The House in Grosvenor Square
Read The House in Grosvenor Square Online
Authors: Linore Rose Burkard
Advance praise for
The House in Grosvenor Squareâ¦
“The House in Grosvenor Square
by Linore Rose Burkard is a
delightful mixture of flowing narrative, clever dialogue, period adventure, and Regency descriptions
that will make you want to read every book she ever writes!”
M
OLLY
N
OBLE
B
ULL,
author of
Sanctuary
“Linore is a writer whose love of God and
the Regency period shines throughout
her work. She has an impressive ear for period dialect and detail, and her heroine is unabashedly Christian. Linore will likely win many fans with
The House in Grosvenor Square.”
J
ULIE
K
LASSEN
, author of
Lady of Milkweed Manor
and
The Apothecary's Daughter
“I'm rapidly becoming a fan of Regency romantic fiction, especially when it's written by Linore Rose Burkard!
With a rich and authentic voice, eye for detail, and a wit that fits my personality style, the sequel to her successful novel
Before the Season Ends
is just as wonderful.”
D
EENA
, reviewer at
deenasbooks.blogspot.com
And reviews of Linore's first book
Before the Season Ends
continue to pour inâ¦
“I am an avid Georgette Heyer fan. What a delight to read a book about a Christian young woman caught up in the Regency marriage mart. What an unusual twist! I loved how she threaded the gospel throughout the narrative.
Well done!”
C
YNTHIA,
reader review
“I just finished this book this afternoon andâ¦blissful sighâ¦loved it.
It did my Jane Austen soul good! I devoured it.
Loved it, loved it, loved it!”
R
OSEANNA
, reviewer at
www.ChristianReviewofBooks.com
“I am proud to say I read this book in one day!
I have been passing it to my circle of friends, and everyone has raved about it so far!
More books, please!”
L
EAH
, teen reader review
“The author's command of period detail is impressive,
evident in material details but also in dialogue. The theology is also period authentic. The novel even contains a glossary to help non-Regencyphiles get up to speed about the difference between ladies' pelisses and spencers. On the whole it's a tasty confection.”
P
UBLISHERS
W
EEKLY
“A really nice surprise!
This is definitely an original Regency romance.”
A
NNE
W
OODLEY
,
Amazon.com
Top 500 reviewer patroness of the
Almack's List, Byron List,
Janeites, and the
Austen List
“Beautifully written story,
fast paced, and exciting from cover to cover, and one of the best stories I have read!”
K
ELLI
G
LESIGE,
book reviewer for
www.ReaderViews.com
“Well-written, interesting,
captivating, romantic, inspirational, and addictive.
I highly recommend this book.”
A
RMCHAIR
I
NTERVIEWS.COM
(Top 1000 reviewer)
“I laughed out loud
and was also brought to tears while reading this beautifully written book.”
A
LICE
T
JIONG,
Amazon.com
reader
“Beautifully written, touches your heart AND keeps you entertained!”
D
EBBIE
H
ANNA,
Amazon.com
reader
“A must-read,
a story that will lift you up and stay in your thoughts long after you've finished the last chapter.”
L
ISA
G. S
MITH,
Amazon.com
reader
“A great, entertaining book!
It had me caught from the first few pages and continued to reel me in page after page.”
D
ONNA
C
RUGER,
business owner,
Amazon.com
reader
Wonderful and beautiful book!
L
ILLIAN
J. W
ONG
-S
UHU,
Amazon.com
reader
“So good that I couldn't put it down!
It made me laugh out loud, and it made me cry.”
L
AURA
L
O
F
ASO
,
Amazon.com
reader
“Fun and inspirational.
I enjoyed it from cover to cover and heartily recommend it to anyone who likes historical fiction!”
D
IANE
G
RAZIANO,
accountant,
Amazon.com
reader
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota
Cover photos © Edward White / Fotolia; Dugan Design Group
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
THE HOUSE IN GROSVENOR SQUARE
Copyright © 2009 by Linore Rose Burkard
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Burkard, Linore Rose
The house in Grosvenor Square / Linore Rose Burkard.
    p. cm.
