ANY THING BUT WHAT YOU EXPECT

An excerpt from the beginning of:

ANY THING BUT WHAT YOU EXPECT.

VOLUME I.

CHAPTER I.

IT was one of those soft and shadowy evenings, in the early part of spring, which awaken in the soul those emotions of tenderness which have been chilled by the rigour of winter, and dispose it to receive new and similar impressions, when a hired chaise drove rapidly up to one of the principal inns at St. Albans. The party it brought consisted only of two ladies, attended by a female servant; the elder lady, who appeared to be about thirty-six, was eminently distinguished by that dignified yet easy behaviour, and that sweet expression of countenance approaching to seraphic, which are the striking and genuine characteristics of an English lady, whose mind is regulated by the gentle precepts of feminine duty, and whose manners have been formed in the circles of elegant and polished society: her companion was a lovely girl of seventeen, her form was light and graceful; her hair a fine auburn; the rose of health bloomed on her lovely cheek; and every emotion of her soul spoke in her sweet blue eyes; in one word, her beauty was of that exalted description, which the longer it is known and studied pleases the more. They were shown to an apartment, where the senior lady ordered tea, and having discharged the chaise which had brought them the last stage, requested that another might be prepared to take them to Holleyfield, the seat of Sir Charles Walpole, in the adjoining county of Bucks; to her great surprise she found that a delay of some hours would take place before this order could be executed, every post carriage being in actual service from various temporary causes, one of which was the approaching Lent circuit, and another a great anniversary dinner in town. Mrs. Emerson (so the lady was called) not having anticipated such a contingency, and being very anxious for the termination of her journey, was both surprised and disappointed, while the expressive face of her lovely young friend spake more than participation in those feelings; the most liberal offers could not induce the post-boy who had driven them to St. Albans to proceed to Holleyfield, as he alleged that it would be such a deviation from his road as he dared not to make: “Can no other mode of conveyance be obtained?” questioned the young lady with earnest anxiety, “could not a person be found to go on horseback to Holleyfield, and request them to send a carriage from thence? perhaps it would be more certain than waiting here the return of one of the chaises.” She subjoined an inquiry concerning the distance, which the landlord informed her was about eight miles; “My dear,” said Mrs. Emerson, “it is not to be thought of; the evening is now closing, and it would be quite dark before a horse could reach your father’s; I fear we must make up our minds to wait here till the morning.” “I am sorry for the necessity,” said Miss Walpole; “So am I,” rejoined her friend, and she added in a low voice, and with a repressed sigh, yet with emphasis of manner, “such a necessity ought not to have existed; your father’s carriage should have met you here, if not before.” What could be distinguished of these words, aided perhaps by some previous knowledge of the Walpole family memoirs, induced the innkeeper to regard both ladies very attentively as he was quitting the room; but in somewhat less than a quarter of an hour he returned to it, the bearer of a polite message to Miss Walpole and her friend, importing that Lord Lochcarron being in the house, and informed of the circumstance which detained the ladies on their journey, requested permission to solicit the honour of being their escort to Holleyfield, which (the landlord added as his own information) was quite in his lordship’s road, and within three miles of Ravenpark, whither he was going.



“Lochcarron!” repeated Mrs. Emerson, “that is one of the baronies of the earldom of Dunotter, is his lordship the son of the earl?” An expression of surprise passed over the features of the host; “I understood, madam,” he observed, “from what you said, that this young lady is the daughter of Sir Charles Walpole.” “And does that,” questioned Mrs. Emerson, with a smile, “include the necessity of my being acquainted with Lord Lochcarron?” “No, certainly not, ma’am, but as Holleyfield is so near Ravenpark”—“But it may happen,” the lady replied, “that I have never been at Holleyfield, consequently cannot boast any perfect knowledge of its environs.” “Oh, to be sure, ma’am, I beg pardon for not explaining at first—my Lord Lochcarron is the only son of the Earl of Dunotter.”