The Duke's Sweetheart: A Romance

by Richard Dowling

It pleased him greatly that the first promise he made of help to a benevolent object was made through one who reminded him of Marion.

All these little things had gradually accustomed him to the dignities which had lately fallen upon him, so that by the time he got to London, he neither blushed nor laughed on being called by his title or spoken to as his title demanded. Still there was much that was new and disturbing; and, before setting out for London, he resolved not to carry up his title with him, except among those from whom he could not hide it. One of the titles that went with the dukedom was Baron Ashington; and when he got to his hotel in London, he gave his name as Ashington, and was entered on the books as "---- Ashington, Esq."

This day he had arrived in London was the first one of freedom he had enjoyed since the wreck. He was now staying at an hotel where they could have no suspicion of who he was. He had not given this address to anyone, and all letters were to be forwarded to him at his lawyers'. He was free to go where he liked--do what he chose.

In the old days he should have thought himself fortunate if he could afford five shillings a day for pocket-money; now he had in his pocket two hundred pounds, and at his hotel three hundred more. He had not yet opened a bank account, but he drew on Macklin and Dowell for any money he wanted.

He had known what the want of money was. He had often been obliged to walk to offices with his MSS., for want of pence to buy postage-stamps for them. He had been without tobacco, without a dinner, without the means of getting his shoes mended. Now here he was in this rich fine weather, with the sense of strength in his limbs, and the feeling of youth in his heart, and the consciousness of money in his pocket. In his poor days, one of the things he most yearned for was travel. Now the four ends of the world lay open to him, with every comfort and luxury of each.

He found himself in Regent Street. He lit a cigar. The day was very warm. The cigar was excellent. He was in the finest humour. He looked at the carriages whirling by. He counted a score of coronets, but not one had the eight strawberry leaves. He saw one with four leaves and four pearls round the band, and six with four leaves round the band and four pearls supported on pyramids. These were the carriages of a marquis and six earls; the other coronets belonged to barons. And he who had lately wanted a smoke, a dinner, a pair of shoes, had now, in all likelihood, an income as great as the whole twenty peers put together. It was incredible! incredible!

He looked away from the carriages to the shop-windows. Any of these things exposed for sale were his if he willed it so. There was not one single article from end to end of the street which he could not have for raising his finger.

Not a soul in Regent Street knew him. None of his friends ever came that way. Journalists seldom get west of Charing Cross, unless they happen to live at the aristocratic side of St. Martin's Lane. He was to see all his old friends that night at Long Acre, and he had seen May, and now he was enjoying for the first time the pleasure of an incognito. He had not ever been well enough off to keep an account in Regent Street, and consequently there was no chance of the shop-people recognising him.

As he passed the various windows dear to ladies, he thought how he and May would stroll up this street some day soon--to-morrow or the day after--and she should select any things she liked, and he would have them sent home. Even now, as he walked, he fancied she was on his arm, and that he was drawing her attention to all the pretty and rich things.

For one moment he never felt his altered circumstances made any difference between her and him. He was no better now than ever he had been, and she was no worse. He had never loved anyone but her, and he had no intention of giving up any of his love for her, because he was now a rich man with a fine title. Of old he had, in his talk, been familiar with dukes, and thought them very wonderful beings. Since then he had seen and spoken to two dukes, and had become one himself. The latter fact ruined dukes for ever in his mind. If they could make a duke out of a newspaper and publisher's hack, the standard for dukes must not be very high.