ISBN 978â 0-7369â2565â5 (pbk.)
1. BetrothalâFiction. 2. London (England)âFiction. I. Title.
PS3602.U754H68 2009
813'.6âdc22
2008041576
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any otherâexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 / RDM-SK / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To LCF Church,
for its love and faithfulness.
Special thanks to Nick Harrison,
Shane White, Barb Sherrill,
and all those at Harvest House Publishers
who have been so wonderfully supportive
of me and my work.
Thank you!
CONTENTS
Mayfair, London
1813
I
nexplicable.
There was no other word for Mr. Mornay's behaviour to her that morning, and Ariana Forsythe could think of naught else unless it changed.
Soon
.
She looked at him challengingly, as she sat across from him in his expensive, plush black coach. Faultlessly handsome, Phillip Mornay was dressed stylishly in a twin-tailed frock coat, buff pantaloons, and polished black boots. His beautifully tied cravat puffed lightly out from an embroidered white waistcoat, and his dark hair and famously handsome features were framed by a top hat. Everything he wore looked new. His clothing always did, and yet he might have worn it a dozen times, so comfortable did he appear in his attire.
But he had barely looked at Ariana for more than a fleeting second since he had come for her this morning, and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She had to think of something to say.
“Tomorrow is the day I shall see the full of your house, is it not?” She had been in Mr. Mornay's house in Grosvenor Square before, but this time she and Aunt Bentley were to get a tour, top to bottom, so she would feel more at home after the wedding in just two weeks.
The dark eyes flicked at her, and she felt a fleeting twinge of satisfaction.
“It is.”
She wanted to hold his attention and began a smile, but he looked away
abruptly.
What could be wrong?
Mr. Mornay often studied her when they were together. She was so used to finding the dark-eyed warm gaze upon her, in fact, that she felt somewhat abandoned to be deprived of it now.
Have I done something to displease him? He usually attends to me so deeply, as though he could read my soul.
They were on their way to the London Orphan Society, in Mr. Mornay's upholstered coach-and-four, with its fashionable high-steppers and liveried footmen on back, to attend a special service at the society's chapel. A lady was giving a dramatic reading from Scripture; a most celebrated dramatic reading. Ariana and Mr. Mornay had received invitations for the event, with encouragement to invite anyone of their acquaintance. Thus there were also four other occupants in the carriage this morning, and seating was snug.
On either side of Ariana was a relation. Her younger sister Beatrice, just turned twelve, was to her left, and her aunt and chaperone for the season, Mrs. Agatha Bentley, sat on her right. The ladies faced the gentlemen, sit-ting across from them; first Mr. Peter O'Brien, a future cleric, at Beatrice's particular request, then Ariana's future husband, Mr. Mornay, silent and unapproachable, and finally the agreeable Mr. Pellham, her aunt's betrothed. (She and her aunt were betrothed at the same timeâa most fortuitous turn of events; Ariana ought to have been in raptures of joy.) Unless Mr. Mornay's demeanour changed, Ariana could not enjoy herself. His inattentiveness was such a contrast to his usual behaviour that it was impossible for her to ignore it or shrug it off as mere ill humour.
It seemed ironic now that when all had been uncertain about the wedding (when Ariana had held out against her desire to marry Mr. Mornay because she would only marry a man who could share her Christian faith), that up to then, his love and affection were painfully clear. And now, after Mr. Mornay had undergone a stark change in his religionâthat is, when he came to believe in a personal, loving Godâand the betrothal was settled, suddenly he was behaving as though he wished it were not.
Sitting across from her, he should have been engaging her with his usual intent gaze, smiling slightly at her remarks when she amused him or spoke to others. Instead he sat staring out the window (a thing he
never
did) and appeared to be morosely preoccupied with his own thoughts. It pricked against her nerves. She
would
bring him out of this brown study if it took all her ingenuity!
And then he suddenly turned and spoke. “Did I mention I shall be
occupied for the rest of the day? After leaving you at your house, following the morning's service?”
