Wetheral Castle was now the scene of considerable bustle and gaiety. Lady Wetheral was destined, apparently, to succeed in every wish of her heart, for she had arranged and contrived to execute her plan of marrying both daughters on the same day. The Boscawens were invited to attend their nuptials; and Lady Ennismore, Mrs. Pynsent, and Lady Wetheral, united in wishing the day to be an early one. Lady Ennismore spoke in terms of elegant compliment, and expressed her maternal anxiety to see her son happily settled ere she retired to her seat in Lincolnshire; but Mrs. Pynsent did not attempt to press flowers of eloquence into her oratory.
"Here, let's have no dawdling, but let Tom get married; what's the use of kicking our heels here doing nothing? I'm for setting smartly to work, and naming a day. Come, this day three weeks I'll say, and Tom will back me."
Lady Wetheral saw every thing could safely be left to Mrs. Pynsent's care, as far as the time was concerned; she, therefore, gave her attention to ornamental attire, and complimented Mrs. Pynsent by placing the day at her disposal. Mrs. Pynsent decided at once.
"Well then, I say this day three weeks, and no putting off."
From that hour, all was movement and consultation: Lady Ennismore and her son returned to Bedinfield to prepare for the bride's reception, and they were to reappear at Wetheral the week of the nuptials. Every body was to be congregated at Wetheral on the Monday preceding the ceremony, but the Boscawens were to spend a fortnight there, as Isabel would enjoy the sight of bridal finery.
Lady Wetheral received Isabel with all the honours due to her position in society. Anna Maria and Julia's future exaltation must place them beyond Isabel in pomp and circumstance; but still Mrs. Boscawen held a decided station, and she was mistress of Brierly. Mrs. Boscawen was therefore received at Wetheral with much ceremony and polite welcome. Isabel, however, returned to her early home a changed being: the light-hearted girl who had quitted Wetheral scarcely a twelvemonth, in smiles and joyous anticipations, returned a matron in appearance, grave and subdued in manner, and apparently frightened into stillness by her husband's stern observation. She was no longer the sprightly, happy, madcap Isabel Wetheral; her laugh had fled, and even the smiles which used to pass in rapid succession over her bright face, stole now upon her lips slow and seldom. Her mother complimented Isabel upon the change so rapid and so complete.
"I am never weary admiring you, my dear Mrs. Boscawen; and I little imagined my romping daughter would be so soon transferred into an elegant, quiet matron. Your manners are quite perfect, my love."
A placid smile curled the lip of Isabel at this compliment.
"I am very quiet now, I believe; Mr. Boscawen dislikes laughing."
"It is not an accomplishment," said Lady Wetheral; "every common creature can laugh. I believe the loudest laughter is considered the pleasantest person among the commonality. I detest a laugher."