She foresaw, too, that a London life would necessarily throw her and her husband more apart; for, little as she saw of him in the country, yet still in the course of the day she was certain of being in his society and of hearing his voice, although seldom now addressed in conversation to herself. In town, it would be easier for him to avoid her, and she much feared he would take advantage of the opportunities offered.
And Emmeline was right in her conjectures. Under pretence of business, and attendance at the House of Commons, he was so constantly from home, that they rarely met. Their hours, too, were different; breakfast was no longer a certain moment for meeting; for, as it would now have obliged them to a daily tête-à-tête, it was brought to them in their separate apartments. During the morning, therefore, it was only by accident that they were ever together. Fitzhenry rarely dined at home, except when there was company; and, of course, living so much apart, Emmeline did not even know what his evening engagements were; and often they met by chance, for the first time, during forty-eight hours, in some distant place of amusement. If then he chanced to give her a look of kind recognition, poor Emmeline went home with her spirits raised, resolving to improve the advantage she fancied she had gained; but again, forty-eight hours passed in the same manner, and, perhaps, if then again they accidentally met, he would scarcely notice her.
Thus deserted, she saw she must submit to endeavour to make to herself an independent existence; but it was a vain attempt when every thought, every feeling was with him. Lady Saville had offered herself as Emmeline’s chaperon, on her first entry into the world of London society, and she could not have had a better companion; for Lady Saville had just feeling enough to enable her to perform all her social duties without a shadow of blame, and even in her own set to obtain the character of being remarkably goodnatured;—but she had none of those refined sentiments, which could lead her to read and detect the emotions of Emmeline’s heart. Pre-occupation of mind, variation of spirits and complexion, on a look or word; all such symptoms of a stricken heart she attributed to mere physical causes; sometimes rallying Emmeline on her vapeurs, but generally too much amused and occupied herself to doubt her companion being equally so. Had that companion’s heart been gay and free as it was but a few months back, what attractions the world, into which she was now, for the first time, introduced, might have had for her!
Emmeline’s beauty had much improved since her marriage, and even by her loss of happiness; for, in the place of the mere expression of youthful joy and good-humour, was a look of sentiment, almost of languor, over her whole countenance and person, that added inexpressibly to its charm, and gave additional effect to her own peculiarly bright smile, when it was sometimes for a moment recalled.
As Fitzhenry’s wife, she first attracted attention; and, with pleasing manners, rank, riches, youth, and beauty at once to recommend her, she was soon sought for, admired, and courted; and had she been willing to take advantage of the universal cry in her favour, Emmeline might, with little or no trouble on her part, have been raised to that envied distinction, obtained no one knows how, or why, of being the fashion. For the world is so capricious and wayward in its preferences, that it often greets beings like Lady Fitzhenry (from circumstances regardless of its favour) with those winning, gracious smiles, which it perversely withholds from others most indefatigable in their efforts to obtain them. Witness the anxious and fatiguing labours of so many candidates for its patronage, their eternal struggles to grasp at what constantly escapes them, if for a moment they pause to take breath, or relax the little hold they have secured.
When individuals are blamed for either too much or too little love of the world, the different welcome it bestows seems little considered. How little does the situation of a courted, fashionable girl, surrounded by partners and admirers, and thus at liberty to give herself every impertinent air, which a vain mind, and a selfish, unfeeling heart dictate, resemble that of the unobserved, disregarded being, who, night after night, follows some elderly, undistinguished chaperon through the regular round of London amusements, and, seated by her hour after hour in dull neglect, seems at last to become a part of the bench she rests on, till reduced, perhaps, to be even envious of its insensibility; yet the same enlivening music plays to both; the same bright lights are cast on both, and the same glittering, buzzing crowd surrounds them; but question them, after their night’s dissipation, as to the entertainment at which they were both present, and how different will be their accounts of the same scene—of what is called the gay world! of all worlds the most melancholy to those who are not gay.
And Emmeline, in spite of her general popularity, was among that number: how far she might equally have resisted its snares, and despised its pleasures, had there been corresponding joy within, we cannot pretend to say; but, as it was, the first transient amusement produced by novelty, very soon went off, leaving her mind wearied and depressed, and, at any time, in the gayest scene, the sight of Fitzhenry at a distance, in the crowd of a ball-room, or at the opera, had power instantly to dispel every feeling of enjoyment; and then, totally regardless of what passed around her, or of the flattering compliments addressed to her, her eyes were rivetted to the spot where he was, busied in the eager examination of those near him, in search of that form, those features, which had captivated him; and often when she had observed him engrossed in conversation with any woman, or even when merely paying the common attentions of civility, breathless with agitation, she has enquired who the favoured being was, as if in strange eagerness “most to seek what she would most avoid;” but still Lady Florence never appeared; her dreaded name was never mentioned.
Although now, to all appearance, totally deserted by her husband, still he kept strictly to his engagement with her. Every possible indulgence and pleasure which money could give, were hers; and in such outward attentions he even seemed occupied about her. The horse she rode at Arlingford, although formerly his favourite hunter, was now considered as entirely hers, and without her even expressing a wish on the subject, had been brought to town for her exclusive use; he had himself secured a box at the opera for her, after having ascertained in what part of the house she would prefer it; and, on their first arrival in town, he had again repeated his desire, that she should ask any and every one she liked to the house. In short, she was again and again enjoined to consult only her own happiness and enjoyment in every thing: kind words in the mouth of any other husband; but, producing the painful conviction of her loneliness, they brought but tears into Emmeline’s eyes, when hastily pronounced by Fitzhenry, with his hand on the lock of the door, in order that he might leave her the instant they were uttered, and so escape the possibility of thanks or comment.
Wishing, however, to show that she was sensible of his intended kindness, in the liberty he gave, and with a last faint hope, that by making his home agreeable, she might entice him to be more with her, Emmeline determined to endeavour to collect society at her house. She took a favourable moment to inform Fitzhenry of her intention, and of the nights for which she had made the invitations. He seemed much to approve of the plan, but said nothing as to his own attendance.
On the day appointed for the first party, Emmeline, as was generally now the case, dined alone. During her solitary repast, she made firm resolutions that she would act upon the advice Pelham had given her at Arlingford—put that mask on her feelings which he recommended, and adopt those manners of the world that he said Fitzhenry admired. Emmeline had a sort of natural tact on all such subjects; and, had she been in the habit of doing the honours of her own house, during her whole life, she could not have acquitted herself better. All were delighted with her, and with the evening’s amusement. It was not till towards the close of it, that Fitzhenry appeared. Long had poor Emmeline’s eyes anxiously wandered toward the door, watching for his entrance; and when at last he came, it was not without difficulty that she continued to perform her gay part with spirit; but a momentary break in what she was saying—a rapid beating of her heart, and the deepened colour in her cheek, alone betrayed her agitation at his presence.