Before the Season Ends (3 page)

Indeed, Julia Forsythe saw that her instincts regarding the minister’s feelings for her daughter had been correct. It was unfortunate that directly after this revelation she caught the avid faces of the Cranshaws fixed on her daughter and the rector. She saw, too, as they went off
whispering and peering over their shoulders at the couple. Next, she was forced to accept looks of pitying disdain sent her by Mrs. Hennesy and Mrs. O’Doole, two of the Forsythes’ neighbours, as they passed. She smiled at them through gritted teeth. It was the last straw, however, when the Misses Wenderson gave each other delighted gasps after spying Ariana in conversation with the older man. Julia realized then, to her horror, that her daughter and the minister had now become a matter of town gossip.

She sprang into action. It was not planned, considered, or prayed-over action, but every bone in her body declared that she knew—
yes!
—how to put an end to this business. She stalked over to her husband and insisted upon his immediate attention, apologizing as best she could to Mr. Beckham, whose conversation she had interrupted. Mr. Forsythe excused himself, concerned at the distress on his wife’s face. Then, after some fierce whispering between the couple, he headed to where Ariana and Mr. Hathaway had their heads bent in conversation.

Ignoring a shocking urge to knock the two heads together, he merely cleared his throat loudly. It wasn’t that he disliked Mr. Hathaway or even disagreed with his sermons; it was just that he wanted a son-in-law of whom he might feel fatherly, not brotherly. He would graciously extricate his child from the conversation and then simply ask the minister to refrain from singling out his daughter. Mr. Hathaway must learn that Ariana was henceforth not to be considered. This was his sole and utter intention. What happened instead was such a surprise—nay, a shock—that all he could do was comment later that God alone saw it coming.

Ariana had noticed her father heavily approaching and felt a twinge of alarm. She nervously played with the handle of her parasol while trying to attend to Mr. Hathaway’s conversation. He was saying how becoming she looked in her walking-out dress of white cambric, and she gave him a weak smile of gratitude; but here was Papa, and it was he who now commanded her attention. He had an uncommon look of
purpose about him; a look which said that she, Ariana, was no doubt going to have to answer for speaking with the minister. Had he not forbidden her to do so? From beneath her bonnet, she gave him an apologetic smile as he reached them.

Then, she turned back to Mr. Hathaway, and simultaneously, in a single second, perfectly ruined Mr. Forsythe’s planned speech. For in that one moment she had given the aged churchman a warm, brilliant smile; a smile that spoke volumes; a smile that Mr. Forsythe interpreted as saying,
Offer for me at any time, my dear Mr. Hathaway, and I shall not hesitate to accept you!
Or,
Why, here is my papa this very minute, and why should you not present your offer to him for me right now?
In any case, it was a smile that showed complete affability and approval for the man receiving it. To Mr. Forsythe, it was too provoking. He nodded curtly at the minister and said, in a clipped tone, “Ariana!”

“Yes, Papa?” Her voice sounded nervous.

“Go to the carriage, while I speak a word with the rector.”

“Yes, Papa!” She shot him a knowing look before curtseying politely to Mr. Hathaway’s fine bow, and went off in the direction of the family’s equipage. After she had gone, Mr. Hathaway turned a veiled expression to Mr. Forsythe. Something in his eyes made the girl’s father think he had been expecting a confrontation on the matter. He felt relief on that account, for it meant the man was aware that Miss Forsythe’s family could hardly approve of such a match as he and Ariana would make.

With that realization, Mr. Forsythe did not have the heart, now that he was face to face with the man, to tell him the news outright: that Ariana was not to be considered by him. Instead he found himself speaking of the approaching season, his sister in London, and of “sending Ariana.” The words spilled out with an accompanying sensation that it was the wisest course to take, despite his not having been convinced earlier. His wife desired this, he explained, but Mr. Hathaway’s face went from red to white, and then slowly flushed red again, as he listened…

Meanwhile, Ariana reached the carriage where the others were already ensconced inside. Beatrice and Lucy, the two youngest Forsythes at ages eleven and six, respectively, were now compensating for the enforced silence during the sermon with a barrage of chatter.

“Mama,” Ariana said, after quickly seating herself between the younger girls. “Shall Papa be angry that I spoke to Mr. Hathaway? I had no choice!” Mrs. Forsythe held up a hand to silence her daughter.

“I do not think he will be; he is settling the matter at this moment, and I daresay he will be satisfied at having done so. Do not fret.” She gave Ariana an encouraging smile, and she returned the gesture. (Did not Mama always smooth things over?) However, in a few minutes all smiles vanished. Mr. Forsythe appeared outside the coach, and he was panting with exertion.

“Charles? What has happened?” Mrs. Forsythe asked as the whole family stared at him in wonder. Even the two little ones had become instantly quiet at sight of their dignified Papa, all hot and red and wiping his brow.

