Before the Season Ends (7 page)

When the modiste and her samples and catalogues had gone, Mrs. Bentley wrote a list of items that still needed to be purchased, saying each aloud as she thought of it. Ariana was again bewildered. Besides silk slippers and leather half-boots, fans and handkerchiefs, there were chemises and bonnets, gloves and stockings, ribbons, turbans, a shawl, a new pelisse, and perhaps a parasol or two. A proper corset might also be required, she said, staring thoughtfully (and to Ariana’s acute
discomfort) at her chest, which, she said, needed more of an uplift to fully benefit from the fashion.

“Aunt Bentley, please recall that I brought quite a few of these items with me from home. There is no need to—”

Mrs. Bentley looked up from her list with an absent expression, in thought, but then waved away what her niece had said. “You can use them if necessary, but I prefer you will use what I provide.” She spoke quickly, in a tone that said to leave her to her thoughts and Ariana did not cavil again. But she sat there with the beginnings of a tiny, dark cloud above her head. Despite her delight at the beautiful house and her own agreeably comfortable bedchamber; and even at the prospect of wearing all the finery, she felt an unhappy discomfort.

Mrs. Bentley finished her list and summoned Haines to fetch the carriage. “We will shop directly,” she informed her niece, who nodded from where she sat, in a lacy cambric morning dress and cap. “You need to change quickly. Put on that…er…pretty gray silk you had on yesterday.”

“Wear it again?” she asked, surprised.

“Do you have a finer one?”

“No; that is my finest walking-out dress.”

“Then wear it.”

She called Harrietta, a servant just promoted to the position of lady’s maid expressly for Ariana until she could hire a good French one (for they were best at fashioning the intricate hairstyles that were all the rage) to help her niece dress.

Although Ariana was wary of the enormousness of her aunt’s expenses on her account, she was nevertheless delighted when the carriage let them off in Pall Mall for shopping. The busy avenue bustled with carriages of all styles and sizes, and with crowds of pedestrians going in and out of fascinating highbrow shops. When they reached Harding, Howell & Co.’s Grand Fashionable Magazine, Mrs. Bentley turned decidedly and
entered. It was a huge, high-ceilinged place with a great circular glassed dome in the centre of the ceiling which let in a good amount of light. On either side the walls were lined with large shelves holding all manner of haberdashery and millinery. Everywhere, they saw furs and fans, lustrous silks, muslins, lace, and gloves. Further inside another shop sported shelves of jewelery and ornamental articles, many in ormolu.

“A lady can procure most anything here, and in the first style of elegance and fashion,” said Mrs. Bentley. Looking around at the numerous laden shelves and counters, Ariana did not doubt it.

They purchased six pairs of gloves, which Mrs. Bentley insisted was necessary; two three-quarter-length white satin for ball use, two of eggshell white for other entertainments, and two buff leather for walking out and informal occasions. The list was consulted: a few fans, a half-dozen embroidered floral starched white handkerchiefs, silk ribbons, artificial flowers (for use on bonnets and headdresses), stockings, and chemises—all purchased in a flurry of quick decisions which left Ariana astonished.

They were looking through a selection of very fine shawls when a woman’s deep voice was heard, and Mrs. Bentley, without so much as looking up, hissed, “Good heavens! ’Tis Cecelia Worthington. She has not an original thought in her head!” Curious, Ariana turned to see a stout woman with dark hair coming their way. With her was a younger dark-haired woman, who managed to maintain an appearance of smiling smugness throughout their encounter. Both women wore large, cavernous bonnets.

“Mrs. Bentley! How delightful to see you!”

“And you, Mrs. Worthington.” She added “Miss Worthington,” with barely a nod to the young woman. The ladies curtseyed automatically, as did Ariana.

“I notice you are not alone,” said the lady, looking curiously at Ariana. “Imagine my amazement when Sophia spotted you with this young woman. Ah, said I. Sophia darling, Mrs. Bentley has finally got herself a companion, the very thing I have told her to do numerous times. I am so pleased you have listened to reason, Mrs. Bentley.”