Her large, tan eyes sparkled into bluish-green, as they tended to do whenever her feelings were stirred. “No, sir, you mentioned
nothing
to me,” she said, giving him a look laden with perplexity.
He responded with a brief, “Haven't I? Well, I've done so now.”
Oh, dear. He is utterly not himself! Or has he taken a disgust of me?
The carriage fell silent. Mr. Mornay had thick, dark hair that tapered to the tip of his collar, short, dark sideburns, and handsome, strong-boned features. His eyes were deep, dark, and expressive, and his manner of dress, the height of manly perfection. Though he would not deign to discuss good style, he had a faultless sense of it, and many an aspiring buck or beau modeled their choice of attire after his. Like Ariana, his neatness appeared effortless. And he was universally approved of in the best houses (save for those of the staunchest Whigs, who had still not forgiven Prinny or his pals, of which Mr. Mornay was one, for abandoning them for the Tories).
Even Ariana, who had little patience for matters of dress, found herself in awe of his presence at times. All told, he was an imposing character, a man one did not ignore or take lightly. Ariana was not happy with his present tone of address nor that she would not be seeing him after the morning service. But while she decided whether to make an answer to him, Beatrice broke the silence instead. “
Achoo!
” The twelve-year-old folded her handkerchief and looked about apologetically.
Beatrice had only recently joined Ariana in London, and both girls were staying at Mrs. Bentley's town house in Hanover Square.
Mrs. Bentley gave her younger niece a severe look, which Ariana did not fail to notice. Their aunt was a wealthy widow with a good soul at heart, but the lady was too prepared to make the worst of anything or anyone who posed a threat to her plans, her schedule, or her expectations.
Alarmed at the hint of an ague in her niece, Mrs. Bentley's delicately lined face wrinkled in disapproval, while she pulled her gloves more tightly onto her hands. “How long have you had that nasty sneeze?” she asked. “Do you have an ague?”
“No, no, I assure you!” And yet the young girl had to stop even now, quickly covering her mouth and nose with her handkerchief to allow a second
“achoo!”
to escape.
“Bless you,” said Mr. O'Brien, which brought a blinking smile to Beatrice's young face.
“Humph!” murmured Mrs. Bentley, deciding immediately to send the girl at the soonest convenience back to Chesterton and her family. She would not allow Ariana to contract a cold. Not with the wedding this close. Goodness knew Mrs. Bentley had seen enough threats to this marriageâa
coup d'etat
to be sureâand desired that
nothing
further imperil the event. With the ceremony so near, she was finally beginning to relax. The marriage was certain to take place. But she couldn't help remembering it hadn't always been that way. No, indeed! Why, since the day Mr. Mornay had asked for her niece, there had been one vexation after another, each more threatening than the last, each liable to ruin the man's hopesâand her own, for she wanted nothing more than to see the couple wed.
Her own niece, after all, fresh from the country, had unwittingly captured the heart of London's most famous bachelorâMr. Phillip Mornay, known in town as the
Paragon
. So called because he possessed three of the highest virtues of the English upper class: sartorial elegance, figure, and (most importantly) a fabulous fortune. Besides the family seat in Middlesex, with a large tenantry, and the house in Grosvenor Square, he owned small holdings and properties throughout the British Empire, all of which added to his income. His unexpected match to the debutante Miss Forsythe was famous. Miss Ariana Forsythe was a beauty in her own right and rumoured to be an heiress, (a status Mrs. Bentley had fostered by putting up enough blunt for Ariana's season so that no one thought to credit her for doing so). Not since the Regent himself wed Caroline of Brunswick had there been such a general anticipation of a marriage (though one might rightly call the prince's an
infamous
match!).
It was too wonderful a happenstance to let a mere ague put a damper on the plans. If Ariana were to fall ill, the marriage would still take place, of course, but why imperil the older girl? Why give her the least excuse to raise an objection? (Ariana was far too liable to raise objectionsâthat had been the trouble from the beginning!) What if she were to wish for a postponement? Mrs. Bentley's nerves couldn't stand for it.
