Carried away by an irresistible spell, the nobleman thought of no rights but his own. The withdrawal of Camille’s constant presence from the hotel almost made him frantic. He began to make daily calls at Verelands, but these brief glimpses of her did not satisfy his craving. It occurred to him one day that it would be romantic to send her flowers daily—flowers whose delicate petals should hide dainty notes with love verses written within them.
Camille had great gardens full of flowers, but that did not matter to Lord Stuart. Perhaps one flower from his hand would be dearer than all the rest. He was mad enough to think so.
He spent a whole afternoon with the poets choosing an appropriate verse to accompany the bouquet of deep-red roses he had selected. At the witching hour of twilight he dispatched his valet, a handsome, saturnine-looking fellow, with the fragrant offering.
Camille was walking that twilight hour by the river which skirted the lawn at Verelands. She had left the house in a rage because her husband had excused himself for an hour that he might spend some time with the little invalid in his mother’s room.
Lord Stuart’s valet had never yet seen the lady his master adored. Indeed, the valet was a reserved, unsociable fellow, and did not have much to do with the other servants at the hotel. He spent the greater part of his time in his master’s rooms attending to his wardrobe, and he did not seem to take any interest in anything else, said the aggrieved maids at the hotel. If he had not been so good-looking they would not have minded it so much, but the fellow, with his black hair and eyes and silky black beard, was handsome in an evil, morose sort of way, and not one of them but would have been charmed if Robert Lacy had noticed her. But he did not seem to care for any one. He was gloomy and morose always, as if brooding over some secret trouble.
But when Robert Lacy heard it whispered at the hotel that his master was in love, he woke up to a feeble sort of curiosity, coupled with vexation. He had a good place as valet to a bachelor, and he felt that he would be sorry indeed if the condition of affairs was changed. Life could not be half so pleasant for him should Lord Stuart marry. When he found out later on that his master was enamored of a married lady he did not feel much easier in his mind. There was no telling what would happen. They might take it into their heads to elope. That would be quite as bad as a marriage.
He became possessed of an ardent curiosity to see the lady who threatened to spoil the ease and comfort of his life with indulgent, easy-going Lord Stuart.
But Mrs. de Vere had returned to Verelands. There was small chance for Robert Lacy to see her now, so he hailed the errand to Verelands with secret delight.
When he made his appearance at Verelands he refused to surrender the magnificent bouquet to the servants. He told them, with unblushing audacity, that his orders were to give the flowers to no one but the lady herself.
Mrs. de Vere was walking in the park, they told him, and Robert Lacy replied that he would find her himself. He turned from the curious negro servants and went into the grounds that now, in the latter part of November, were a wealth of tropical growth and flowers, with here and there a statue gleaming whitely through the twilight gloom and the luxuriant shrubbery.