‘Me shall no earthly potentate or prince
Toss, like a morsel of his broken meat,
To any suppliant: be they advised
I am in wardship to the King of kings,
God and my heart alone dispose of me.’
Now Lord Holland was inclined to further Lord Thurles’s suit, actuated thereto, it was said, by pecuniary inducements; but the Royal commands were not to be disobeyed, openly at least. There was one in the house, however, who was in a position to assist the lovers, and that was Lady Isabella Rich, Lord Holland’s daughter, Elizabeth’s chosen friend, and sister in all but name,—a lovely, sharp-witted girl of her own age. She admitted Lord Thurles every day, at all hours, in a clandestine manner; nor did her parents object or interfere, but allowed her to make a feint of herself receiving the young man’s addresses; and implicit trust was placed by all parties in Isabella’s rectitude.
Alas for the compact! which we must believe was begun in good faith. Lord Thurles, as we have said, was young, handsome, agreeable,—captivating, in fact, and the rôle of confidante is proverbially dangerous. In an evil hour he forgot his loyalty to his betrothed, and Isabella forgot her friend, herself, her duty, and all but her infatuation for the man who was playing a double part by the two girls. Few romances can outdo this real history in sensational incident. Lord Desmond was drowned about the same time as his wife died, and the latter left as her last injunction that Elizabeth should marry her cousin, and thus restore the property to the rightful branch,—for Lady Desmond had never been easy in her mind over these unlawful acquisitions. Buckingham was assassinated, and King Charles I. gave the Royal consent to the union of the cousins; ‘and so,’ says the biographer of the great Duke of Ormonde (who, by the way, makes very light of this episode), ‘the marriage was joyously celebrated, and everybody content.’ We are not informed how the unfortunate Lady Isabella fared on the occasion; her content could not have been great; but the dénouement remains to be told, and though, as a matter of dates, it should come much later, we think it advisable to finish the concluding acts of the drama in this place.
Several years afterwards, when Lord Ormonde was in Paris, he went to the Academy to visit a handsome and intelligent youth, whom he had sent thither for his education; whereupon he sat down, and wrote a long description of the boy to Lady Isabella (then the wife of Sir James Thynne of Longleat), being a subject in which they had a common interest. As ill-luck would have it, he at the same time indited a letter to his wife, and misdirected the covers. While Lady Ormonde was making the discovery that she had been cruelly deceived and betrayed by the two people she at that time loved best in the world, Lady Isabella came in, and found her reading the fatal letter.
Tears, sobs, caresses—an agitating scene—ensued. Isabella humbled herself before the woman she had so grievously injured, and sought by every means of fascination that she possessed, to soften her just resentment. Lady Ormonde, generous and high-minded, almost beyond belief, raised the suppliant, who was kneeling at her feet, with the promise not only of forgiveness, but of unchanging friendship,—a promise nobly kept, as we shall see later. Scarcely more marvellous is the fact, for we cannot doubt the evidence, that Lady Ormonde not only never upbraided her husband, but from that day kept a profound silence on the subject. Nor was this all. Some time afterwards, when Lady Ormonde was residing with her children at Caen, she received a letter from Lady Isabella, who had again got herself into hot water, recalling her promise of unchanging friendship, and asking for shelter. The generous-hearted exile not only welcomed her old companion to share her small house and straitened means, but allowed her to remain for nearly two years under her roof, during which time Lord Ormonde was a constant visitor. The destinies of the two women, who had been early friends, but whose characters were diametrically opposed, were strangely entangled,—Lady Isabella, being described in a contemporary journal as ‘one of those rattle-brained ladies,’ was most eccentric, to say the least of it, and full of ‘strange vagaries;’ while Lady Ormonde was remarkable for sound sense and judgment, and for her dignified and stately deportment. We make an extract bearing on this subject from the Life of Roger Boyle, Lord Broghill, afterwards Earl of Orrery. This nobleman, who, like his father and his brothers, was a zealous Royalist, was surprised one day at receiving a summons from the Protector, who bluntly offered him a high command in the army in Ireland under Government. Broghill gave for answer that nothing should induce him to take arms against the King, his master. ‘No one asked you to do so,’ was the angry retort; ‘I offer you the alternative of serving England against the Irish insurgents, or proceeding without delay to the Tower of London.’
The first choice was the most palatable, and Broghill returned to Ireland, where he continued to give proofs of his courage and martial skill. Between him and Lord Ormonde there had been some disagreement, but they were reconciled, and Broghill ever afterwards remained the fast friend of both husband and wife, and, standing high in the Protector’s favour, in consequence of his military services, more than one opportunity presented itself of being useful to them. He had come over from Ireland, when the Protector sent for him, and thus addressed him: ‘If you are still interested in my Lord Ormonde’s safety, you had better advise him to leave London. We know all about him, where he is, what he is doing, and he had best absent himself.’