No. With the assurance that Ariana was finally settled upon her fiancé, there was nought to hinder the event, and she, Mrs. Bentley, would do everything in her power to see that it remained that way. Casting her eyes upon her niece, she had to acknowledge a twinge of satisfaction (for not the first time) at how like a queen the girl wore the expensive clothing she herself had bought her. Ariana was dressed in the same modish style as her aunt,
not because she could afford it or had the slightest interest in cutting a wave, but for the reasons that Mrs. Bentley could and did.
She was decidedly happy to have been so generous with the girl, for it had helped, she was certain, to catch the eye of Mornay and, indeed, of the
ton
. Was not her niece toasted at every evening supper she attended? Had not the Regent himself approved of her? True, Ariana did have to endure the occasional jest from Mornay's circle of aristocratic wags on account of her well-known piety, but even these men were gentler to her than was their usual habit concerning women.
And now she, Mrs. Bentley, had been enjoying her most successful season since her own coming-out decades earlier. Routs, card parties, soireesâthe sort of things she adoredâwere crowding her calendar as the chaperone of Miss Forsythe. And she herself was going to marry Randolph. It was indeed an
annus mirabilis!
Just then a sudden nasty odour pulled her from her thoughts.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, turning to the Paragon. “Where is this orphan society? We are getting into neighbourhoods that I cannot like.” The dignified streets of Mayfair were behind them, and now they were on roads that were muddy and crowded with carts and working-class people. Child vagabonds could be seen huddling in doorways. Pedestrians stopped what they were doing to watch the shiny black coach with its high-steppers and try to get a glimpse of the dignitaries who must be inside such a vehicle.
Ariana sat back. She had seen enough of the poor and indigent in London to know that compassion alone was worthless as far as helping anyone went. Further, she had no wish to seem pitying or condescending. The poor were entitled to dignity like anyone else. She had welcomed today's invitation precisely because of her wish to help London's less fortunate citizens. This had been a desire of her heart since coming to London earlier in the year. Her world had become a disheartening juxtaposition of unbelievable wealth against a backdrop of the ever-present poor.
Looking across at her suitor, she suddenly wondered if it would jar with his disposition to become a philanthropist? Certainly it was expected of the wealthy, wasn't it? Even in her little town of Chesterton, it was the wealthiest families, those with the huge estates, who held the annual balls, the Harvest Home, and the Christmas hall festivities. Mr. Mornay was part of this wealthy class. She hoped it would fall to her as his wife to organize charitable events.
“Ariana!” She was torn from her thoughts by her aunt's strident tone. “Did you say which street the orphanage is on?”
Before Ariana could reply, Mr. Mornay spoke in her stead, “The society is on Folgate Street, Spitalfields. Just north of Spitalfields Market.” He met Ariana's eyes and added, “I own a property on the street, you know.”
“Do you?” She was greatly surprised. It was not a fashionable part of the city. “A house?” she asked, trying to prolong the conversation. Finally he was at least giving her his attention.
“A tenement.”
Mrs. Bentley's curiosity got the best of her. “
You
own property
there
?”
He gave a rueful smile. “Won it in a wager, I'm afraid. My man of business sees to letting it and so forth. I've never laid eyes on it, actually, though I've been meaning to give it a look.”
Mrs. Bentley fished an expensive, lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and held it now over her mouth and nose, as if the mere fact of passing through the neighbourhood might result in being exposed to noxious vapours.
Mr. Pellham took her other hand and patted it soothingly.
Beatrice, all eyes, extended her own hand out toward Mr. O'Brien. “Would you like to take my hand, Mr. O'Brien?” she asked.
His eyes opened rather wide, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Bentley chided, “Hush!” and, reaching across Ariana, landed a harmless slap with her handkerchief to the girl's outstretched hand.
Why do youngsters have to do the most foolish things imaginable? Isn't it enough that I have had to steer Ariana clear of the future cleric? Will I now have to do the same for my younger niece when she comes of age?