He climbed inside the carriage and plopped down beside his wife, still too bewildered to speak, but gathering his thoughts. His clothing was askew and his hat had disappeared altogether. He took a few breaths, gave a backhanded bang on the wall behind him to alert the coachman to be off, and finally answered.

“I have just exchanged fisticuffs with the rector.”

There was a moment of shocked silence and then a deluge of questions from the more mature occupants of the carriage—except Ariana. She was too busy trying not to blush in mortification. Though Alberta had eyed her accusingly at their father’s announcement, no one else seemed ready to blame her.

From Mrs. Forsythe: “How could you fight a man who is older than you, not to mention, the rector!”

From Alberta: “I cannot imagine either of you raising your fists to one another!”

From Ariana, who could not maintain her silence a moment longer: “Indeed, Papa! How could you? How
could
you!”

“My dears!” he objected. “You mistake the matter! I assure you, I had no desire to fight the man, but he quite insisted upon it.”

“How did it come to such a pass?” asked his wife, her expression pained at the thought of the ordeal, as indeed was Ariana’s. With a look of dismay on his face, for he could not shake the feeling, Ariana’s father described the event.

“He insisted I insulted him for his age, though I said absolutely nothing about it. When I merely agreed that I consider him beyond a proper age for my daughter—which is another thing entirely—he proposed fisticuffs to prove, he said, that he is just as fit a man as I. When I refused, he came at me, and I’m afraid I had no choice but to defend myself.”

There was a moment’s grave silence.

“I think he has abandoned reason,” Mrs. Forsythe pronounced.

“The poor man would not stop coming at me and swiping his fists before my face, so I had no choice but to give him more than one good return.”

“Did you hit him hard, Papa?” Ariana could not remove the dread in her tone.

“Yes.” He turned back to his wife, adding, “But perhaps not hard enough. He said that unless I finish him off, he will not drop his suit with Ariana.”

Mrs. Forsythe gasped. “He did not challenge you to a duel?”

“No. And I daresay, when he returns to reason, he won’t.”

She sighed with relief. “Yet he admits his aim is to court our daughter.”

Mr. Forsythe nodded curtly. “Indeed he does.”

Ariana, who was never good at keeping thoughts to herself, burst out, “I am utterly responsible for today’s work! There is no answer for it except that you must part with me and allow me to wed the rector.”

With a look of patience, Mr. Forsythe returned, “It seems, my dear, that we must, indeed, be parted from you.” Ariana’s face was one of pure surprise, thinking he meant to fulfill her request.

“It is to Hanover Square in London with you. Mr. Hathaway’s
behaviour today confirms that you must be removed from his grasp.” He and his wife looked at each other and nodded their agreement of this decision.

“London?” asked Alberta, startled.

“To Aunt Bentley,” explained her mother. Ariana’s mouth dropped in surprise, opened wider to complain—and then shut.

“Aunt Bentley!” exclaimed Alberta, with a tinge of jealousy. “Mama, you have said Aunt Bentley is practically a heathen! You cannot mean to send my sister there!”

“I am sure I overstated the case,” said Mama, though she pulled a small fan from her reticule and began fanning herself. “I will not say your aunt is the model of a good Christian, my dears—indeed, I will not—but Ariana is going only for a visit, not to live with her.”

The rest of the journey home was like a dream for Ariana. While her mother spoke about the fine entertainments and cultural offerings of the city, Ariana sat in a daze and listened. Like Alberta, she, too had been convinced she would never be the debutante her aunt desired to sponsor. While many a girl from the gentry was packed off to London at this time of year for the season, the Forsythes were too practical, spiritual, and financially encumbered for such frivolities. The family home, a modest manor, required servants, two carriages, horses, and with four young daughters and a wife, an astonishing amount of textile finery, not to mention the gentlemanly need for proper clothing for the man of the house. The girls had been instructed, moreover, on the largely frivolous pursuits of the season, so they had never felt they were missing anything of moment.

It turned out, however, that Mrs. Forsythe had experienced the thing called “the season” when she was younger, and it did have its worthwhile attractions: the opera, concerts, the ballet, theatre. And, far from feeling dejected that the rector, after all, was not her lot in life, Ariana felt an almost euphoric sense of freedom.

H
aving made the decision to remove Ariana from Mr. Hathaway’s influence, Mr. Forsythe wanted it done speedily. He sent a letter to London the very day of his unfortunate confrontation with the rector via John Chilton, fastest messenger on horseback in the borough.

“Depend upon it,” he told his wife, “he will be back to us by Thursday.”

And so it was. Ariana and the rest of the family stood by early that evening while Mrs. Forsythe excitedly opened the burgundy seal on the rather thick letter from Hanover Square, and began to read:

My dearest Charles and Julia, I am exceedingly gratified that you will finally grant me the pleasure of introducing a niece to society. However, I consider it best to have Alberta. It is irregular for a younger sister to have a coming-out when the elder sister has not.

Mrs. Forsythe stopped reading and frowned. “Did you not mention our predicament concerning Ariana? Or that Alberta is betrothed?” The two girls exchanged bemused glances.