Before the Season Ends (42 page)

“This is highly irregular; I can’t imagine why I have agreed to this!” Ariana said nothing, but slipped into a light redingote of shot silk and raised the hood over her head. Haines quickly had the horses harnessed, attached the smallest vehicle that his mistress owned, a light, open gig, and came round the front for them. When Mrs. Bentley saw the equipage she gave a gasp.

“Haines! What on earth! Do you think we will go calling at this hour in an open carriage? Are you quite out of your mind?”

Haines stiffened noticeably, but his feeling of pride at being the butler of the establishment—even if he was called upon now and then in an emergency to serve as coachman, required him to make no argument. This was vexing, however, for he had felt justified in the use of the small gig since their drive was for so short a distance, only a few streets.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” He returned the gig and got the coach. The ladies had to wait extra minutes while the horses were harnessed
and the equipage could be brought round from the mews. Ariana was breathless by the time they were situated comfortably and on their way.

Haines pulled sharply to the curb in front of the Mornay house. A footman, looking prodigiously surprised, came out the front door as the ladies were leaving the carriage. He had recognized Ariana from his sleepy perch at a window and hurried out at once. Mrs. Bentley was giving orders before her foot reached the front door.

“Tell your master Miss Forsythe and her aunt are arrived. Be certain to say we do not wish to intrude upon his privacy and that we may return at another time if he prefers.”

“I’m sorry, mum. The master’s not returned yet.”

Ariana’s face dropped.

Her aunt said heavily, “Oh.” Aunt Bentley then looked at her niece and said, “We have come in vain, it seems.”

The footman quickly produced the butler, who greeted Ariana and her aunt with a bow. He did not look to have been asleep, Ariana thought.

“Hello Freddy,” she breathed. “I have to see him! May we wait?”

Freddy immediately led the ladies upstairs to the parlour where, he said, they could wait comfortably. Mrs. Bentley did not want to wait, and her face was the picture of ill-usage.

“We shall stay for no longer than a quarter hour!” she insisted. “You may leave a card after that; but we shall positively not wait a second longer than a quarter hour! Do you understand, Ariana?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She had felt convinced this was a divine mission of sorts, and now was it to be fruitless?
Send him home, dear Lord!

Downstairs Freddy kept a sharp eye out for the return of his master, watching from a window facing the street. In the parlour, there was silence except for the steady tick, tick, tick, of a porcelain clock on the mantel. Mrs. Bentley, regardless of the clock, dragged out a heavy gold watch of her own from time to time. She had to tilt her head back exceedingly to make out the face, but each time, she succeeded.

“Two minutes more,” she pronounced at last. And it was just at
that second that Ariana became awash in the astonishing feeling of assurance that she was going to see Mr. Mornay. Just when she might have worried most, she chose to believe her inner feeling. The sense of urgency had vanished, replaced now with a calmness that could only be from providence, she felt.

Mrs. Bentley stood up. “It is time, Ariana. Let us go.”

Ariana stood up reluctantly. She knew she had not invented the errand, or the assurance she had just felt. How could they be leaving? They were on the stairs coming down when Freddy appeared at the bottom.

“Mr. Mornay is home!”

Mrs. Bentley halted in surprise, but Ariana glowed with satisfaction.

“Quickly, let us back to the parlour!”

In a few moments they could hear the front door being opened and the proper, “Good evening, sir,” given by Freddy. There was some unintelligible talk from below, a sound of stumbling, and then the hushed tones of the servants.

“Let—me—go!” came wafting up through the air. The voice was that of Mr. Mornay, but it sounded unusual: thick, and slow. Ariana and her aunt looked at each other in dismay. Whatever could be the matter? To add to the puzzle, a footman came bounding up the stairs and closed the doors on them.

“Upon my word!” Mrs. Bentley gave Ariana a guarded look. “Mr. Mornay must have taken ill.” She had been at a complete loss as to what was happening, but this explanation seemed to answer. Another muffled sound came from the staircase. Mrs. Bentley was suddenly nervous, and stood up as well. She went toward the door.

“Allow me to take a look at him; I am older, you know, and more accustomed to these things. I will return and let you know if you may see him,” Aunt Bentley suggested.

Ariana had no choice but to wait, anxiously, hoping he was not
very
ill. To her great consternation she heard a sudden loud sound, as if someone had fallen.

“I am all—right!” Again it was Mr. Mornay’s voice, except he sounded closer. With a leap in her breast she rushed to leave the room. Her aunt had halted just outside the door and she instantly tried getting Ariana to go back into the chamber.

“No, you must wait, my dear. I haven’t seen him yet!”

But another sound of stumbling on the stairs reached her ears and she pushed away her aunt’s arms, rushing to the top of the steps. There, more than halfway up, she saw him. He was holding on to the rail and the wall, facing the wrong way, and swaying slightly, with Freddy and a footman below him. After their eyes moved to rest on something above him, he turned, swaying, and saw Ariana.