“I do not have a companion, Mrs. Worthington.” Mrs. Bentley’s tone was cold, and she blinked condescendingly at the lady. “This,” she said, motioning to Ariana, “is my niece. Allow me to present to you, my gel.” And then, speaking to Ariana she said in introduction, “Mrs. Cecelia Worthington, and Miss Worthington.” The Worthingtons curtseyed again, this time with indignation.

“My niece, Miss Forsythe,” she concluded. Ariana curtseyed politely, though her cheeks were rosy due to the manner of the introduction. Mrs. Bentley had introduced the Worthingtons to her, instead of the other way around, as if she were the superior party, when in fact, as the newcomer and younger person, Ariana should have been presented to Mrs. Worthington. Not to mention that her aunt had named her as Miss Forsythe, signifying that she was the eldest daughter in her family, whereas she properly should be introduced as Miss Ariana Forsythe.

Mrs. Worthington was ruffled, but her curiosity was greater than her indignation and she asked, startled, “Your niece?” Her large eyes surveyed Ariana amazedly and her mouth nearly hung open. “I do not recall you having a niece, I clearly do not recall such a thing!”

“She is my only brother’s child, I assure you, one of four, all of whom I may bring out at the proper time.” Mrs. Bentley had not actually given any recent thought to whether she would bring out her other nieces, but it had struck her as advantageous to say so.

“Miss Forsythe,” Mrs. Bentley continued, “is my first contribution to society and I must say I am greatly looking forward to having her received in all the finest drawing rooms in town.”

Mrs. Worthington was still wide-eyed, but she picked up a little lorgnette she had hanging around her neck on a chain, and peered at Ariana through it. She took in the adorable face with a slight sinking feeling in her breast; the chit was going to outshine her own Sophia, that was sure. She next wondered if Ariana held a fortune, which would nail the matter entirely. A homely heiress was bad enough, but if this Miss Forsythe had both figure and fortune, why, there was nothing she could do to help her child at all. Not a thing.

“And I suppose…she brings with her a great dowry?” Her face wrinkled in fear of the reply, and sure enough, Mrs. Bentley supplied the information that, “Of course! She is my relation, is she not?”

Ariana forced herself not to contradict her aunt before strangers, but she would certainly have to speak with her on this subject. She knew for a fact that her dowry was middling, nothing to get in raptures over, and certainly not a sum to be called “great.”

Mrs. Worthington let out an unconscious sigh. “Yes, I daresay, I daresay.” It was a reluctant acceptance of Miss Forsythe’s superior standing compared to her own daughter, who was merely somewhat pretty, though pale, and had a decent dowry, but nothing next to the amount she began to imagine Miss Forsythe must have.

Coming to her senses, she gushed, “My dear Miss Forsythe, you must know my Sophia! She is quite the little spy and will keep you abreast of all the latest happenings. Sophia quite prides herself upon being informed, do you not, my dear?”

Sophia nodded proudly and was about to say something when Mrs. Bentley interjected, taking Ariana’s arm. “I am afraid, Cecelia, that we must finish shopping.”

“We, too,” Mrs. Worthington said at once. She proceeded to trail Ariana and her aunt, keeping up a stream of questions and conversation. Ariana made an attempt to speak with Miss Worthington, but the young lady was intently following what her mama and Mrs. Bentley were saying. A little spy, indeed, Ariana thought.

Mrs. Worthington never stopped talking, but managed nevertheless to stare sharply at every item or bauble purchased by Mrs. Bentley, and then had her daughter do the same. Ariana’s chaperon, intent on her shopping, didn’t seem to notice. At a counter displaying trinkets, Ariana’s aunt picked out an unattractive brooch—quite out of character for her, and Ariana shrank at the thought of wearing it but said nothing out of respect for her relation. Holding it up, however, Mrs. Bentley praised it as just the thing to go with a certain gown she had in mind. The item was duly purchased by both parties.

Afterward, the younger lady suddenly asked, “Shall we meet
again next weekend, Miss Forsythe? You are of course invited to Aspindon?

Ariana finished paying for a pair of delicate tortoiseshell combs she had chosen for Alberta, and replied, “Aspindon?” It sounded familiar, but she wasn’t certain.

