Memoirs of Emma Courtney by Mary Hays
Change of scene, regular employment, attention to my pupils, and the conscious pride of independence, afforded a temporary relief to my spirits. My first care, on my arrival in town, was to gladden the mind of my dear benefactress, by a minute detail of the present comforts and occupations.
She had charged me with affectionate remembrance and letters to her son. I enclosed these letters; and, after informing him (in the cover) of the change of my situation, and the incident which had occasioned it, complained of the silence he had observed towards my last letter.
-'If,' said I, 'from having observed the social and sympathetic nature of our feelings and affections, I suffered myself to yield, involuntarily, to the soothing idea, that the ingenuous avowal of an attachment so tender, so sincere, so artless, as mine, could not have been unaffecting to a mind with which my own proudly claimed kindred:-if I fondly believed, that simplicity, modesty, truth-the eye beaming with sensibility, the cheek mantling with the glow of affection, the features softened, the accents modulated, by ineffable tenderness, might, in the eyes of a virtuous man, have supplied the place of more dazzling accomplishments, and more seductive charms: if I over-rated my own merit, and my own powers-surely my mistakes were sufficiently humiliating! You should not, indeed you should not, have obliged me to arrive at the conviction through a series of deductions so full of mortification and anguish. You are too well acquainted with the human heart not to be sensible, that no certainty can equal the misery of conjecture, in a mind of ardour-the agonizing images which suspense forces upon the tender and sensible heart! You should have written, in pity to the situation of my mind. I would have thanked you for being ingenuous, even though, like Hamlet, you had spoke daggers. I expected it, from your character, and I had a claim to your sincerity.
'But it is past!-the vision is dissolved! The barbed arrow is not extracted with more pain, than the enchantments of hope from the ardent and sanguine spirit! But why am I to lose your friendship? My heart tells me, I have not deserved this! Do not suspect, that I have so little justice, or so little magnanimity, as to refuse you the privilege, the enviable privilege, of being master of your own affections. I am unhappy, I confess; the principal charm of my life is fled, and the hopes that should enliven future prospects are faint: melancholy too often obscures reason, and a heart, perhaps too tender, preys on itself.
'I suspect I had formed some vain and extravagant expectations. I could have loved you, had you permitted it, with no mean, nor common attachment.-My words, my looks, my actions, betrayed me, ere I suffered my feelings to dictate to my pen. Would to God, I had buried this fatal secret in the bottom of my soul! But repentance is, now, too late. Yet the sensible heart yearns to disclose itself-and to whom can it confide its sentiments, with equal propriety, as to him who will know how to pity the errors, of which he feels himself, however involuntarily, the cause? The world might think my choice in a confident singular; it has been my misfortune seldom to think with the world, and I ought, perhaps, patiently to submit to the inconveniences to which this singularity has exposed me.
'I know not how, without doing myself a painful violence, to relinquish your society; and why, let me again ask, should I? I now desire only that repose which is the end of doubt, and this, I think, I should regain by one hour's frank conversation with you; I would compose myself, listen to you, and yield to the sovereignty of reason. After such an interview, my mind-no longer harrassed by vague suspicion, by a thousand nameless apprehensions and inquietudes-should struggle to subdue itself-at least, I would not permit it to dictate to my pen, not to bewilder my conduct. I am exhausted by perturbation. I ask only certainty and rest.
'Emma.'
A few days after I had written the preceding letter, Mr Harley called on me. Mrs Denbeigh was with me on his entrance; I would have given worlds to have received him alone, but had not courage to hint this to my relation. Overwhelmed by a variety of emotions, I was unable for some time to make any reply to his friendly enquiries after my health, and congratulations on my amended prospects. My confusion and embarrassment were but too apparent; perceiving my distress, he kindly contrived to engage my hostess in discourse, that I might have time to rally my spirits. By degrees, I commanded myself sufficiently to join in the conversation-I spoke to him of his mother, expressed the lively sense I felt of her goodness, and my unaffected regret at parting with her. Animated by my subject, and encouraged by the delicacy of Augustus, I became more assured: we retraced the amusements and studies of H--shire, and two hours passed delightfully and insensibly away, when Mrs Denbeigh was called out of the room to speak to a person who brought her letters and intelligence from the India House. Mr Harley, rising at the same time from his seat, seemed about to depart, but hesitating, stood a few moments as if irresolute.
'You leave me,' said I, in a low and tremulous tone, 'and you leave me still in suspense?'
'Could you,' replied he, visibly affected, 'but have seen me on the receipt of your last letter, you would have perceived that my feelings were not enviable-Your affecting expostulation, added to other circumstances of a vexatious nature, oppressed my spirits with a burthen more than they were able to sustain.'
He resumed his seat, spoke of his situation, of the tenure on which he held his fortune,-'I am neither a stoic nor a philosopher,' added he,-'I knew not how-I could not answer your letter. What shall I say?-I am with-held from explaining myself further, by reasons-obligations-Who can look back on every action of his past life with approbation? Mine has not been free from error! I am distressed, perplexed-Insuperable obstacles forbid what otherwise'-
'I feel,' said I, interrupting him, 'that I am the victim of my own weakness and vanity-I feel, that I have been rushing headlong into the misery which you kindly sought to spare me-I am sensible of your delicacy-of your humanity!-And is it with the full impression of your virtues on my heart that I must teach that heart to renounce you-renounce, for ever, the man with whose pure and elevated mind my own panted to mingle? My reason has been blinded by the illusions of my self-love-and, while I severely suffer, I own my sufferings just-yet, the sentiments you inspired were worthy of you! I understand little of-I have violated common forms-seeking your tenderness, I have perhaps forfeited your esteem!'
