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Updated: May 29, 2025
They were so sweet at times that Osmonde turned his gaze away that he might not see them, and when his Lordship, as was natural, would have talked of her dearness and beauties, he used all his powers to gently draw him from the subject without seeming to lack sympathy.
Mistress Anne gave a little start and bent lower over her embroidery frame, but her Grace, who was in the apartment, answered for her. "'Twas Sir John Oxon," she answered, "who has wronged so many." "What!" Osmonde cried, "wrought he the poor thing's ruin?" "No," the Duchess replied; "but would have done it, and she, poor child, all innocent, believing herself an honest wife.
'Tis thus he will be writ down in history, as his Grace his father hath been before him: Duke of Osmonde Marquess of Roxholm Earl of Osmonde Earl of Marlowell Baron Dorlocke of Paulyn, and Baron Mertoun of Charleroy." "Can a man then be six men at once?" said Gregory Watt. "Ay, and each of him be master of a great house and rich estate. 'Tis so with this one.
And of a sudden one man hears hoofs pounding and turns, and there he comes, my lord Duke of Osmonde, and he sees but one creature and makes straight for her and she doth not even hear him till he is close upon her, and then she turns blushing, good Lord! the loveliest crimson woman ever wore.
Then was I angry, Gerald, and felt my eyes flash, and I stood up tall and spoke fiercely: 'Let them dare, I said 'let any man or woman dare, and then will they see what his Grace will say." Osmonde drew her to his breast, laughing into her lovely eyes.
My Lord Duke of Osmonde drew a long, deep breath as he listened, looking down upon the ground. "Yes," he said, "'twould have been so."
"A dream! a dream! a dream!" she cried. "And 'tis you awake me! You Gerald Gerald! And I have been ten years ten years your wife!" In the Turret Chamber and in Camylott Wood When the great soldier returned to Blenheim Castle, his Grace of Osmonde bore him company and having spent a few days in his society at that great house returned to town, from whence he came again to Camylott.
"Zounds," said an old beau, "the woman who wants more than his Grace of Osmonde can give more money, greater estates, and more good looks is like to go unsatisfied to her grave. She will take him, I swear, and smile like Heaven in doing it."
'It will please me to teach him there is someone stronger than himself. Who is it?" asked the narrator, striking her fair hands together in a sort of exultation. "The Countess of Dunstanwolde!" broke in a voice, and all turned quickly to look at the speaker. It was the Duke of Osmonde.
"'Twas not the way of my Lady Dunstanwolde to make a man feel that he stood in church," a frivolous court wit once said, "but in sooth her Grace of Osmonde has a look in her lustrous eyes which accords not with scandalous stories and playhouse jests."
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