Before the Season Ends (18 page)

Mrs. Bentley shook her head in amazement. “Mr. Mornay has rescued you! Mornay himself! He has gone against the countess on your behalf! I promise you, there shall be one unhappy lady the night you walk into Almack’s.”

Ariana sat in a comfortable wing chair across from the older woman and poured herself a cup of tea from the service that Haines had put out while they were speaking.

“Why do you suppose he has helped me?” She settled herself more comfortably in her chair.

“I must think ’tis for his lordship’s sake. Certainly you are not the first female said to have tipped her cap at him, nor would you have been the first to suffer a ruined season on his account, although you may well be the youngest. Generally, it is the more experienced femme fatales of society—like Lady Covington herself—who attempt to win over the Paragon. Of course many others swoon for him but they have the sense not to display it.” She picked up her delicate china cup and took a sip. “That is the only explanation I can think of. He has indeed performed a service for us, no matter what moved him to it, and we are obliged to him.”

“He told me to expect him on Saturday evening.” Ariana knew this would be received rapturously and was not surprised when Mrs. Bentley’s mouth dropped and her hand went to her heart.

“He means to do more for you, then! Where is he taking you?”

“He didn’t say. But he told me to be sure and wear one of my finer evening gowns. He asked if I had one of satin and gauze. I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, of course.” She sat back on the sofa, stunned. “A finer gown! Satin and gauze. We have no invitations for tomorrow evening, and I have not heard of any entertainments. What could he be thinking?”

“Could it be he intends to take me to Almack’s?”

Her aunt looked at her silently for a moment, preoccupied with her own ideas. “No. ’Tisn’t open. Only on Wednesday nights, my gel. And, at any rate, I cannot believe he would be caught alive at Almack’s! The men of his set find it a dead bore. They only go on occasion to show they
can.
”

A minute passed. “It must be something popular on account of her ladyship.” Her aunt laughed. “To think that of all the men in society, she chose to involve you with Mr. Mornay! It is a great stroke of luck for you, my gel.”

Ariana did not wish to point out that it could not be called “luck” to be embroiled in a scandal; or that she did not credit “luck” with the events of her life. Despite the humiliation of the situation, she accepted that somehow it was part of God’s plan for her.

“When this is over,” continued the older lady, “you will be the toast of the town, for even without an event you are the first lady in London who can claim to have had Mornay’s affections! Lucky for us he wishes to punish the countess.”

Ariana’s heart sank at these words. “But I do not wish to be in the middle of their quarrel. I think I must refuse to go any further with this.”

Mrs. Bentley’s response was immediate and grave. “ ’Tis your quarrel, also, Ariana. Lady Covington has sunk her claws into you, for no good reason. Happy or not, you must help the matter. In the end, every single family in the Society Book will want to know you!” Ariana’s face was downcast, but she nodded. Mrs. Bentley laughed, saying, “This entire outcome must be the veriest thing sent from heaven!”

Ariana looked up at that, struck by the thought. She excused herself
and went directly to her chamber eager to read the afternoon’s collect, and especially, to pray. Sent from heaven? Indeed it had to be, all of her circumstances, though she did not see how any of it could work in her favour in a spiritual sense. In a worldly sense, yes, she was gaining social favour and success by her relationship with Mr. Mornay. But she knew that true success would be finding others of her faith, or helping in some small way to further God’s kingdom.

Ariana fell to her knees, resolved to be thankful for every good thing in her life—including even worldly social success. Only God knew how He might use this for good.

She prayed over the matter, asking for blessings on what was to come, and for Mr. Mornay for his goodness in helping her. She prayed for strength to forgive the countess, and for that lady to come to repentance and salvation. She asked, if possible, to be used by God to help others seek His face. When she prayed for her family, she remembered that it was time to write again, even though she had still not had a reply. After committing that puzzling matter to the Lord as well, she spent an hour writing a long missive detailing the startling turn of events the day had brought. She began by describing her new impressions of Mr. Mornay, who was, she wrote, “not nearly as mean-hearted as I earlier took him for.”

A
riana was considering doing without breakfast except for a cup of strong tea. She’d been aware from the moment she arose that she would be seeing Mr. Mornay later, for the familiar knot in her stomach was present. She no longer felt frightened of him, but it was useless to pretend she was wholly indifferent.

Mrs. Bentley, who always took toast with butter and drank her only cup of chocolate for the day in the morning, was chipper and talkative about the coming night.

“ ’Tis no doubt a private dinner party at an exclusive address.”

“Oh, dear; I fear the amount of conversation necessary in such a situation.”

Her aunt waved her hand. “Never mind that; they shall be concerned with pleasing you! A lady friend of Mr. Mornay’s.” She tittered gleefully. “And to think—it is all a hoax! I could give Lady Covington a kiss of gratitude! If she only knew the good she has done us, I warrant she would turn green.”

A hoax? Ariana put down her teacup. She had not thought of it as such, and now took a fresh dislike of the situation. But what else could be done? Certainly she had the right to prove the countess’s accusations false, since they were false.

