The Country House Courtship (4 page)

“Does this concern his lordship?” His voice was disarmingly soft.

“Not any longer.”

“Go on,” he said, but his hands began to form a fist, though he wasn't aware of it.

“Promise me you shan't do anything rash; or refuse to see me.”

“Good heavens, Anne! Do not say—it cannot be—you are not carrying that man's child!”

She nodded, gasping, and buried her head in her hands, crying heartily. He looked at her for a moment as though thunderstruck. After a few moments, he touched her upon the shoulder, and she looked up at him, hopefully.

“Is there anything you can do about it?”

“What…what do you mean?” A very pretty woman, Anne's large eyes glistened with tears, and then with dawning horror as she took in his meaning.

“Isn't there something women do—to get rid of—such a problem?”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him in silent horror. Finally she cried, “Do you think I could do that? Do you think I am so heartless that I could harm my own child?”

“What I think,” he said, jumping to his feet in anger, “is that you are foolish, and thoughtless, and are
ruined
, if you do not!” He took a deep breath and looked at her with rage in his eyes. “You've ruined us both!” He paced in one direction, then stopped and turned back to her. “How could you let him—why? Why did you do it, Anne? When he might have married you!”

She shook her head. “No. He was not at liberty to. You know his parents forbade it!” There was silence a moment. “Perhaps if your friendship with the prince had come sooner, it might have been different…”

“My friendship with the prince, indeed!” He plopped back down upon a sofa. “And how long do you suppose I will be welcome at Carlton House if it—if you—become known to the world?”

She was trying not to cry afresh. “The prince is hardly what one could call free of scandal himself.”

“And you think that signifies?” He was being rather vicious, but he could not help himself. “He is the prince! The Regent! He may do as he very well pleases! It is a deuced different affair for the likes of us!”

Again, a restless silence hung over the room, while Anne sat staring at nothing, holding a handkerchief over her mouth. She refused to meet his eyes. “I know I have disappointed you,” she said in a hoarse tone. “But you must believe that his lordship cares for me. He'd marry me if he could.”

“He
will
marry you, by Jove! Or I'll see him on the field!”

“No, Tristan! You must not challenge him! I cannot have either one of you hurt on my account!”

“I shall have to, I can see! There's no other reason for him to marry you now, Anne! You've already given him what he most wanted.”

“That is not true! He
loves
me!”

“Love! Little good love is to us now!” Mr. Barton closed his eyes and lifted his hands as if he wanted to wring some sense into her, but he stopped before her, dropped his arms abruptly, and turned away in silent frustration. “I am going to proceed as I planned, only now you will have to accompany me. I cannot leave you in town where your condition will be noted. I'll put out word that I mean to issue a challenge just as soon as I return to town; only I cannot say why, and everyone shall want to know!”

She looked at him sadly. “I beg you, do not challenge him!”

He made a scornful sound. “If I do not, no man will think me honourable. If I do, the matter is bound to come out. You've got me blocked at both ends, Anne!
Well done!
” he said sarcastically. He hit his fist against the side of the sofa and turned his face away from her in disgust.

In a strong tone, he spoke again. “Where I take you, no one will know you; and no one, even there,
can
know of your condition. Do you understand?” He paused, looking back to survey her with different eyes. “How long until it will be obvious?”

“Not for many months. I think…I think my confinement will begin in August.”

He jumped to his feet and turned on his heel. “Your confinement, dear Anne, will begin much sooner than that. You have made yourself a prisoner of the house, from the day you need to let out your stays; do you understand?”

She didn't answer, but slowly agreed, nodding her head. Then, looking up at him she asked, “What favour did you agree to accomplish for the Regent?”

He looked at her morosely. “Not that it matters now, but he has learned that Lord Malcolm is letting his house to tenants, and will accept monthly terms. As Malcolm is neighbour to Aspindon House, he expects little trouble in renting the place year-round. I am to take the house for a month or two, on the pretext of trying life in the country to see if it suits; while in fact I must ply Mr. Mornay to sound the depth of his intentions concerning the prince. The Paragon has stalled on an offer of a viscountcy, and I am to discover the reasons behind it. ”

“A viscountcy! My word, why on earth would he?”

He looked at her gravely. “That is what I am to find out.”

After a small silence, she asked in a low tone, “So I will go with you?”

“I have little choice about that, now, do I?”

His tone made her wince.

“But as I said, when your condition…worsens…you will retire from society. I will consider the arrangements that must be made at that time; this unfortunate…circumstance must not be discovered. By anyone.” He paused, studying her face. “Does his lordship know?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“He'll know when I've issued my ultimatum. Pray God he doesn't let it out.”

“Do you think he is such a fool that he would want it known?”

“Nevertheless, I'm afraid the only thing for it is to take you from London until after the birth of your bastard.”

