Before the Season Ends (15 page)

“Do you make it a habit to listen to private conversations?” His tone was soft—and venomous.

“Of course not!”

“Nevertheless, you have deliberately overheard one of mine. Do not think, Miss…er…” He had forgotten her name!

“Ariana. Forsythe!” She had given her first name out of habit and she blushed.

“Miss Forsythe.” He ignored the mistake. “Do not imagine Lord Horatio was near the mark in what he supposed.”

She said nothing, but only continued to face him, feeling her heart beating painfully. Why was she afraid of him? She must have heard too many reports of how awful he could be.

“For your information,” he continued, sourly, “if I did throw a hand, it would not be a misguided effort of good will.”

“You owe me no explanation, sir!” Her voice lacked strength. She put one hand to her throat, a nervous mannerism she was unaware of.

“Indeed, not! But as your meddling results in a misleading assessment of my character due to Horatio’s delusion, I prefer to keep the record straight.”

There was a brief silence, but Ariana’s weakness of speaking her mind surfaced. Her voice was not as even or unruffled as his, but she managed to say: “I have heard a great deal about your character of late. And nothing would have convinced me of any redeeming qualities within it. I am too persuaded already of your
overwhelming
depravity, so an explanation is hardly necessary!”

He eyed her with surprise. Her outburst seemed to have restored his good humour. She had met his stinging rebuke with her own poisoned dart. Though Ariana’s face was blazing from embarrassment and self-reproof, his had become unarmed. She was surprised by this startling change in demeanour, and suddenly self-conscious. It began to be borne in upon her that she had indeed listened to a private conversation and she owed him an apology.

She could not meet his eyes. “I am sorry for having listened to your
conversation; it was—rude of me…and…wrong. I do not know why I did! Good evening!” With that, she whirled around and hurried toward the refreshment room, hoping no one would notice her late entrance.

Lord Horatio looked anxiously at Ariana as she entered the dining room. She was flushed, to be sure, but not hysterical, and he decided that Mornay had either gone easy on her or she had nerves of steel.

As people helped themselves to drinks, fruit ices, pastries, nuts, and fresh fruit, Ariana discreetly took her place near her aunt, who whispered, “Where have you been!” A few minutes later, Lord Horatio politely requested an introduction. She discovered his lordship was witty and pleasant, and she greatly enjoyed the minutes she and her aunt had of his company. He had an admiring attitude toward Ariana that made the blush on her cheeks remain; and when he had gone, suddenly Mr. Mornay was there, bowing politely.

“I notice your niece did not play this evening,” he said lightly to Mrs. Bentley.

She looked at him wide-eyed. “Well! With you and the Sherwoods playing, I should think not! I positively forbade her from doing so.”

He nodded. “Perhaps another time, then. I should like to see how she gets on.”

He looked at Ariana who instantly professed, “I do not play for wagers, sir, on any occasion.”

“And what is your reason? I feel you must have a particular reason, by your manner of stating it.”

“Yes; It is against my principles. Card-playing is innocent enough, but, when combined with gaming, it is ruinous. You know that fortunes are lost at cards.”

“There are those,” he returned with the briefest look in Lady Sherwood’s direction, “who would say that fortunes are won.”

She answered slowly, trying not to be distracted by his dark good looks. “Yes. At the expense of those who lose.”

He studied her with the hint of a smile. “Certainly I agree that one shouldn’t play unless one can afford to lose.”

“And therein lies the problem.” Her eyes flashed, a quick spark of
bluish-green was in them, and then was gone. “Those given to gaming always think they can afford to play; and if not, no longer care. I submit that gaming at cards is ruinous, and should never be encouraged.”

He bowed politely and turned away.

M
rs. Bentley was silent for most of the twenty-minute drive home from the Sherwoods’ house. “I believe,” she said at long last, “Mr. Mornay means to discover your situation.”

Ariana looked wide-eyed at her aunt. “What on earth for? He can have no interest in me.”

“No, indeed, not,” her aunt quickly agreed. “Someone else must have inquired, perhaps Lord Horatio.” She thought for another moment and said, “I shall write to your father, to see what’s what, though I daresay there will be little coming from that corner, eh?”

Ariana nodded. “Five hundred pounds, at most, I believe. And perhaps some plate. Very little by London standards.” She hoped this would dissuade her aunt from any thought of seeking a match for her.

“Lord Horatio is only a second son, of course, but of excellent pedigree. If he is interested in you,” said her chaperon, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “then I shall transfer to you a sum I have put aside.”

“I could not accept it, Aunt Bentley!”

Her aunt raised her chin. “Don’t be absurd. Of course you can accept it. What are childless relations for?”

Ariana eyed her uncertainly. Was she actually making a joke? “But—”

“The money belongs to me, and if it will help you marry into a noble family then I consider it better spent on your account than elsewhere.
In addition to which, if you marry Lord Horatio, you can help your sisters find equally advantageous matches. They may not have your style, I grant, but that is secondary. You will be Lady Horatio—”

“Aunt Bentley! Lord Horatio has hardly spoken to me. You are too hasty in your thoughts, I am persuaded.”

“No, but he looked at you, my gel, quite noticeably. I own he was taken with you.”

