Before the Season Ends (23 page)

T
he days following Mr. Mornay’s departure were dreary indeed. Ariana was distraught at the uncertainty of ever seeing him again socially. She missed his little witticisms and swirling eyes. She missed the gallant way he treated her, the laughter in his voice when she amused him, and the firm air of assurance about him. Though Mrs. Bentley had her own box at Drury Lane, it was unthinkable to make use of it. Ariana would be accosted with an onslaught of curiosity were she to appear anywhere but in Mr. Mornay’s box. She did not feel ready to face such an inquisition.

Another disturbing factor was the lack of news from home. The longer her time away, the more it vexed her. She might return home, she thought, simply to get an explanation. She was restless and bored without Mr. Mornay’s company at any rate. The only thing preventing her from acting on the plan was the small worry that her papa might not allow her to return to Hanover Square. If that were to happen she would surely never set eyes on Mr. Mornay again. And so the question of why her family had not replied to her letters remained a nagging concern.

She moped about the house for a full week before the pall of his absence began to lift, and she came to her senses. She had forgotten the simple truth that all her steps were in God’s hands. His plans for her were the only important ones. She began to spend more time in prayer, giving all her hopes and dreams to the Lord. Indeed, she gave
Mr. Mornay to Him, praying only for his salvation. And she gave her family and her worries to Him. Whatever was behind their lack of correspondence, she felt sure it could be easily explained—somehow.

It helped that Lord Horatio called. Ariana had already received a visitor who mentioned seeing Mr. Mornay the previous evening. She stayed outwardly calm at hearing this, but inside her heart was churning with the thought that he had returned.

“My dear Miss Forsythe,” his lordship said, with a sincere smile, and neat bow. “ ’Tis delightful to see you.”

Ariana had received him wearing a morning gown that draped her tall frame gracefully. Her hair was in ringlets about her head, decorated with a wide band of taffeta. Mrs. Bentley joined them in the parlour, happy to see Ariana receiving guests again.

When he was seated and small talk was out of the way, his lordship looked directly at Ariana. “Are you well, Miss Forsythe? No one sees you about of late; are you hiding yourself at home?”

“I am home a great deal, but not in hiding, my lord!” she replied.

“She is far too much at home, your lordship, but cannot be pulled from her books and the fireside,” Aunt Bentley offered. “Why do not you insist upon her going out? She will listen to you.” Lord Horatio looked in consternation at Ariana, who was directing a patient look at her relation. He said, in a low tone, “ ’Tis said you are suffering a decline; on account of Mornay, you know.” Ariana’s mouth gaped in indignation for a second.

“Upon my word!” she said at last. “People have far too little to do if they must continually invent calamities!”

Lord Horatio smiled. “Indeed; nevertheless I insist, as your aunt suggested, that you leave your house more often and be seen wearing smiles. The talk has begun, and your parlour is bound to be full in the next few days with the curious—unless you act now and nip it in the bud.”

“The talk has begun,” she repeated. “By whom?”

Her richly dressed friend shrugged. “Does one ever know? The point is, once in circulation it only gets worse.”

Ariana eyed him gratefully. “Thank you for calling and letting me know. I will be sure to resume my morning ride in the park tomorrow.”

“Come for a drive with me now. The sun is out, and though the air has a chill, it is a fine, clear day.” His tone was soft, but not so much that Mrs. Bentley hadn’t heard.

“How kind of you! Do go, my gel!”

But her niece needed no persuasion. She thanked his lordship and went to get her bonnet and pelisse while he checked that his curricle was still at the curb. Sometimes the groom would walk the horses if they became impatient—but there it was, a neat equipage on two wheels that was just the thing for a drive about town.

Soon he and Ariana were seated in the vehicle and he snapped the reins to set off. They began moving smartly down the Square, turning onto Brook Street. Mayfair was usually busy with delivery carts and wagons, strollers, posh carriages, and passers-by. They waved gaily at anyone they knew and Ariana made it a point to give especially brilliant smiles. A carriage stopped by theirs near Berkeley Square, causing Lord Horatio to pull up the horses abruptly, all so that one lady could tell Miss Forsythe she was much relieved to see her out and about. His lordship then had an idea.

“Would a turn through the park be agreeable, Miss Forsythe?”

It was earlier than the fashionable “hour” for being seen, which meant the lanes would be less crowded and they could actually enjoy the scenery. On a whim he added, “Why do we not pass by Grosvenor Square on the way and see if Mornay is about?” Ariana stiffened at mention of his name, but did not demur.

Grosvenor Square was not on the way. It would have been more direct had they gone straight down Mount Street to Park Lane, but Ariana was not aware of this. The suggestion to pass by the Paragon’s establishment was made in such a breezy tone, however, that she looked at her companion suspiciously. Was he testing her for a reaction?

As they approached the square, her pulse quickened. Lord Horatio diverted her by naming many of the grand houses they were passing,
and telling brief facts about the owners. When they drew near Mornay’s house, his lordship cried, “Good luck! ’Tis the man himself!” He slowed the equipage and Mr. Mornay, who was affectionately stroking the mane of one of his horses and speaking softly in its ear, looked up as they came aside him.

“Are you coming or going?” Her companion’s voice was jolly.

Mr. Mornay issued instructions to his groom who led off the team, and stepped over to where they had stopped in the street. He bowed to Ariana, looking at her with keen interest.

“I’ve just returned home. What are you about?”

