"She will do for old Leslie's nephew, perhaps," observed her ladyship, listlessly. "Kerrison says they have got him into Dundonald's ship."
A short silence ensued, and Lady Wetheral quitted the room, unshackled by any definite promise upon the subject of Sir Foster Kerrison. Sir John sank again into tranquil employments, satisfied that his sentiments were made known, and that henceforth, when the bustle of the double marriage should subside, the tide of gaiety would ebb, and Wetheral Castle become a scene of calm and domestic cheerfulness. Then all this communication with Ripley must terminate, and Clara would not be subjected to the constant society of Sir Foster Kerrison. This happy vision lulled Sir John Wetheral into present security, and his mind dismissed the subject from its consideration.
Nothing could exceed Isabel's delight at the daily party which met in the splendid dinner-room at Wetheral. Nothing could be more delightful to her imagination than the scene which presented itself to her view each day after the fatigues and annoyance of a long morning passed in her husband's dressing-room. When the six o'clock bell rang in the assembled guests, and warned them to their toilette, Isabel emerged from her labours, and, with the wild delight of a girl emancipated from a boarding-school, she flew to her room and prepared for the exquisite amusement of the evening. It is true, she was constrained to enter the drawing-room leaning discreetly upon her husband's arm, and his tall figure hovering round her chair, checked for a time the exuberance of her spirits, by his close and anxious watchfulness; but her eyes feasted upon the countenance and dress of those around her. Compared with Brierly, this alone was happiness. She looked beamingly upon her sisters, and complacently at the gentlemen, who were so soon to carry them from her sight. She never tired of watching Miss Wycherly, and her beau, Charles Spottiswoode; the former delighting her with the oddity of her remarks, and the latter full of agreeable entertainment.
Wholly wrapt up in the bustle of the scene, Isabel forgot the plodding disquietude of the morning, and utter oblivion closed over the studies which Mr. Boscawen vainly hoped would reach her taste and improve her mind: her soul was dedicated only to simple subjects, and the warm-hearted Isabel acknowledged no desire beyond the delight of seeing happy faces and hearing kind remarks. Life to her was a blank, if it brought other sounds than affectionate greetings, or produced other objects than smiling, well-dressed individuals.
During dinner, Isabel's eyes feasted silently upon her friends; but when the ladies rose to quit the dinner-room, and her spirit became disenthralled by the door closing upon Mr. Boscawen, then did her speech burst its enclosure, and revel in unrestrained freedom. The day preceding the nuptial morning Isabel was in very high spirits, almost as unsubdued as in the days of her singlehood: even Mr. Boscawen could scarcely repel the vivacity of her remarks, though he stood tall and grim before her, his dark eyes fixed upon her face, and his strongly marked eyebrows lowering at the rapid remarks which passed her lips. Gaieté de cœur played in her eyes that evening, in spite of her silent, stern-looking attendant; and, when the ladies withdrew, Isabel caught Miss Wycherly's arm in their progress to the drawing-room.
"Oh, my dear Miss Wycherly, now I've got away from Mr. Boscawen, I have so much to say, and I must say it all before he leaves the dining-room, you know! Well, how beautiful Lady Ennismore looks, and what a lovely ornament in her hair! I wish Mr. Boscawen would let me wear ornaments! I have been teasing him to allow me to wear a feather to-morrow-morning, but he replies in some unaccountable language, which I suppose means 'no.' I want to ask the girls if they are frightened about to-morrow: I was not a bit alarmed. If I had known, though, how little I was to be mistress of Brierly, I would not have married."
Isabel flew to her sisters, on reaching the drawing-room, without waiting any reply from Miss Wycherly.
"Now, I want to know if either of you feel frightened. I only laughed, if you remember. Lady Ennismore, won't Julia be very happy?"
"I trust so," replied her ladyship, smiling, and obligingly pressing Julia's hand between her's. "My daughter will repose on flowers, if a wish of mine has power to confer such a destiny."