“Tristan!”

Her pained expression softened his a little. But he added, “Let us not talk of it! I'd like as few reminders of your condition as possible, if you don't mind. I am exceedingly grieved for you, Anne.”

She studied his face. “You
are
grieved, but not for me. Let us be honest with each other. You are grieved that I have not married his lordship and become a lady, and you are further in horror that I may jeopardize your new friendship with the prince. Is that not closer to the truth?”

He almost smiled, but then his look became grave again. “You are my sister. I am grieved.”

There was silence while they continued to study each other a moment. Then Barton said, “I charge you to not contact his lordship or tell him you are with me. He may discover my whereabouts, but I should prefer it if he did not learn of yours. You are not to be trifled with by him again!”

“He may call upon us. I told you, he loves me!”

“Well, we'll see about that, shan't we?”

M
r. Mornay could present the living at Glendover to whomsoever he chose, when and if it fell vacant. And Glendover was vacant; the last vicar had died unexpectedly two months since, and the Paragon still had not presented the benefice to a new man. He was considering the names of a few; he had held four interviews, and was happy with none of the applicants. He hoped, at first, that the Colonel had a good man to fill the situation, but when he saw the name of Peter O'Brien his face froze for a moment in disbelief.
O'Brien!
That man had plagued him throughout his courtship with Ariana.

O'Brien was not intentionally vexatious, but had managed to make a supremely heavy cart for the horse, so to speak. He was, in other words, burdensome. His actions in the past had resulted in Ariana's abduction, and he had been caught stealing a kiss from her—which Mr. Mornay had almost been in time to prevent, but had instead found his bride-to-be just recovering herself from the man's grasp. He felt an old stirring of irritation, and when his eye fell upon the date on the letter—5 January—he felt a strong new one.
Why in blazes hadn't the letter reached him sooner?

It was too late for him to write and prevent the interview. It was 24 February, and O'Brien would be arriving any time—if he had the pluck. (With any luck, he would not.) And imagine if Phillip had not got the news beforehand! He might have received him most ungraciously. In light of the hearty words of commendation from Colonel Sotheby (so the young man had done a stint in the army; that spoke well of him), he decided to make an effort at giving Peter O'Brien a fair chance at the living. Wait, no; that was asking too much. He could not purposely grant the man a place in their parish. He'd be in their lives forever. No one could be expected to be that forgiving! Certainly not he!

He would make an attempt at peace, however. Let O'Brien prove his mettle, if he could.

He wondered how Ariana would react when she heard. Just in case the man did not show up, he decided to say nothing to her at present. No sense putting her in mind of the uncomfortable events of the past. It was unfortunate enough that he had to think on them.

The next day, when Ariana and Phillip joined their guests in the drawing room, Ariana said brightly to her relations, “What do you think?” She took in the sight of her mother and sister on one sofa, both with canvases and needles in hand; her Aunt Royleforst, on an opposite settee beside Miss Bluford, who was helping the lady make out the illustrations in a fashion magazine; and made her announcement: “Mr. Mornay has just this minute got a note by special messenger—there is a curate en route this very moment to apply for the living! I do hope he is suitable! We have been without a vicar these past two months, and have gone to Warwickdon for our services. It is not too inconvenient to go there, only a short drive; but Mr. Hargrove (the vicar at Warwickdon) is very soon to abandon us for a new living
he
has got!”

Ariana did not know that the hastily written note which her husband had just received was from Mr. Peter O'Brien. He had wished to inform Mr. Mornay that he was, at that very moment, no more than four or so miles away, and desired to know if he was welcome at Aspindon House. Permission was granted—Mr. Mornay knew the man had travelled from London, and could guess at the trouble it had cost him. If only that deuced letter from the Colonel had arrived when it should have—none of this would be necessary. But he told his wife he was expecting a new candidate for the living, and now entered the room where the ladies were, to join them in waiting. Perhaps the “interview” would go quickly.

Meanwhile, the women in the room nodded their understanding. “And then you will have no man at all; that won't do, will it?”

“Indeed, no. Mr. Mornay and I should have to move to Grosvenor Square simply to attend service!”

Beatrice gasped. “You
will
take me with you? It is the perfect opportunity!”

Ariana took a seat on a wingchair next to the sofa and near the fireplace. “
If
we go, you are welcome to accompany us,” she said with a smile. Her sister was so eager for a Season! Beatrice returned to her sewing but with a face of triumph. “Oh, splendid! Thank you, Ariana!”

Mrs. Forsythe's demeanour was barely patient of this enthusiasm, but she said, “Do not be overhasty. There are always an abundance of curates looking for employment. If this man does not answer the purpose, another will, I am certain. You have only to ask around and you'll soon have a list of candidates longer than your parish birth registry, I vow!”