# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
A far worse shock than her husband's death awaited Lady Anne. It was the arrival of the next heir at Granard Park, and the information that her husband had died totally ruined, while a poor five hundred a year was all that remained for the support of herself and her daughters.
Lady Anne was more eloquent than she had ever before been on the subject of Mr. Granard's imprudence. "What did people mean by having heirs-at-law? Why were she and her children to be impoverished for a stranger?"
She wrote to her brother, Lord Rotheles, expecting that he would set the matter right. This, however, was out of his power—still he did something for her; he assured her of an allowance of five hundred a year, mentioning also that she could stay at Rotheles Castle as long as she pleased.
This Lady Anne resolved to do till his and Lady Rotheles's return. After that it would be impossible, for his lordship had married the woman who had been divorced on his account, and, whatever Lady Anne's other faults might be, she was rigidly correct. Too ​cold to feel, too inanimate to flirt, not a shadow had ever passed over the highly polished surface of Lady Anne's propriety.
The death of Lord Rotheles's third wife, (he had himself been divorced by his second) opened a transitory vision of splendour before the eyes of Lady Anne. Her brother would of course return from Paris, she could preside over his entertainments; and how serviceable they might be made to what was now the great object of her existence—having her daughters well married!
"Thank God," she would sometimes exclaim, "my girls all promise to be pretty! I can conceive no misfortune in life so great as having a plain daughter to introduce."
All Lady Anne's plans about her brother's house were, however, nipped in the bud, by his marrying again.
Dr. Johnson says that a second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience: what he would have said of a third and a fourth I know not, unless he set it down as a case of incurable madness.
The fourth Lady Rotheles was a very different person from her predecessors; she was as little like the romantic and disappointed second, as she was like the impassioned and miserable third. It was a surprise and a novelty to Lord Rotheles to have a wife without tears or reproaches—he really quite missed them.
His wife and sister had too many points of ​resemblance, not to entertain a strong and mutual dislike. Our own faults are those we are the first to detect, and the last to forgive, in others. Lady Rotheles and Lady Anne were two worldly, cold-hearted women; but Lady Rotheles was the stronger minded. They soon came into direct collision.
The autumn after Mary had been presented, they were asked on a visit to Rotheles Castle. This invitation Lady Anne accepted entirely on her daughter's account.
"Mary's style of beauty," as she justly observed, "is the very sort of thing to tell in a country house; she looks so fresh, and yet so delicate at breakfast. London does not do for her, she is lost in a crowd, and one week of late hours makes her not fit to be seen."
To Rotheles Castle they went; and Lady Anne saw every cause to congratulate herself on her judgment, when she also saw Lord Allerton paying Mary the most devoted attention. Lord Allerton was that modern phœnix, a young man, without a single objection. For the daughter he was young, handsome, agreeable, and very much in love; for the mother he was rich, and highly connected. There was apparently neither fault nor obstacle, and Mary yielded to a happiness which gave a deeper light to her soft blue eyes, and a richer colour to her delicate cheek. Even Lady Anne wondered that she had never thought Mary beautiful before.
​ But, as the old ballad says, summing up, in one verse, the whole philosophy of human existence—
"Every fair has its black,
 Every sweet has its sour;
So found the ladye Christabelle
 In an untimely hour."
But Lady Rotheles had been forgotten, in the whole business—a fact her ladyship was not likely to overlook. To be sure, it was no concern of hers; she had nevertheless resolved to make it one. The mere satisfaction of disappointing Lady Anne would have been quite sufficient; but she had also another motive; she had decided that Lord Allerton should marry her niece. To most others Lord Allerton's obvious preference for Mary would have been an insuperable obstacle; it only served to stimulate her ladyship.
Poor Mary's feelings, or poor Mary's happiness, were as little considered as they were by her mother. With both ladies love was not a sentiment, but a speculation. Lady Anne wanted her daughter provided for; Lady Rotheles wanted her niece.
"I must say, my dear aunt," exclaimed Henrietta Aubrey, "you do not do your duty by me. I was a thousand times more useful to you, when the possession of Lord Rotheles was still debatable ground in Paris. Think how I did your 'spiriting gently'—above all, made 'no mistakings.'"
"I explained to you at the time," replied Lady ​Rotheles, "that my marriage would be for your interest as much as my own."
"One part of the explanation," rejoined Henrietta, "has, at all events, proved true."
"Your part is not less certain," answered Lady Rotheles, "provided you follow my advice."
So saying, she closed a large volume bound in calf-skin, whose accounts she had been diligently studying, and, sinking back in her arm-chair, took that comfortable position which people are apt to assume when they intend giving advice at considerable length.
There are a great many theories afloat touching the manner in which the character of an individual reveals itself. Some contend that it sets its mark on the countenance; this might be true, for Lady Rotheles's face was sufficiently indicative of the inner world. Her features good, but sharp; her eyes bright, but too small—the forehead high and narrow, while the lip was thin and compressed. Others again contend that the handwriting betrays more than any thing else; and this also might have received confirmation, for her ladyship's handwriting was fine, angular, and not very legible. But nothing more indicates those tastes and habits which go so far towards both making and showing the character—as a person's sitting-room, particularly that half dressing-room, half boudoir, which is peculiarly feminine property.
Lady Rotheles had fitted up her chamber herself, and a large, handsome-looking room it was; but a ​nice examination showed that the colours did not harmonize, and that some of the furniture was scarcely in keeping with the rest. Her ladyship carried her love of buying bargains to its utmost extent; and, moreover, she always looked forward. She preferred that Lord Rotheles's liberality should take a purely personal direction. Whatever decorations might be lavished upon her dressing-room, the dowager would have to leave them behind her; not so those which filled the prodigality of red morocco cases on her toilette. Often did she think, with a sigh, that the family diamonds were only hers for a brief and brilliant period; still, it was some comfort to remember the chains, bracelets, rings, &c., that would remain "mine and mine only."
There were neither flowers, engravings, nor music, scattered about, and but few books. These volumes were all of a useful character. There was "Cobbett's Cottage Economy," divers cookery books, with the leaf turned down at receipts for making cheap soup for the poor; and on the table was a large bale of coarse flannel, and some common dark prints.
There was always, in Lady Rotheles's mind, a contest going on between parsimony and power. However, they soon came to an arrangement. With what was peculiarly her own, the countess was even mean; with what belonged to her husband she was just, almost generous; she was respected by the neighbourhood, if not beloved. The poor are very unreasonable; a kind ​look and word often go farther in winning upon their affection than even a piece of coarse flannel, or a remnant of dark print.
Henrietta, her niece, looked much prettier than she really was; she had good dark eyes, to which a soupçon of rouge, put on with such skill that few suspected it, gave all possible brightness. Her figure was tall and slight, and she dressed to perfection. Henrietta had not spent some years in Paris for nothing; she was a remarkable instance of how much we may do ourselves for our personal appearance. If human beauty be a flower, as all poets and philosophers assert that it is, a great deal may be done for flowers by judicious cultivation.