Before the Season Ends (39 page)

The next day, Mr. O’Brien made a call at Hanover Square. Ariana was in the parlour alone, a refreshing change for him, and he came toward her hopefully. She smiled a greeting, to which he reached for her hand to kiss it. Embarrassed by this gesture, she quickly reclaimed her hand and motioned for him to take a seat.

“I stayed away as long as I could,” he said, when they were seated across from one another with a polished mahogany table between them. His sandy hair was neatly combed back, his side-whiskers and moustache trimmed according to fashion. He wore light-coloured pantaloons and jockey boots, a high collar and voluminous cravat. Mr. O’Brien did not have the air of Mr. Mornay or the fine quality of clothing, but he dressed neatly and reasonably.

He leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees.

“I decided I had to hear from your own lips, my dearest Miss Forsythe, that the reports are true. Can it really be that you, so pious as you are, will wed Mr. Mornay?”

Ariana folded her hands upon her lap, thinking how to answer.
There was some question in her mind; yet they were legitimately engaged.

“It does appear to be true.”

He had to question this cryptic response, eyeing her curiously.

“Is it settled? Are you actually betrothed, or can it be I may still hope?”

“It is bound to be finalized shortly; we are betrothed, you see, only we have not yet set a date for the ceremony.”

Mr. O’Brien took the news well; he nodded, and then met her eyes.

“Are you in love with him, then?”

“I am afraid that yes, I am.” A smile spread across her face.

“Perhaps you should be afraid.” His voice was gentle, and all the more compelling for that. If not, she might have been startled; she might have felt warned for what was coming next.

“This man is so unlike you. He has none of your gentleness, or your virtue. I could hardly conceive of your marrying him—”

“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you it is unnecessary. Mr. Mornay is kind and thoughtful to me, nothing else.” She paused, and added, “As for virtue, some good deeds go before men, and are widely seen, but some follow after; his are the sort that follow after. He is a good man.”

Mr. O’Brien cleared his throat. “May I be frank with you, Miss Forsythe?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He spoke next in a low voice. “ ’Tis said he carried you into his coach; I could not reach a window and see for myself, there was such a crowd at them. But was it against your will? I assure you, you would not be the first young lady to be coerced into a union by such methods.”

The suggestion irked her.

“Neither Mr. Mornay, nor anyone else for that matter, could coerce me into marriage against my will! You underestimate me, Mr. O’Brien.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly. “Do not be out of
countenance with me. You must know I asked you only out of deep and sincere concern for your welfare.”

Ariana’s face softened. “I understand. But you must believe Mr. Mornay is not a beast. He is prodigiously good to me.” She smiled disarmingly. “Now; may I ring for tea?”

T
he next morning Mr. Mornay sent word he would be calling for Ariana in his carriage at eleven o’clock. The footman who came with the note brought an enormous bouquet of heavy, aromatic red roses, which Ariana insisted on placing in water herself.

Mrs. Bentley was impressed. “I don’t doubt but that man had these brought to town from the forcing house at Aspindon!”

Ariana hastened to be ready, but at fifteen minutes before the hour the bell rang, and it was he. When she entered the parlour he turned and just stood, staring at her with his perceptive eyes as if seeing her for the first time. She was attired in a walking-out dress of cambric with a high, ruffled neck, her hair done atop her head prettily. He went to meet her, receiving both her hands in his, and reverently kissed each one.

“Thank you for the roses,” she offered. “They’re beautiful!”

“As are you.”

“You look above well yourself.”

He smiled and pressed her hands in his own. “We are off to see my Aunt Royleforst, if that will be agreeable to you.”

“Certainly, if you like. I shall inform Aunt Bentley.”

“I’ll get the carriage.”

Ariana found her aunt at the breakfast table sipping a cup of chocolate and wearing an old-fashioned mobcap. She came to attention when she heard Mr. Mornay had called, and Ariana spotted the prayer book on the table. She felt a rise of excitement but quelled it for her aunt’s sake.

“Mr. Mornay is taking me to see Mrs. Royleforst,” Ariana said.

Mrs. Bentley raised her chin interestedly. “Mrs. Royleforst?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Enjoy yourself. And tell Mr. Mornay—no, I’ll come and tell him myself.”

“He is gone for the carriage already.”

“Oh, very well, but tell him there are matters we must yet discuss. I dare not bespeak your trousseau without his approval. Though he put the matter into my hands, I know he is far too particular and he must dictate which fabrics he wants for you.”

Ariana responded by quickly bending and placing another light kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “I must go. I cannot keep Mr. Mornay waiting.” And she rushed from the room.

Mr. Mornay had turned the carriage and it was ready in the street when Ariana came out. He was about to jump down to help her up, but without waiting for help she raised her skirts and climbed up, joining him atop the board rather clumsily. She plopped, more than sat, beside him, saw his face, and instantly realized her mistake. To her relief, he laughed out loud.

She smiled demurely. “When I was younger, my mama decried ever teaching me to be a lady.”