Miss Worthington smiled. “Do not say that Mrs. Bentley has not had an invitation? What a pity; perhaps Mama can put in a word for her with Mrs. Royleforst. It’s all her doing, you know.”

“I think my aunt did mention an invitation from Mrs. Royleforst.”

“Oh, my dear,” the girl said, as if she were speaking to a much younger person, “if she had, you’d be certain of it! Mrs. Royleforst, you must know, is Mr. Mornay’s aunt! Everyone knows,” she said, lifting her eyes heavenward, “that Mr. Mornay would sooner die than host a large party himself. And there is great talk that he may not show—at his own estate! Can you imagine?”

She waited to see if Ariana could.

She then continued, “I hope he does show up, it’s bound to be exciting, then. Of course I’d never speak to him myself, but I adore looking at him!” She smiled again.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Worthington murmured, just then. “Come, Sophia darling, I see your papa! We must go!” Miss Worthington bobbed a curtsey while her mama rapidly expressed her hopes of seeing Ariana and her aunt again soon, and then they were off. Mrs. Worthington’s loud tones could be heard fading as they went. Ariana’s aunt made a few more purchases while Ariana bought hair ribbons to send home to her little sisters, which she placed in the paper that held Alberta’s combs.

Before leaving, her aunt returned to the trinket counter and demanded to return the brooch she had just bought.

“I did think it a fright!” Ariana said in relief.

“I bought it so Mrs. Worthington would also. I daresay we may expect to see Sophia wearing it at some great affair. ’Twill serve her for copying me!” As they walked back to the carriage, followed by a footman carrying their boxes and packages, Ariana reflected on the
mean-spirited act, greatly surprised by it. Suddenly remembering the conversation of Miss Worthington, she asked, “Do you know a Mr. Mornay?” Her aunt stopped in her tracks. Putting one hand upon her heart, she replied, “I do! Do
you
know him?” Her eyes, which were small, had become large in her face.

Surprised at the reaction, Ariana said, “No, indeed! I only ask in reference to something Miss Worthington mentioned.”

“My word! You startled me!” cried her aunt, who now began walking again.

They stopped in a shop for half-boots and pattens. During the fitting Mrs. Bentley gave an opinion on how fashionable young ladies must have a great deal of footwear: shoes, boots, half-boots, pattens for rainy or snowy days, and, of course, slippers. Many pairs of slippers. Delicate satin was favoured for evening wear, and upon hearing that Ariana had brought only one pair (for her others were too worn), her aunt insisted she would need at least a half-dozen more.

They took the carriage to Oxford Street for the last stop of the day, a millinery shop, where Ariana tried on numerous bonnets. When they found one similar to the engraving in the catalogue, Ariana could not help feeling elated, despite it being so dear. A genuine peacock feather! Her head was swimming with all the new finery, but as they left, Ariana had one request of her aunt.

“May we stop at a bookshop, Aunt, before we return to the house?” Ariana was hoping to find a copy of one of Mrs. Burney’s novels, having neglected to bring any with her. The Forsythes had never espoused the idea that novel reading was worthless, and Mrs. Burney’s sympathetic female characters appealed to Ariana greatly.

Her aunt looked perplexed. “A bookshop? Whatever for? Not today, my dear. I’m fagged.”

When they had returned to the carriage, Ariana had barely seated herself when her aunt turned her full attention to her niece.

“Now, tell me every word Sophia Worthington said regarding Mr. Mornay!” As the carriage rolled away from the curb, Ariana related the conversation to her aunt as best she remembered.

“Of course we shall be at Aspindon!” Aunt Bentley sputtered. “Impudent child!”

“What is Aspindon?”

During the rest of the ride home, her aunt filled her in on the mystery of Mr. Phillip Mornay, and Aspindon, his huge estate in Middlesex.

“Phillip Mornay,” she said, after a few moments, “is the Paragon. Only Brummel, poor man, could hold a candle to him, but he of course is in the duns. Almost ruined, in fact. I should not be surprised,” she admonished, “if he was to flee England tomorrow!” Even Ariana knew Beau Brummel was famous for his impeccable style, and for bringing the current men’s fashion of dark pantaloons and sober costume into being.