Before the Season Ends (14 page)

Mayfair, London

T
he days following Aspindon saw a steady stream of callers at the house in Hanover Square. Far from being the laughingstock she had feared, Ariana was all the rage. Mrs. Bentley’s parlour was rarely empty and the hallway tray overflowed with cards from callers. The older lady couldn’t have been more satisfied—except for one catch.

During their day away, Mr. Pellham had taken a nasty fall, badly injuring his right ankle. His surgeon had wrapped the leg up prettily over a mash of grated comfrey roots, administered laudanum, and gave strict orders for bed rest. Mrs. Bentley was loath to leave her own parlour lest she miss important calls from high-standing members of the
ton;
but it rankled her nerves to know that Mr. P. needed her and she was not there. She saw nothing for it.

Ariana began to wonder why the pair did not marry, but dared not ask. As for the sudden popularity of their drawing room, it astonished her that it was on account of the taciturn Mr. Mornay. He had unwittingly made it instantly fashionable to know Ariana, and simply because he was the Paragon: dashing in figure, all the mode in dress, and, perhaps most importantly, fantastically rich. (Any of
these qualities by themselves could capture the imagination of unwed females; but to possess all three in one man! It made Ariana laugh to herself when she heard one woman say, “He lacks a title, but only the fussiest females can hold that against him. As for myself, I certainly would not!”)

The circumstance of owing her success to him was outrageous to Ariana, but she nevertheless quickly grew to appreciate that it was a blessing. She’d been given the opportunity to make the acquaintance of many people, including other lovely young women, while her aunt chatted with their mamas. She did not enjoy the love of gossip held by many. And, it was disconcerting that, although Mr. Mornay was a preferred topic of conversation, all that she learned of him was largely negative. He possessed an acid tongue (something Ariana could easily attest to); he ignored people who bored him; he more often than not refused invitations and when he did accept them, could not be depended upon to show. He was exasperating and decidedly cutting in his remarks, yet he remained an object of admiration and even affection.

This, Ariana felt, was due to the fact that he could, when he chose, display a winsome charm and thoughtfulness that made his quick temper forgivable. She had experienced a measure of that charm and it was distinctly pleasant.

Finally, as if all that wasn’t enough, Mr. Mornay was said to be immune to female charms. Any seasoned lady worth her salt, therefore, was compelled to tip her cap at Mr. Mornay though it brought out the worst in his nature. Even the notorious married flirts of high society had failed to lure him into their grasp. Indeed, it was an annual point of wagering, speculation, and conversation to see which ladies would develop the
tendre
for Mr. Mornay, and wind up with ruined hopes.

Hearing such reports hardly raised him in Ariana’s estimation, and by the end of the week, she wished heartily not to fall again into his path. Or almost did. It was one thing to hear tales about him, but no matter how much she was swayed by the general consensus regarding his character, she could not forget the moments of kindness in his voice; or that he had actually done nothing unforgivable toward her.

Still, she was sensible enough to realize that his placid behaviour to her on one occasion might not be repeated, so she determined to be wary of him.

There was one thing that was lacking in Ariana’s social success. Two of the patronesses of Almack’s—Lady Covington and Lady Hollingsford—had not called upon Ariana and her aunt. Only ladies with so-called “vouchers” could be admitted to Almack’s, and only the patronesses of Almack’s could issue them. Therefore it was paramount these ladies be singularly satisfied the debutante in question was worthy of admittance. Two of the four patronesses had called, however. The vouchers were promised, and their ladyships’ absence was not to be dwelt upon.

The cultural expeditions, as Mr. Pellham called the intended jaunts he and Ariana had hoped to take together, were postponed indefinitely. Mrs. Bentley kept her niece busy returning calls in any case, and they were welcomed into the most elite drawing rooms in Mayfair, where the art of keeping up a lively banter, Ariana found, was both fun and challenging. She could not always hold her own, but it seemed that Mr. Mornay’s favour had preceded her, and if she momentarily faltered for a smart reply, she was kindly helped along by various hosts or hostesses. Ariana discovered, too, that silence, accompanied by a knowing look, could be response enough to satisfy a company. And her natural habit of speaking her mind was often mistaken for wit, to her advantage.

One night she and her aunt attended a card party at the exclusive residence of Lord and Lady Sherwood. Ariana dreaded the evening, for it promised to be an exceedingly proper affair. Her aunt warned her that the Sherwoods took their cards seriously and wagers were likely to run prodigiously high; Ariana was not, under any circumstances, to accept an invitation to play. This presented no dilemma, since gambling was no temptation for her.

The Sherwoods’ home was more luxurious than her aunt’s. Ariana
could have been happily entertained giving an inspection to the abundance of splendid paintings and numerous trinkets in the large rooms, but she was ushered off to one side of the main drawing room with other young ladies who were not playing cards. She already recognized a good number of the other girls, and they treated her with deference, introducing any strangers until she had met everyone; she was not neglected for a moment.

