A Bankrupt Heart, Volume II by Florence Marryat

The Derby was run that year in the last week of May. The young Countess of Ilfracombe had already been presented at Court under the auspices of her mother-in-law. She had attended more than one Royal function since; she had seen all that there was worth seeing in town, and she had entertained largely at her own house in Grosvenor Square. She had been fairly launched on Society in fact, and, unlike most heroines, it had not disappointed her. Everything was new and fresh to her; everything was delightful. This was what she had longed for and dreamed of in far-off Malta, and her letters home were full of the pleasure she was experiencing and the honours that were paid to her. Nora felt happier, too, and more at her ease in the company of her mother-in-law and the Ladies Devenish, and away from the close, every-day companionship of Mr Portland, who had at last returned to his own chambers in the Albany. She fluttered about from milliner to milliner, theatre to theatre, like a huge butterfly; all fashion, delicate tints, smiles and excitement. Ilfracombe, unlike his usual taste, seemed delighted to be her cavalier on all occasions. The truth is, he was thankful to get out of the house. Fond as he undoubtedly was of his wife, the atmosphere of Grosvenor Square depressed him. He could not enter a single room without being painfully reminded of Nell Llewellyn and her devoted love for him.

It had been a very real love between these two. On her side the most unselfish, adoring, humble passion -- on his, a very appreciative acknowledgment of her single-eyed affection, mingled with a great admiration of her beauty. _His_ love for her, however, had always been mixed with a certain amount of shame and uncertainty, because he knew it was impossible it could go on for ever, and he dreaded the moment when it would become imperative to tell her so. Nell had ended it all for herself, however, and but too abruptly, and now he could not sit in the rooms where they had for so long sat together, and which she had so confidently regarded as her own without finding his thoughts very much drawn her way, even though his lawful wife was by his side. He thought of the time when Nell first came to his house, a tall, slender girl, with a complexion like a wild rose, and beautiful startled hazel eyes, moist with the dews of youth. How frightened she was when he first whispered his love into her ear -- how passionately remorseful when he had led her astray -- how wonderfully grateful and reverential when he told her she should thenceforth reign the mistress of his heart.