“Well, we shall see later what is up. Be assured I will not allow you to leave this house with a gentleman, even Mornay, without knowing precisely what his plans are. I will ask him when he arrives.” She
studied Ariana as if for the first time, her mind obviously working at some idea, and Ariana waited to hear it. She was coming to recognize this look on her aunt’s face. It meant there was something significant on her mind, and it was only a matter of minutes or seconds before she would voice the thought.

“Could it be he truly has a
tendre
for you, my gel?”

“Dear me, no!” Ariana said vehemently. “I am astounded he is helping me, for he has given me numerous set-downs, I assure you! Nothing could be clearer, Aunt, but that he is not overly fond of me.”

Mrs. Bentley was not really surprised at this response, for after all,
who could win Mornay?

“Well, it is certain he does not overly dislike you, either. If he had a disgust of you I am prodigiously sure it would have prevented him from coming to your aid. Mornay is not the man to hide his dislikes, and when it comes to young females I avow he has had more than his share. Now I think on it, when you are with him tonight, be careful not to do anything to make him feel you are developing an attraction. Nothing is more certain to bring about his disapproval!”

Ariana stared at her relation, trying to digest the strange advice. She was not artful enough to hide her true feelings, even when she tried, but fortunately there was nothing to hide in this case. Mr. Mornay was handsome, but not at all the type of man she could ever consider as a marriage prospect. He was, in fact, the furthest thing from her idea of a future mate.

Mrs. Bentley took a sip of her chocolate and let it linger on her tongue before swallowing with a satisfactory little gulp.

“Look, my gel, the newest issue of
La Belle Assemblee!
It arrived just today.”

Ariana could not share her aunt’s pleasure, as she was fretting. “What if I do something foolish before his friends? I am much younger than he… He’ll despise me!”

Her aunt raised calm eyes to Ariana’s troubled ones. “I have seen you interacting with enough people to know you are no fool, Ariana; you are more sensible than I could have hoped. I daresay you will
know how to behave.” She took a bite of her toast. “He despises most people, in any case, so it will be no great thing if you are added to the number, though I do not think it likely. He behaved gallantly to you, yesterday. But do not set your heart on pleasing him, for such is not possible. And he is, after all, far out of your league…though I hate to admit it. Enjoy his attentions while they last, and the social success they will bring. That is my advice to you, my dear.”

My dear.
The words rang pleasantly in Ariana’s ears for she did not recall her aunt ever referring to her in any way but as, “my gel.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I shall keep in mind what you have said.”

After breakfast Mrs. Bentley announced they would visit Mr. Pellham, and Ariana was glad for the diversion. She would be glad of anything that took her thoughts off the coming evening.

Mr. Pellham’s residence was on Lower Brook Street, just past the Square. They found him nestled cosily upon a sofa in the drawing room with his leg well positioned off the floor. A small table was pulled up, and a chair, so that he and Mrs. Bentley could play their favorite game of cards, two-player whist. Ariana sat comfortably across from them upon a plush wing chair and read
The Italian
for the second time. Mid-afternoon they had tea with scones and fresh berries. Berries were hard to procure unless one’s servant was quick, for they sold out prodigiously fast on the street. Ariana found herself able to eat, and enjoyed it more than she had expected.

By the time Mrs. Bentley announced their departure Ariana felt quite relaxed. The dear patient was assured of another visit shortly though he remonstrated that “an old invalid” was not worth the trouble.

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bentley declared and Ariana echoed the thought, then added, “And what would you like to read, next?” For sometimes she read aloud to him to ease his boredom.

“You choose the book, my dear,” he replied with a characteristic
wink. Meanwhile, Ariana’s aunt gave orders to his servants, double-checked that the doctor had stopped in, and made sure a good supper was ordered before they left.

Once back at Hanover Square, the knot in Ariana’s stomach slowly returned. To distract herself, she worked on her sewing canvas, brought from home, but could not enjoy it. She wrote another letter, staring absently at Molly who was cleaning the grate, while she thought of what to include. The day at Hyde Park with the Paragon was news her family would enjoy, but the thought of Mr. Mornay only sent her into fresh tremors. Instead, she wrote a light and humorous letter to her younger sisters, who would feel important receiving their own missive. When she’d sealed it, Molly, who had never approached her once before, suddenly came alive.

She came and curtseyed, and swallowing nervously, asked, “Kin I take it to Mr. Haines for ye, mum?” It was no trouble for Ariana to leave it on the hall tray downstairs herself, but she smiled in pleasure that the little chambermaid had found some courage.

“Certainly. Thank you,” she said kindly, handing over her correspondence. Molly flew from the room.

Afterward, she picked up the new fashion catalogue, but nothing, it seemed, could dispel the uneasy feeling in her being.

She finally thought to pray, scolding herself for not having done so in the first place. Why was it often true that the more reason she had to pray, the less she seemed inclined to do it? She began by confessing this weakness, then thanking the Lord for all the good things He had brought into her life. Unexpectedly, it became a special time of communing with God. As could happen at times, she felt a very reassuring presence of the Holy Spirit; she was not alone.

She prayed at length about her unusual relationship with Mr. Mornay. It was tempting, truly tempting, to think something had gone awry; that if she had been more in prayer, perhaps, none of the trouble with Lady Covington would have started to begin with. It was hard to trust that the Lord would have engineered her spending time with such a man as Mr. Mornay.