Lord Chandos, looking round the opera-house, where some of the handsomest women in England were, said to himself that among all these fair and n.o.ble faces there was not one so beautiful as Leone"s.
She herself was quite unconscious of the admiration she excited; she did not see how the opera-gla.s.ses were turned to her face; she could not hear people asking: "Who is that with Lord Chandos? What a beautiful face, what a lovely girl! Who is she?" Lord Chandos saw it, and was not only proud, but flattered by it.
"My mother will yield at once when she sees her," he thought; "she will be pleased that the most beautiful woman in England is my wife."
He made no introductions, though many of his friends bowed to him, with a secret hope that he would ask them into his box. But he had arranged his own plans. His mother--the proud, exclusive, haughty Countess of Lanswell--should be the one to introduce his beautiful wife to the world; that of itself would be a pa.s.sport for her. So that he was careful not to ask any one into his box, or even to exchange a word with any of the people he knew.
From the time the curtain was drawn up until the opera ended, Leone was in a trance. Quite suddenly she had entered this new and beautiful world of music and art--a world so bright and dazzling that it bewildered her.
Lord Chandos watched her with keen delight--her l.u.s.trous eyes, the intense face, the parted lips.
The opera was one of the most beautiful--"Norma"--and the part of Norma was taken by the greatest _prima donna_ of her time. Leone"s eyes filled with tears as those pa.s.sionate reproaches were sung; she knew nothing of the language, but the music was full of eloquence for her. She turned suddenly to her husband; her whole soul seemed awake and thrilling with dramatic instinct.
"Lance," she said in a low voice, "I could do that; I do not mean that I could sing so well, but I could feel the jealousy she feels. I could utter those reproaches. Something seems to have awoke in my soul that never lived before; it is all new to me, yet I understand it all; my heart is on fire as I listen."
"And you have enjoyed it?" he said, when the curtain fell on the last grand scene.
She answered him with a low sigh of perfect content.
So it was that to her her wedding-day became the most marked day of her life, for on it she awoke to the knowledge of the world of art and music.
There was nothing for it but to remain at the hotel.
Lord Chandos merely laughed at the notion of his parents holding out against him. He was wonderfully sanguine.
"We shall hear the carriage stop some fine morning," he said, "and they will be here to seek a reconciliation."
He laughed when the waiter gave him my lady"s letter; he turned triumphantly to his wife.
"This is from my mother," he said; "I knew she would relent, it is probably to ask us to Cawdor."
But as he read it his face changed; the smile and the triumph died from it. He said no word to Leone, but tore the letter into shreds. She looked on with a wistful face.
"Is it from your mother, Lance?" she asked.
He took her in his arms and kissed her.
"My darling, do not trouble about them; you are all the world to me.
They will not forgive me; but it does not matter. I am proud of what I have done. I am quite independent. I shall take a pretty little villa at Richmond, and we shall live there until they come to their senses."
"That will be giving up all the world for me," she said.
"The world will be well lost, Leone. We will go to-morrow and find a pretty little house where we shall be quite happy. Remember one thing always--that my mother will love you when she sees you."
"Then let her see me now, Lance, at once," she cried, eagerly, "if you think so. Why wait? I should be more happy than any one else in the world if you would do that."
"It is too soon yet," he replied; "all will be right in time."
She wished that he had offered to show her his mother"s letter; but she did not like to ask what the contents were.
Lord Chandos dare not tell her, besides which he laughed in scorn at the idea. They might threaten as they would; but he felt quite certain there was no power on earth which could set aside his marriage, therefore he should not trouble himself about it. He would go to Richmond and look out for a house there.
CHAPTER XIII.
A PERFECTLY HAPPY WOMAN.
"They would never dare do it," Lord Chandos repeated to himself with a laugh of contempt. Set his marriage aside. They were mad to think of such a thing.
From time to time strange-looking doc.u.ments came to him; he thrust them aside without even looking at them. He only laughed at the notion. Part him from Leone. It was not in the power of any one on earth to do it. He never mentioned the matter to Leone at all; it was not worth while to disturb her.