Far into the evening, two latecomers arrived. One gentleman was unknown to Ariana, the other, the much-maligned Mr. Mornay. Ariana felt a surprising reaction within herself. A slight flutter, a mild rush of colour to her cheeks. She had heard so much about him by this time that her reaction to his presence could not be neutral. This, surely, was the reason she became suddenly self-conscious. This, too, the reason she vowed instantly not to say a word to the man, but hoped every second he would see and greet her.

Seated beside her was a lovely young Spanish girl named Miss Isabella, who offered the information that the other man was Lord Horatio, a second son who could expect two thousand a year. Ariana nodded sagely, having grown quickly accustomed to this unusual manner of learning about others in society. The gentlemen were greeted warmly, though Mr. Mornay more effusively, Ariana thought. They were quickly ushered to the main card table. Later, during a break in play, Mr. Hartley came and bowed politely to the circle of young ladies, exchanging small talk with a few, including Ariana. Lord Horatio looked brightly in their direction, but Mr. Mornay behaved as if the party consisted solely of those nearest him.

Miss Isabella shuddered. “May Mr. Mornay continue to keep his
deestance,
for I understand he can have nothing civil to speak to a
señorita.
My mama say to avoid him at all costs!”

Ariana said nothing but stole a glance his way. It happened that Mr. Mornay looked up from the table then also. Their eyes met and Ariana found herself in the precise predicament she had been in once before: his gaze immediately arrested hers, and she found herself hoping he might be on the verge of a smile.

He wasn’t, of course. In fact, he showed no sign of recognition other than a faint change in his demeanour. Ariana noted with gratification that at least he did not scowl; that was something. Lord Horatio claimed his friend’s attention and Mr. Mornay looked away, but Miss Isabella had witnessed the silent eye match and hissed, “He is bound to insult you, now you have claimed
hees
attention!”

Ariana spoke her thoughts aloud. “I wager that he must labour under some hidden anguish which causes so unnatural a response in him.”

“No, no! It is not
heeden,
” Isabella answered. “He is out of countenance because everyone wants to
teep
their cap at him because he is
reech
and handsome.”

A few hours later, the group of intent card-players stood up, and congratulations for Lady Sherwood could be heard. As they began to disperse around the room, Lady Sherwood, looking very pleased with herself (for she must have won a great deal of money) announced that the refreshment room was open. As people headed in that direction, Ariana did likewise but had to stop as if by a great tug on her heart when she came abreast of a beautiful Reynolds portrait.

Lord Horatio, meanwhile, had stopped Mr. Mornay while the crowd was thinning into the other room. “I say, Mornay, you threw that game, letting her ladyship win! What the deuce for? With such stakes!”

“You give me too much credit, Horatio,” was the reply, with a short laugh.

“No, upon my word! You could have had that round and you know it!” Mr. Mornay did not reply, but helped himself to the smallest pinch of snuff.

Lord Horatio continued. “You’ve heard the same rumours I have, that the Sherwoods are in narrow straits these days! Upon my soul, but if you aren’t a sentimental fellow beneath all that crust, after all.”

Mornay stiffened. “That is the most imbecilic notion I have ever known you to entertain. Now go plague somebody else with your devilish ideas!”

Lord Horatio chuckled. “Oh, very well, deny it if you like. But I know what I know—” He stopped short as they both noticed Ariana at that moment. She had unwittingly abandoned the painting and had turned her head in astonishment upon hearing such a remarkable dialogue. She was still in front of the large, ornately framed canvas, but looking at the two men, delighted with the notion that her Mr. Mornay was actually a secret do-gooder, for she instantly gave credit to Lord Horatio’s suspicion.

She looked very pretty in full evening dress with the long, empire-waisted white gown and matching white gloves that reached her elbows. Her hair was done high upon her head and she was standing, with a small smile upon her mouth, looking at Mr. Mornay as if he were an angel. Now it made perfect sense, his helping her that day at his estate.

She realized her position with a short gasp. “I beg your pardon!” She would have turned on her heel immediately but Mr. Mornay held out a hand for her to stop.

“Horatio, I must speak to this young woman a moment.”

The young lord instantly had a nervous alarm in his eyes. He looked cautiously at his friend. “Do not do it, Mornay.” His tone was low, and wistful. He wanted to think of a reason to bring away this fetching young lady so that Mornay could not be unspeakably rude to her, as he was certain his friend was about to be. Having nothing come to mind in way of a rescue, however, he bowed helplessly to Ariana, and strode reluctantly away, saying, “Do follow shortly; Lady Sherwood will be waiting to fall at your feet, I should think.”

This was meant as a joke, but Mr. Mornay did not smile. He was looking severely at Ariana, who was realizing what an enormous blunder she had made. Again! She had done the very thing she had repeatedly been warned against, allowing Mr. Mornay to see her admiring him. She turned veiled eyes to his swirling dark countenance.