Beauchamp; or, The Error.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Beauchamp; or, The Error.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Great Britain -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
I suffered my brain to be troubled--I know not that there were not
unfair means used to effect it--but at all events, I was not myself. I
recollect personally little that passed; but I have since heard that I
was called upon to choose a wife for the afternoon. I was told it was
the custom of the country, on such occasions, so to do in sport; and
that I fixed, at once, upon this artful girl--in the presence of many
witnesses, I called her wife and she called me husband. The evening
passed over; I drank more wine at supper, and the next morning I found
myself married--for the infamous fraud they called a marriage. In
horror and dismay, I burst away from the wretched woman who had lent
herself to such a base transaction. I sent off my servant at once for
horses to my carriage--I cast Moreton from me, who attempted to stop
and reason with me, as he called it, representing that what had taken
place was a full and sufficient marriage, according to the code of
Scotland, for that public consent was all that was required by their
law."
"Or by the law of God either," replied Dr. Miles, "but it must be free
and intelligent consent."
"I travelled night and day," continued Beauchamp, rapidly, "till I had
reached my father's house and thrown myself at his feet. I told him
all--I extenuated, concealed nothing; and I shall never forget either
his kindness or his distress of mind. Instant steps were taken to
ascertain the exact position in which I stood; and the result was
fatal to my hopes of happiness and peace; for not only did he find
that I was entangled past recall, but that the character of the woman
herself was such as might be expected from her having been a party to
so disgraceful a scheme. She had been blighted by scandal before she
took up her residence in the house where I found her. Miss Moreton in
her dotage, yielded herself blindly to my cousin's guidance; and there
was more than a suspicion that he had made his aunt's protection a
veil to screen his own paramour."
"What did you do? what did you do?" asked Dr. Miles, with more
eagerness than he usually displayed; "it was a hard case, indeed."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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