He gave the reins a sharp crack with a shout to the horses. “I suppose I should have realized that when I first discovered you in a tree! But I must inform you I think of you as quite the lady. Young, impulsive, scandalously honest, yes, but when you’ve a mind for it, you can move as smoothly as a queen. I’ve seen you do it.”

Instead of heading out of Mayfair, Mr. Mornay turned into Grosvenor Square. As he pulled to the curb he explained, “I forgot a gift for my aunt. Come, while I fetch a basket.” Before jumping down from the board, he turned to her gravely.

“Do not move, until I am in position to help you.” The odd set of his face told her he was endeavouring not to laugh, and so she nodded with equal gravity.

“I am
immobile,
sir, until you give the word!”

As on her last visit, she enjoyed the tasteful elegance of his house. Every room was well-appointed, not in the overwhelmingly ornate style of the Regent, but just like Mr. Mornay’s manner of dress: the best quality in the right proportions, for an overall effect of beauty as well as practicality.

When she was settled in his study, which she preferred to the parlour for its more personal nature, he left to order the basket. Ariana looked around curiously. There were built-in bookshelves lining two walls, and she was tempted to peruse the titles. Papa said you could learn a lot about a person by seeing their books. But it felt disingenuous, somehow, with Mr. Mornay absent, and so she did not.

The room was comfortable, though strongly masculine with a large, dark-oak desk and ponderous leather chair, and brown wainscoting. Ariana sat in a deeply cushioned side-chair, whose twin was adjacent. A large hearth at one end no doubt ensured a warm room in winter, and above the mantelpiece was a portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired lady. She wondered if it was Mr. Mornay’s mama, and got up to look closely. The moment she saw the swirling dark eyes, Ariana knew her guess had been correct. The lady had his dark good looks, his presence, but without the brooding shadow he seemed to labour under.

Before taking her seat again, she noticed a few copies of
The Sporting Magazine
upon the neat desktop, as well as a large, aged, leather-bound tome. Looking at the book from her seat, she wondered if Mr. Mornay might have been reading a Bible. Could it be?

Feeling slightly breathless, she rose and quickly rounded the desk. She had to know. Yes!
The Holy Bible.
Upon opening the worn cover she came upon a register of births and deaths. It went back only two generations. She was curious to read it all but the record of deaths stood out more. She felt her eyes drawn to it and quickly scanned its contents, passing over the oldest entries, and beginning at “Edward Henry Mornay,” supposing it was Mr. Mornay’s father.

Edward Henry Mornay, died, 1800. Nigel Edward Mornay, died, 1800. Miranda Elizabeth Mornay, died, 1801. Three deaths in so little time! And that was the last entry.

She went back to the record of births, perhaps it would reveal the relation of these people to Mr. Mornay, but a noise in the hall sent her scurrying back to her seat.

After a slight knock, the butler entered bearing a tray with tea and chocolate. He poured her tea, and then seemed to hesitate, waiting uncertainly. He was a small, stocky man, balding, and with a serious countenance. He bowed, leaving, but then stopped.

“May I offer,” he ventured, “my deepest congratulations, and say how happy we all are at the prospect of welcoming you to this establishment.”

“Thank you very much.” She was touched by the fact that Mr. Mornay had notified his staff. “What shall I call you?”

“Forgive me. William Frederick, at your service, ma’am. The master calls me Freddy.”

“Thank you, Freddy.” She smiled, and instantly won him over. She was still smiling after he bowed again and left, for he had done so with a barely disguised grin on his well-trained face, and Ariana preferred a butler who was personable.

After closing the door to the study, Freddy headed back to the kitchens as full of glee as that sober-minded soul could be. The master had informed him his future mistress was in the study, and he was elated by the picture of sweetness she presented. He could hardly wait to share the news with the others.

“Glory be!” he exclaimed, upon returning to that sanctum for servants, the kitchen. The others turned to listen eagerly.

“Not only is our determined bachelor to finally feather the nest, but our future mistress is a drop of sunlight.”

“What’s ’at? A drop o’ sun? ’At’s no way t’describe a laidy,” Letty, a housemaid, grimaced. She looked around, grabbed a cut-glass candlestick and said, “I’ll takes a look meself!”

“Oh, no, we’ll have none of that,” reprimanded Freddy. But Letty’s face dropped.

“Mrs. ’amilton’d let me!”

“But Mrs. Hamilton isn’t here, is she?” For it was the housekeeper’s day off. He spoke as if speaking to a child, and indeed, though Letty was one of the oldest servants in the household, she often behaved like a petulant youngster, getting away with it because she had worked for the Mornay family for most of her life.

“I won’t do no ’arm!” She folded her arms angrily across her chest and glowered at the butler, who roundly ignored her.

“Oh, why not let ’er go?” said Cook, busy filling the basket the master had requested. “We’d all like to say, congratters, that’s all. An’ if she does anythin’ to bodge it, you can give ’er a right drubbin’!”

“And so I shall,” he stated severely, giving Letty a grim look. With a whoop she grabbed the candlestick and ran from the room.