'Far, very far, from it-I would, but cannot, say more.'
'Must we, then, separate for ever-will you no longer assist me in the pursuit of knowledge and truth-will you no more point out to me the books I should read, and aid me in forming a just judgment of the principles they contain-Must all your lessons be at an end-all my studies be resigned? How, without your counsel and example, shall I regain my strength of mind-to what end shall I seek to improve myself, when I dare no longer hope to be worthy of him-'
A flood of tears checked my utterance; hiding my face with my hands, I gave way to the kindly relief, but for which my heart had broken. I heard footsteps in the passage, and the voice of Mrs Denbeigh as speaking to her servant-covered with shame and grief, I dared not in this situation appear before her, but, rushing out at an opposite door, hid myself in my chamber. A train of confused recollections tortured my mind, I concluded, that Augustus had another, a prior attachment. I felt, with this conviction, that I had not the fortitude, and that perhaps I ought not, to see him again. I wrote to him under this impression; I poured out my soul in anguish, in sympathy, in fervent aspirations for his happiness. These painful and protracted conflicts affected my health, a deep and habitual depression preyed upon my spirits, and, surveying every object through the medium of a distempered imagination, I grew disgusted with life.
* * *
Janet was adopted when she was a kid -- a dream come true for orphans. However, her life was anything but happy. Her adoptive mother taunted and bullied her all her life. Janet got the love and affection of a parent from the old maid who raised her. Unfortunately, the old woman fell ill, and Janet had to marry a worthless man in place of her parents' biological daughter to meet the maid's medical expenses. Could this be a Cinderella's tale? But the man was far from a prince, except for his handsome appearance. Ethan was the illegitimate son of a wealthy family who lived a reckless life and barely made ends meet. He got married to fulfill his mother's last wish. However, on his wedding night, he had an inkling that his wife was different from what he had heard about her. Fate had united the two people with deep secrets. Was Ethan truly the man we thought he was? Surprisingly, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the impenetrable wealthiest man in the city. Would he find out that Janet married him in place of her sister? Would their marriage be a romantic tale or an utter disaster? Read on to unravel Janet and Ethan's journey.
In order to fulfill her grandfather's last wish, Stella entered into a hasty marriage with an ordinary man she had never met before. However, even after becoming husband and wife on paper, they each led separate lives, barely crossing paths. A year later, Stella returned to Seamarsh City, hoping to finally meet her mysterious husband. To her astonishment, he sent her a text message, unexpectedly pleading for a divorce without ever having met her in person. Gritting her teeth, Stella replied, "So be it. Let’s get a divorce!" Following that, Stella made a bold move and joined the Prosperity Group, where she became a public relations officer that worked directly for the company’s CEO, Matthew. The handsome and enigmatic CEO was already bound in matrimony, and was known to be unwaveringly devoted to his wife in private. Unbeknownst to Stella, her mysterious husband was actually her boss, in his alternate identity! Determined to focus on her career, Stella deliberately kept her distance from the CEO, although she couldn't help but notice his deliberate attempts to get close to her. As time went on, her elusive husband had a change of heart. He suddenly refused to proceed with the divorce. When would his alternate identity be uncovered? Amidst a tumultuous blend of deception and profound love, what destiny awaited them?
Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.
Read about the unfortunate life of Mia Andres, a young artist who only wanted to make a name for herself in the art world, but got sold by her own parents to pay up a debt. Her life takes a drastic turn in the mansion of Alexander Hamilton, the man who bought her. Mia plans her escape but after spending up to two months in his house she began to discover that she had feelings for this man also she feel in love with his bratty daughter who only wanted to be with her. Just when she thought Alex might possibly have feelings for her also and end her escaping plan, she overhead a conversation between Alex and his sister that completely shattered her. " Look here Ria... There's nothing going on between Mia and I, and there would never be". That was is, she thought. This wasn't a Cinderella story, the poor girl doesn't get with the prince at last. With the help of Amelia, Alex sister in law Mia leaves the house and the country. What happens when she comes back a year after looking even more ravishing and a successful artists, not only that she came along with, Alexander's half brother Gregory who wanted nothing than to destroy Alexander? Would she help him destroy the man she was still in love with just because she feels that he could never love her? Or would she finally realize that she had been wrong all along?!
He hates her so much but she feels so safe with him... Orla Sullivan is the seventh and last daughter of Arnold Sullivan. She is a young girl who is loathed and rejected by every member of her family. Though a Sullivan, Orla lived a solitary life until she met Callan Barlowe at an uninvited dinner in her home. Callan Barlowe is a ruthless billionaire, a man whose aura exudes dominance and agitation. He believes in working hard to make money and when he needs to relax; sleeping with high-class hoes is not an option, but a must-do for him. Marriage is not included in the list of things he has to do in life, but his mother wants him to get married at all costs. Callan's and Orla's worlds collided and now, Orla's life is about to completely veer around from worse to something more inimical because she's about to get married to Callan Barlowe; the ruthless billionaire boss who doesn't give a shit about anyone.
She was a world-renowned divine doctor, the CEO of a publicly traded company, the most formidable female mercenary, and a top-tier tech genius. Marissa, a titan with a plethora of secret identities, had hidden her true stature to marry a seemingly impoverished young man. However, on the eve of their wedding, her fiance, who was actually the lost heir to a wealthy dynasty, called off the engagement and subjected her to degradation and mockery. Upon the revelation of her concealed identities, her ex-fiance was left stunned and desperately pleaded for her forgiveness. Standing protectively before Marissa, an incredibly influential and fearsome magnate declared, "This is my wife. Who would dare try to claim her?"