk and on the gleaming diamonds.
"My darling," he said, "you are thousand times lovelier than even Titian's beauty here! Do you remember all we suffered in this spot?'
"I can never forget it," she replied.
"But you must forget it--it is for that I have brought you hither. This is the pleasantest nook in our house, and I want you to have pleasant associations with it. Where we suffered hear me say----" He paused.
"What is it?" she asked, quietly.
He threw his arms round her, and drew her to his breast.
"Hear me say this, my darling--that I love you with all my heart; that I will so love you, truthfully and faithfully, until death; and that I thank Heaven for the sweetest and best of all blessings, the gift of a good, pure, and loving wife."
Chapter XL.
Philippa, Duchess of Hazlewood, was sitting in the superb drawing-room at Vere Court. It was some time since she had left town, but she had brought some portion of the gay world back with her. The court was filled with visitors, and nothing was thought of but brilliant festivities and amusement. The duchess was queen of all gayety; the time that had passed had simply added to her beauty--she was now one of the handsomest women in society.
It was a warm day, the last day in June, and Vere Court had never seemed so brilliant. The lovely young duchess had withdrawn for a short time from her guests. Most of them had gone out riding or driving. There was to be a grand ball that evening and her Grace of Hazlewood did not wish to fatigue herself before it came off. As for driving or riding in the hot sun simply because the day was fine and the country fair, she did not believe in it. She had retired to her drawing-room; a soft couch, had been placed near one of the open windows, and the breeze that came in was heavy with perfume. On the stand by her side lay a richly-jeweled fan, a bottle of sweet scent, a bouquet of heliotrope--her favorite flower--and one or two books which she had selected to read. She lay, with her dark, queenly head on the soft cushion of crimson velvet in an attitude that would have charmed a painter. But the duchess was not wasting the light of her dark eyes over a book. She had closed them, as a flower closes its leaves in the heat of the sun. As she lay there, beautiful, languid, graceful, the picture she formed was a marvelous rich study of color. So thought the duke, who, unheard by her, had entered the room.
Everything had prospered with his grace. He had always been extremely wealthy, but his wealth had been increased in a sudden and unexpected fashion. On one of his estates in the north a vein of coal had been discovered, which was one of the richest in England. The proceeds of it added wonderfully to his income, and promised to add still more. No luxury was wanting; the duchess had all that her heart, even in its wildest caprices, could desire. The duke loved her with as keen and passionate a love as ever. He had refused to go out this morning, because she had not gone; and now he stood watching her with something like adoration in his face--the beautiful woman, in her flowing draperies of amber and white. He went up to her and touched her brow lightly with his lips.
"Are you asleep, my darling?" he asked.
"No," she replied, opening her eyes.
"I have something to read to you--something wonderful."
She roused herself.
"Your geese are generally swans, Vere. What is the wonder?"
"Listen, Philippa;" and, as the duke scanned the newspaper in his hands, he sang the first few lines of his favorite song:
"'Queen Philippa sat in her bower alone.'
"Ah, here it is!" he broke off. "I am sure you will say that this is wonderful. It explains all that I could not understand--and, for Arleigh's sake, I am glad, though what you will say to it, I cannot think."
And, sitting down by her side, he read to her the newspaper account of the Arleigh romance.
He read it without interruption, and the queenly woman listening to him knew that her revenge had failed, and that, instead of punishing the man who had slighted her love, she had given him one of the sweetest, noblest and wealthiest girls in England. She knew that her vengeance had failed--that she had simply crowned Lord Arleigh's life with the love of a devoted wife.
When the duke looked up from his paper to see what was the effect of his news, he saw that the duchess had quietly fainted away, and lay with the pallor of death on her face. He believed that the heat was the cause, and never suspected his wife's share in the story.
She recovered after a few minutes. She did not know whether she was more glad or sorry at what she had heard. She had said once before of herself that she was not strong enough to be thoroughly wicked--and she was right.
* * * * *
A year had elapsed, and Lord Arleigh and his wife were in town for the season, and were, as a matter of course, the objects of much curiosity. He was sitting one evening in the drawing-room of his town-house, when one of the servants told him that a lady wished to see him. He inquired her name and was told that she declined to give it. He ordered her to be shown into the room where he was, and presently there entered a tall stately lady, whose face was closely vailed; but the imperial figure, the stately grace were quite familiar to him.
"Philippa!" he cried, in astonishment.
Then she raised her vail, and once again he saw the grandly-beautiful face of the woman who had loved him with such passionate love.
"Philippa!" he repeated.
"Yes," said the duchess, calmly. "And do you know why I am here?"
"I cannot even guess," he replied.
"I am here to implore your pardon," she announced, with deep humility--"to tell you that neither by night nor by day, since I planned and carried out my revenge, have I known peace. I shall neither live nor die in peace unless you forgive me, Norman."
She bent her beautiful, haughty head before him--her eyes were full of tears.
"You will forgive me, Norman?" she said in her low, rich voice. "Remember that it was love for you which bereft me of my reason and drove me mad--love for you. You should pardon me."
Leaving her standing there, Lord Arleigh drew aside the velvet hangings and disappeared. In a few moments he returned leading his wife by the hand.
"Philippa," he said, gravely, "tell my wits your errand; hear what she says. We will abide by her decision."
At first the duchess drew back with a haughty gesture.
"It was you I came to see," she said to Lord Arleigh; and then the sweet face touched her and her better self prevailed.
"Madaline," she said, quietly, "you have suffered much through me--will you pardon me?"
The next moment Lady Arleigh's arms were clasped round her neck, and the pure sweet lips touched her own.
"It was because you loved him," she whispered, "and I forgive you."
* * * * *
The Duke of Hazlewood did not understand the quarrel between his wife and Lord Arleigh, nor did he quite understand the reconciliation; still he is very pleased that they are reconciled, for he likes Lord Arleigh better than any friend he has ever had. He fancies, too, that his beautiful wife always seems kinder to him when she has been spending some little time with Lady Arleigh.
In the gallery at Verdun Royal there is a charming picture called "The Little Lovers." The figures in it are those of a dark-haired, handsome boy of three whose hand is filled with cherries, and a lovely little girl, with hair like sunshine and a face like a rosebud, who is accepting the rich ripe fruit. Those who understand smile as they look at this painting, for the dark-haired boy is the son and heir of the Duke of Hazlewood, and the fair-faced girl is Lord Arleigh's daughter.
The Earl of Mountdean and his wife, _neΓ©_ Lady Lily Gordon, once went to see that picture, and, as they stood smiling before it, he said:
"It may indicate what lies in the future. Let us hope it does for the greatest gift of Heaven is the love of a good and pure-minded wife."
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Publication Date: 09-17-2010
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