They arrived at the house and the conversation ended. With a heavy heart, Ariana went up to her room. As Harrietta helped her undress, she ruminated on her aunt’s plans for her. It wasn’t enough that Ariana was gowned and coifed in the first order of fashion. Now Aunt Bentley wished to endow her in the hope she would make a famous match, which meant marrying one of the rich society gentlemen of title or exceptional heritage, regardless of their faith—or their lack of it.

Lord Horatio was an agreeable man; perhaps he held with her beliefs? But he seemed to be in tight with Mr. Mornay, in which case she had to doubt the possibility of his taking religion seriously.

At home, Papa often questioned the girls about their readings in the prayer book or the Bible, and wonderful conversations and ideas ensued. They discussed the election of the saints, the parables of the Lord, the providence of God and His hand on the affairs of men—oh, so many things. Matters that few in her aunt’s circles she knew of could, or would wish to, hold their own on. Mrs. Bentley (just as Papa had warned) was practically a heathen. She was a church-going, generous heathen, to be sure, but her generosity was not without obligation: Ariana was supposed to find a husband among this circle of London’s wealthy elite.

Thinking of her parents, she suddenly recalled that she had not got a single answer to her letters, thus far. It was decidedly unusual for them not to respond. She would write and tell them of Aunt Bentley’s latest idea regarding Lord Horatio and of enhancing her dowry. Papa would certainly have something to say about that!

Before getting into bed, Ariana fell to her knees and began to earnestly pray.
Heavenly Father, keep me for Your purpose; I pray that,
despite my aunt’s desires, only You would choose a husband for me. And let it be a man who cares for the things of God. Let me not keep the attention of anyone who is not pleasing in Your sight. Lead my steps and guard my path, Lord!

After praying for everyone who came to mind, Ariana went to bed. Her aunt’s words came back to trouble her, and she slept only with difficulty.
“Mr. Mornay means to discover your situation…You shall be Lady Horatio…”

In the next few days a great quiet descended at Hanover Square. Morning calls ceased. Completely. Abruptly. Just like that. Worse yet, when Ariana and Mrs. Bentley took the carriage out to make calls of their own, not one lady received them. At each home, after taking Mrs. Bentley’s card inside, a servant had returned to give the dubious information that his mistress was not at home. Mrs. Bentley was far too shrewd to think it could be coincidental, but she refused to believe they were being snubbed.
How could it be so?

On the bright side, they had time to spend with Mr. Pellham. He had insisted upon being moved from his chamber to a comfortable spot in his drawing room, and received them there. Mrs. Bentley filled him in on the latest
on-dits
to which he would invariably reply, “So ’tis with high society, Mrs. B.,” or, “Not a farthing of sense among all that brass!”

He had begun endeavouring to walk with the help of crutches. This was very encouraging to both Ariana’s aunt and the gentleman himself. It was nonetheless a surprise to find Mr. Pellham in the parlour at Hanover Square late Friday afternoon. Two burly footmen were supporting him in lieu of the crutches, but his spirits seemed higher than they had for many a day. Mrs. Bentley was beside herself for a few moments, shouting shrilly to the servants. Indeed, her affection for the old gentleman was nowhere more evident than when she was giving orders on his behalf.

“Come, come, get some blankets and pillows down here directly!”

“Charlie and John, move this settee nearer the window, and get a card table here at once.”

“Haines, tell cook we have a dinner guest, and bring him his drink—you know what he likes.”

“Goodness, Molly, you know Mr. Pellham must have the
Times!
You’ve been employed here for days, already! Whatever is that silly broadsheet? Bring it here.”

Molly’s face was ashen. “They’s givin’ these out on the street, mum,” she explained, after handing it over.

Molly was the newest chambermaid in Mrs. Bentley’s household, and always averted her eyes when Ariana entered a room, or passed her in a hall. Somehow it was different from the way other servants displayed that they expected to be ignored. Ariana sensed fear in the girl, and supposed it was due to timidity, or perhaps from having served in a cruel household; so she tried to spare the girl’s feelings by ignoring her in turn.

Mrs. Bentley glanced quickly at the broadsheet and then threw it upon the table. “I’ve no time for gossip, now,” she scolded.

When Ariana felt it was safe enough to enter the room, Mr. Pellham greeted her warmly. “My dear, I warrant I shall be up and about before you know it. Our little outings will begin, I assure you.”

“I am happy to see you looking so well,” Ariana offered. “When you do recover, I will of course be honoured by your company on those outings, I promise you.”

A knock on the front door below was heard, but Ariana paid no attention, knowing it was probably a cart monger or some such person. Haines was well-trained in handling them. But it was not a vendor of wares. The butler judiciously led the visitors to the second parlour and announced, when he came to the door of the best one, “Mr. Mornay and Lord Horatio, ma’am, in the second parlour. Shall I bring them here?”

Both ladies were dismayed by the illustrious guests. Mrs. Bentley
smiled to herself, however, interpreting the call as confirmation of his lordship’s interest in her niece. Ariana felt a strong sense of caution, but she was also curious. She would not give the slightest hint of encouragement to his lordship, lest indeed he was interested in furthering their acquaintance as her aunt suspected. She would merely be polite.

“Come, Ariana,” her aunt said. “Randolph, we shall return presently, when the gentlemen have gone.”

“Bring them here!” he admonished.

“But Randolph, you dislike my friends!”

“Have they come to see you or your niece?”

She put a hand over her heart. “I cannot say!”

“Bring them on.” His tone had the sound of a man ready to face the enemy. “I wish to see how these gadflies are treating Ariana!”