“Headed for the park. Just taking a drive.”

Mornay turned his attention to Ariana. “How do you do, Miss Forsythe?”

“Well, I thank you.” she said, trying to decide whether to disguise or admit her pleasure. “And you? Are you well?”

He gave only a short nod for answer. “Are you certain you’re well? I have heard otherwise.” His look was mildly reproving.

“I have been home a great deal, but aside from that there is no foundation for what you heard,” she assured him.

He nodded again, noting that the sparkle in her eyes had not diminished, nor the colour in her cheeks. Without thinking, he said, “Thank you, Horatio.” He stepped back and gave another short bow to Ariana.

“What did he thank you for?” She felt as though she had missed something of the interaction.

Lord Horatio came to attention and looked thoughtful for a moment, but then shrugged.

“I suppose for stopping by.” He turned and gave her a guarded look. He did not mention Mornay’s concern about the rumour of a decline, or that he had expressed his wish to see Miss Forsythe, but dared not call upon her himself. The scheme of going by his house had been Lord Horatio’s impulse and it had paid off; Mornay got to see his little protégée.

The following day Ariana took that early ride in the park
accompanied by her aunt’s groom on another mount. She went down the Ladies’ Mile and stopped to chat with more than a few acquaintances. She returned home and had only changed into a morning gown when callers began to arrive. By late afternoon Ariana felt certain all question of her having fallen into a decline must have surely been put to rest. Lavinia and her mama were the last callers, for they, too, had heard the rumour.

“Tomorrow I have determined to accompany you to the museum you have longed to see,” Lavinia announced, “if you have no previous engagements.”

“I haven’t!”

“Excellent! Mama says our coachman may take us. I’ll come for you at eleven o’clock!”

Ariana had seen Lavinia often at balls and card parties, but this was the first time they would spend all day in each other’s company. She dressed excitedly, urging Harrietta to hurry with her hair so she would be ready on time. There was already a pencil and paper in her reticule so she could take notes for Mr. Pellham’s sake. He would enjoy hearing her account read aloud.

When the Herleys’ coach rumbled to a stop at the curb Ariana called out to notify her aunt, and then hurried through the front door to the carriage. To her surprise, there were two gentlemen with Lavinia. She was introduced to one Lord Antoine Holliwell, and Mr. O’Brien was introduced to her, with the information that she and he had similar interests in religion. She shot Lavinia a knowing look, catching on immediately that the meeting was no coincidence.

As they rode through London streets, she discovered that Mr. O’Brien hoped to enter the church. There was a living in his parish that was soon to be vacated and he had high expectations it would be given him. His sincere love for the church and God gave his speech an animation that was endearing. He even mentioned things from
his private devotions that reassured Ariana that his was a genuine faith.

Her parents had raised her almost as a Methodist (which would have been shocking to many of her acquaintance, had she told them) though they never renounced the Anglican faith. Her papa had strong sympathies with the Methodists and the Dissenters. So this upbringing included discernment to see the difference between a minister who took his vocation as a sacred calling versus the one who viewed it as merely an occupation that paid the bills. It was the difference between what the Methodists would call soul-saving faith versus mere religion. It was immensely heartening for Ariana to finally make the acquaintance of a person who understood the same distinction.

Mr. O’Brien had light, sandy-coloured hair. He was tall and slim and good-natured. His appearance was neat and clean, and his voice gentle and earnest. Ariana liked him at once. He, in turn, was fascinated with Miss Forsythe. She was, indeed, too good to be true! A lady of faith that echoed his own and with such beauty as made his heart quake.

When the coach rolled to a stop Ariana looked eagerly out the window but was disappointed to see a row of circular townhouses, recognizing Burton Crescent, where the Herleys lived.

“Lavinia? What of the museum?”

“Museum?” Mr. O’Brien looked blank. He evidently knew nothing of it.

“Oh, dear me, how could I have forgot to tell you?” Lavinia giggled. “I am dreadfully sorry; I promised Lord Antoine a grand meal at our table. Pray, do not be cross and hold it against me. I will make it up to you, my dear Ariana, I give you my word as your friend!” When she saw that Ariana was out of countenance she turned to Lord Antoine.

“You see? She
is
disappointed!” Then, to Ariana, she added, “I insist you forgive me, for it was Lord Antoine, you must know, who would not be agreeable to visiting the museum.”

“Guilty as charged,” said the young man, holding his hands up in a gesture of admission. He did not bother to apologize, however,
and Ariana did indeed feel cross. Lavinia giggled again at something his lordship said as they exited the coach. Mr. O’Brien alone seemed cognizant of the degree of Ariana’s disappointment, though he had no hand in causing it. He looked at her gravely and apologized for her dissatisfaction.

“There was no mention of a museum outing to me.” He helped her from the carriage by lightly holding one hand.

“No? But Miss Herley agreed only yesterday that we should go today. I am astonished she has changed the plan without informing me.”

He nodded, but then smiled shyly. “I was told I was to endeavour to offset your loneliness.” When she only looked up at him in surprise, he added, “With Mr. (here he stopped and swallowed) Mornay away.”

Ariana blushed. “I assure you there is no need. Mr. Mornay and I are…” He watched her hopefully. “Only acquaintances.”

“That’s splendid!” He came up short and said, “I beg your pardon. I only meant—” His eyes were a torment of confusion, making her laugh.

“I know what you meant, Mr. O’Brien.”