CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

THE COUNT DE VALMY.

If ever Mrs Girdwood had a surprise in her life, it was when Mr Swinton called at the Clarendon Hotel, and asked if she and her girls would accept an invitation to a reception at Lord --'s.

The entertainment was at the residence in Park Lane. The storekeeper's widow gave her consent, without consulting her girls; and the invitation came on a sheet of tinted paper, bearing the well-known crest.

Mrs Girdwood went to the reception, the girls along with her; Julia carrying twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds upon her head and shoulders.

Otherwise they were as well-dressed as any British damsel who presented herself in his lordship's drawing-rooms; and among these were the noblest in the land.

So far as appearance went, the American ladies had no need to be ashamed of the gentleman who escorted them. Though to them but plain Mr Swinton, Mrs Girdwood was subjected to a fresh shock of surprise, when the noble host, coming up to the group, accosted him as "My dear Count,"

and begged an introduction to his companions.

It was gracefully given; and now for the first time in her life was Mrs Girdwood certain of being surrounded by true titled aristocracy.

There could be no deception about the people of that party, who were of all ranks known to "Burke's British Peerage." Nor could there be any doubt now, that Mr Swinton _was_ a "somebody."

"A count he is, and no mistake!" was Mrs Girdwood's muttered soliloquy.

"He isn't a lord; he never said he was one. But a count's the same thing, or the next to it.

"Besides, there are counts with great estates--far greater than some lords. Haven't we heard so?"

The question was in a side whisper to Julia, after all three had been introduced to their august entertainer.

Just then Julia had no opportunity of making answer to it, for the noble host, whose guests they were, was so condescending as to chat with her; and continued chatting such a long time, that the Count appeared to be getting jealous of him! As if observing this, his lordship withdrew, to extend a like courtesy to the twenty other beautiful young damsels who graced the reception,--leaving the Girdwood group to their own and their Count's guidance for the remainder of the evening.

Receptions do not last more than a couple of hours, beginning at ten and breaking up about twelve, with light refreshments of the "kettle-drum"

kind, that serve, very unsatisfactorily, for supper.

In consequence, the Count de Valmy (for such was Mr Swinton's title) invited the ladies to a _petit souper_ of a more substantial kind, at one of the snug refectories to be found a little farther along Piccadilly. There, being joined by the other count--met by them at Mr Swinton's dinner-table, and who on this occasion was unaccompanied by his countess--they passed a pleasant hour or two, as is usually the case at a _petit souper_.

Even the gentle Cornelia enjoyed herself though not through the company of the two counts. She had met a gentleman at the reception--a man old enough to have been her father--but one of those noble natures with which the heart of a young confiding girl readily sympathises. They had chatted together. He had said some words to her, that made her forget the disparity of years, and wish for more of his conversation. She had given consent to his calling on her, and the thought of this hindered her from feeling forsaken, even when the Count de Valmy confined his attention to her cousin, and the married count made himself amiable to her aunt!

The Champagne and Moselle were both of best quality; and Mrs Girdwood was induced to partake of both freely, as was also her daughter.

The two counts were agreeable companions--but more especially he who had so long passed as Mr Swinton, and who was no longer careful about keeping up his _incognito_.

It ended in Mrs Girdwood's heart warming towards him with the affection of a mother; while Julia's became almost softened to that other affection which promised to bestow upon her the title of "Countess."

"What could be better, or prettier?" thought she, repeating the words of her willing mother. A stylish countess, with a handsome count for husband--dresses and diamonds, carriages and cash, to make the title illustrious!

Of the last the count himself appeared to have plenty; but whether or no, her mother had given promise that it should not be wanting.

And what a grand life it would be to give receptions herself--not only in great London, but in the Fifth Avenue, New York!

And then she could go back to Newport in the height of the fashionable season; and how she could spite the J--'s, and the L--'s, and the B--'s; make them envious to the tips of their fingers, by flaunting herself before their faces as the "Countess de Valmy!"

What if she did not love her count to distraction! She would not be the first--not by millions--who had stifled the cherished yearnings of a heart, and strained its tenderest chords, to submit to a marriage _de convenance_!

In this mood Swinton found her, when, under _his true and real name_, he once more made his proposal.

And she answered it by consenting to become the Countess de Valmy.

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

CONTEMPLATING A CANAL.

Swinton's triumph seemed complete.

He already had a title, which no one could take from him--not even he who had bestowed it.

He possessed both the patent and parchments of nobility; and he intended taking care of them. But he still wanted fortune; and this seemed now before him. Julia Girdwood had consented to become his wife, with a dower of 50,000 pounds, and the expectation of as many thousands more!

It had been a rare run of luck, or rather a chapter of cunning--subtle as fiendish.

But it was not yet complete. The marriage remained to be solemnised.

And when solemnised, what then?

The sequel was still in doubt, and full of darkness. It was darkened by dangers, and fraught with fears.

If Fan should prove untrue? True to herself but untrue to him?

Supposing her to become stirred with an instinct of opposition to this last great dishonour, and forbid the banns? She might act so at the eleventh hour; and then to him, disappointment, disgrace, ruin!

But he had no great fear of this. He felt pretty sure she would continue a consenting party, and permit his nefarious scheme to be consummated. But then? And what then?

She would hold over him a power he had reason to dread--a very sword of Damocles!

He would have to share with her the ill-gotten booty--he knew her well enough for this--submit to her will in everything, for he knew also that she had a will--now that she was re-established on the ride of Rotten Row as one of its prettiest horse-breakers.

There was something, beside the thought of Fan's reclaiming him, that vexed him far more than the fear of any mulct. He would be willing to bleed black-mail to any amount convenient--even to the half of Julia Girdwood's fortune, to insure his past wife keeping quiet for ever.

Strange to say, he had grown to care little for the money; though it may not appear strange when the cause is declared.

It will only seem so, considering the character of the man. Wicked as Swinton was, he had fallen madly in love with Julia Girdwood--madly and desperately.

And now on the eve of possessing her, to hold that possession as by a thread, that might be cut at any moment by caprice.

And that caprice the will of an injured wife! No wonder the wretch saw in his future a thorny entanglement--a path, if bestrewed with flowers, beset also by death's-heads and skeletons!

Fan had helped him in his scheme for acquiring an almost fabulous fortune; at a touch she could destroy it.

"By heaven! _she shall not_!" was the reflection that came forth from his lips as he stood smoking a cigar, and speculating on the feared future. Assisted in conception by that same cigar, and before it was smoked to a stump, he had contrived a plan to secure him against his wife's future interference in whatever way it might be exerted.

His scheme of bigamy was scarce guilt, compared with that now begotten in his brain.