They had been to Richmond, and had found there a villa so beautiful it seemed to have been built for them--a quaint, picturesque, old English house, full of pretty nooks and corners, with large latticed windows, over which roses and jasmine hung in abundance; a smooth, green lawn on which stood a superb cedar-tree; beautiful grounds that reached down to the river. The views from the windows were superb. It was worth anything to stand on that green lawn and watch the sunset on the Thames.
Leone was delighted with it; she had never dreamed of a home so beautiful. Lord Chandos furnished it with the utmost luxury, and there the first few happy months of their life was spent. Lord Chandos did not wish exactly that his marriage should be kept secret, but he did not want it known to the world in general until his mother was willing to introduce and receive his wife.
To Leone that life that opened to her was like a heaven on earth; her husband surrounded her with "kind observances;" he purchased for her a wardrobe that was a marvel of beauty and elegance; he found a French lady"s-maid, who understood all the duties of the toilet. What was more, he had the best masters in London to instruct her. Her voice was one of the finest ever heard, her taste for music so great that she was soon proficient.
He taught her himself to ride. There was one thing singular, every master who attended her was aware of a great hidden power within her, they said among each other that she was something wonderful--that the world would hear of her some day. There was an innate sense of power, a grand dramatic instinct, a keen sense of everything beautiful, n.o.ble and great. There were times when an electric flash of genius made them marvel.
"It is a thousand pities," said the music-master to himself, "that she has married a n.o.bleman. If she had been dependent on her own exertions, I could have made her one of the finest singers in the world."
Again, the drawing-master said:
"If I had the training of Lady Chandos I would make her the finest artist in England."
None of them had discovered the real secret of her genius, or what was the true fire that every now and then seemed to brighten them all as it flashed over them.
A few weeks completely changed her; she had that keen, quick insight into everything, that wondrous tact and intelligence which make some women seem as though they were magicians.
When she went first to River View, she had some traces of her rustic training. Before six weeks had pa.s.sed over it had all disappeared. Lord Chandos himself had taught her; her intonation and accent were clear and refined, her words well chosen, her expressions always poetical and full of grace; no one meeting her then could have told that she had spent her life in the rural shades of Rashleigh.
New beauty came to her with this development of mind; new, spiritual, poetical loveliness; and Lord Chandos, looking at his peerless young wife, felt always quite confident that when his mother saw her all would be well--she would be proud of her.
While Leone seemed to have gone straight to heaven, she could not realize that this was the same life she rebelled against with such fierce rebellion. Now the days were not long enough to hold in them all the happiness that fell to her share. The birds woke her with their singing; the sun with its shining; another beautiful day had dawned for her--a day that was full of beauty and love. They pa.s.sed like a dream.
She took breakfast always with her husband; perhaps the happiest hour of the day was that. The windows of the pretty breakfast-room looked over a wilderness of flowers; the windows were always open. The soft, sweet summer air came in, parting the long, white curtains, bringing with it the breath of roses and the odor of a hundred flowers.
She looked as fresh and fair as the morning itself. Lord Chandos wondered more and more at her radiant loveliness. Her soul was awake now, and looked out of her dark eyes into the world she found so beautiful.
Then Lord Chandos went up to town for a few hours, while Leone took her different lessons and studied. They met again at lunch, and they spent the afternoon out-of-doors. An ideal life--an idyl in itself. Leone, while she lived, retained a vivid remembrance of those afternoons, of the shade of the deep woods, of the ripple of the river through the green banks, of the valleys where flowers and ferns grew, of the long alleys where the pleasant shade made a perfect paradise. She remembered them--the golden glow, the fragrance, the music of them, remained with her until she died. All the most pleasant times of our lives are dreams.
Then they dined together; and in the evening Lord Chandos took his beautiful young wife to the opera or the play, to concert or lecture.
"As soon as I am of age," he would say, "I shall take you on the Continent; there is no education we get like that we get by traveling one year on the Continent; and you will be at home on every subject, Leone," he would say; and Leone longed for the time to come.
"When I am of age," was his universal cry.