Breakfast was brought to me about eleven o’clock, and also a message to say that Lord Dunwich, would do himself the pleasure of waiting upon me in an hour’s time.
You may be sure I was all impatience to see the kind fellow who had stood my friend, and was most agreeably surprised to find his manners quite equal to his appearance when I saw him again.
His Lordship was greatly interested by the account of my escape from the convent, and said he was a very particular friend of my betrothed husband, the Earl of Ellington, and would put me under the protection of a lady going to England, who would see me safe home. He was such a handsome fellow, and my gratitude was so gushing that at the moment I could have refused him no thing, and was delighted by the way he lingered over a kiss, he would insist upon as his due, my whole soul seemed to leap towards the generous fellow, and tears of disappointment stood in my eyes when he was gone.
I never saw him again till my wedding day, two years later, when he was best man to my husband, and in my eyes looked a thousand times more loveable.
A married couple of sixteen and twenty-eight ought to have been blessed with every happiness, but after the first three days of our honeymoon the Earl’s temper seemed so overbearing and imperious, that I began seriously to regret my fate, and looked forward to a life of gilded misery. The Earl was fond of the turf, and often left me alone whilst he spent a fortnight at Newmarket or Doncaster and York.
One day I was agreeably surprised by a call from Lord Dunwich, (we were living in Grosvenor Square at the time), he looked more handsome than ever, and seemed so full of sympathy for me in every respect that I could not help falling into tears, and telling him all my fears, and how I was neglected for nasty ugly fourlegged brutes of race-horses, and that in fact I was sure Lord Ellington loved his Derby favourite better than myself, and would rather I broke my neck than his pet should fall lame.
“Ah, Lucille” he said, falling on his knees before me, “how your distress cuts me to the quick, would to God I could comfort you in any way! I have loved you from the first moment we met, although I knew you belonged to a bosom friend, and now the wretch slights you; look up, dear Lucille, from your tears, smile upon one who is devoted to you body and soul!” And then seizing my hand, upon which he imprinted a lot of impassioned kisses, “Ah, you will pardon my presumptuous love, how can I help it?”