“You!” He resumed climbing and the servants hurried to help, but he pushed them away. They reluctantly fell back, but stayed close behind. When their master climbed the remaining steps with no further mishaps, they were visibly relieved.

Ariana, accosted by the distinct odour of liquor, backed away as he approached. She hurried to stand behind a chair in the parlour, as if for protection. Mr. Mornay was rubbing his eyes and looking at her as though he could not credit what he saw.

Aunt Bentley quickly intervened. “He is not well, my dear, and we should leave at once. You can return tomorrow, for I am certain that a good night’s sleep will greatly benefit Mr. Mornay. We are keeping him from his rest.” The man in question was swaying again, and he sat down as if aware of it.

“What brings you here?” Mornay asked, clearly trying to reconcile her appearance at this hour. He then reached down and started pulling off his boots, then allowed his valet, who had joined the other bewildered servants, to finish the job. He was utterly too fogged up with drink to comprehend the inappropriateness of this action but it made Mrs. Bentley’s toes begin to curl.
The Paragon, behaving like a boor!
She hurried to her niece, taking her by the arm.

“We shall call again tomorrow. Come, my dear, we must let the man rest.”

But Ariana shook herself free and walked toward Mr. Mornay.

“I am afraid, sir, that you are intoxicated,” she said.

Mrs. Bentley’s hand went to her heart. Mr. Mornay returned Ariana’s gaze stupidly, unable to either confirm or deny her accusation. He was trying to say, “Yes, unfortunately you have found me so,” but instead, without the least effort to suppress it, let out a loud, ungentlemanly burp.

“Oh, I think I must start carrying smelling salts!” Mrs. Bentley felt positively weak.

“Ariana, come here,” he ordered, almost in his usual voice. But Ariana had seen enough.

“You poor dear,” she murmured, stopping to pat his hand which was resting upon the arm of the chair. She then regally strode past him just as he reached to grasp her. She continued toward the stairs and nodded at an ashen-faced butler.

“Take care of him.”

“If I may be so bold—” Freddy interjected, quickly. She stopped and looked at him expectantly. “The master, as a rule, does not allow himself to drink to excess.”

Ariana looked away. “Then he has broken his rule, I daresay.”

“Ma’am, there is an explanation. He was brought home by Lord Alvanley and Brummell. Are you acquainted with their set?”

She nodded. “I am.” The so-called Carlton House set was composed mostly of aristocratic men, friends of the Prince Regent, who were witty, urbane—and noted rapscallions. “I am obliged, Freddy.”

“Your servant, ma’am.” He bowed and followed her down the stairs and opened the door for her. She hurried to the waiting coach where the horses were stamping their feet impatiently. She was up the steps and inside the coach before Haines could even help her.

Meanwhile, watching her go seemed to have a sobering effect on Mr. Mornay. He turned accusingly to Mrs. Bentley.

“Do not blame me!” she said to his severe countenance. “Ariana
would not rest until we came to call upon you. She quite insisted upon it.” She went toward the door and stood still, her hand upon the knob. “I am exceedingly sorry, Mornay.” She shook her head. “Exceedingly sorry.”

As she descended the steps, she reflected that, to most women in society, Mornay’s state might have seemed humorous and was even expected on occasion. Only Ariana, of course, would never view it in such a light. Of all the bad luck! She shook her head, recalling she had even prayed for the success of the match.

Is this the way You answer prayer, dear Lord?

J
ust before noon the next day, Mr. Mornay called at Hanover Square. He appeared, at first glance, none the worse for the prior evening’s misadventures, but in fact was suffering from a headache which had accosted him the moment he awoke. Nevertheless, he was determined to face Ariana. He straightened his cravat imperceptibly before raising the knocker at the door.

Mrs. Bentley nervously received him in the first floor parlour.

“Well?” he asked, presently, after politely declining to sit. “Has she sworn me to the devil?”

Mrs. Bentley gave an involuntary gurgle of laughter, caused by the strain upon her sensibilities all of this commotion was wreaking.

“Worse, perhaps; she has said nothing. Not a thing!”

His look of apprehension deepened. “I may as well learn the worst. Call for her.”

Ariana’s aunt nodded and went for the bellpull.

“You will, of course, allow me to see her privately.”

She acceded to this request, recognizing it instantly for what it was: an order. She told the footman who appeared shortly, to fetch Haines. She told Haines to inform Ariana she had a morning caller, but to insist he did not know who it was. When he had gone she nodded with satisfaction.

“Haines is trustworthy. She may not be prepared to see you, of course—”

He held up his hand. “Not to fear. I think I can handle a girl of nineteen.”

Haines, meanwhile, could not. When he said he had no knowledge of who was calling, Ariana cocked an eyebrow at him and folded her arms across her chest.

“Come, Haines, you can tell me. I shan’t breathe a word. Especially when I already
know
it is Mr. Mornay.” Poor Haines was so taken by surprise that his brows shot up, and his secret was quite undone. Ariana smiled gratefully.

“Thank you, Haines. ’Tis just as I suspected.”