The House in Grosvenor Square (2 page)

Mr. O'Brien, meanwhile, smiled briefly at the girl to be kind, but he was much more concerned, despite his best efforts, with her elder sister. He was quite ill at ease in the presence of the striking Miss Forsythe, and so he smoothed his coat lapels and adjusted his cravat to cover his discomfort. He'd been taking as many glances at Ariana as he could safely take, all the while trying to conceal his admiration of her. He had lost her to Mornay, there was no way around it, but it was a difficult pill to swallow, indeed.

Mr. O'Brien had entertained hopes of forming a betrothal with Ariana. He was not wealthy, and he was Irish—both of which were not in his favour, particularly with the standards that Miss Forsythe's aunt seemed to demand from any of her niece's would-be suitors. He was mildly uncomfortable, therefore, despite his being included on Beatrice's account. (The girl had
taken an instant partiality to him and insisted on his company as often as possible.) He could not rid himself of his still-strong admiration for her elder sister. Couple that with a touch of pique—he'd had such hopes of her—and he was moved to join her company whenever possible. Miss Forsythe had been too friendly for him to think she felt nothing more than mere friend-ship for him!

But it wasn't becoming in a man of faith to nurse a grudge. His calling was in the church, which even if he had not been a third son, he would have chosen because he had strong religious leanings. But he could not resist the chance to be in her company. So he tried to avoid looking at her, having no wish to make a jackanape of himself, but it was difficult indeed, with such proximity to her beauty.

Furthermore, it was decidedly unusual for him to be welcomed into the presence of the Paragon, a man he felt more than a little antipathy toward. To be seated beside him now seemed extraordinary, and he was mute with a mixture of caution, jealousy, and surprise. He had always scoffed at the man's reputation for excellent taste, but in his presence, he could not deny a feeling of reluctant admiration. Mr. Mornay's clothing made a stark contrast to his own less costly attire. The man's dark double-breasted tailcoat with tapered sleeves made his frock coat, though sturdy, appear plain, indeed.

At that moment Beatrice unhelpfully exclaimed, “Your coach is ever so pretty, Mr. Mornay! It is far more comfortable than my father's.” She fingered the dark burgundy velvet of her seat. “I wish my mother and father could see it.”

“Hush!” Ariana said, not without affection.

“Do you not fancy the coach? I could ride in it for days!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Of course I fancy it, but it doesn't signify.”

“Is your carriage as agreeable as this one, Mr. O'Brien?” the girl asked.

Her question made him shudder inwardly, as he thought of the single family equipage he used when taking his mama and sisters about town. Compared to Mornay's gleaming, springed, and upholstered vehicle, his was unmistakably shabby. “No,” he answered, trying to smile with the word.

Just then everyone's attention was diverted as they pulled up outside a large Palladian-style building that was fenced in by black iron gates. The London Orphan Society was a stately institution. Mr. Pellham exclaimed, “Undoubtedly the work of Mr. Nash, wouldn't you say, Mornay?”

Mr. Mornay, observing the building as best he could from the interior
of the coach, nodded his head. “Very likely.” All was quiet and neat on the outside. A gateman opened the way for them, and the coach moved forward and into a circular drive, which brought them round to the front entrance.

As the group stepped into the building, Mrs. Bentley raised her ankle-length pelisse as though it might drag on the tiled floor. Ariana straightened her dark blue, French-style canezou, which had a deep flounce along the shoulders, neckline, and empire waist. Beneath her bonnet, which sported two round puffs of pale, gathered fabric at the top, a few little ringlets of blonde hair framed her face—evidence of enduring a night with curling papers beneath her cap. She was bright with youthful beauty this morning, as most days. Ariana happily accepted Mr. Mornay's arm and continued to search his countenance for a clue to his feelings, but he maintained a stony disregard of her. If not for his past effusive reassurances of love, she might have been exceedingly disconcerted. She refused to believe anything of import was behind his distant manner, as she tucked one arm through his and placed her other hand upon his coat sleeve with feeling.

The little group followed the headmistress, Mrs. Gullweather, who had, curtseying, given her name; and two female servants down a long, wide stone hall that ended at the chapel. A manservant led them to seats in a front row. Ariana was impressed with the massive interior, the circular ceiling, and long, stained-glass windows, beautiful against the morning light outside. The benches around and behind them were full of children of all ages, who emitted only a low murmur from their ranks.

Ariana sat down, cognizant of the pleasure of being next to Mr. Mornay. She glanced at him now, but he continued to study the area ahead, where Mrs. Gullweather was preparing to speak. Ariana felt as though Phillip was somewhere else today, far distant from the proceedings, far distant from
her.
But she turned her attention to the front of the room just as he had. She would think no more on it for now.

“Before we begin,” Mrs. Gullweather said to the assembled guests, who, in addition to Ariana and her party, took up the first two rows of seats across the chapel, “we have arranged for the children to entertain you. We do endeavour to educate them profitably. Most of our graduates, when they leave us, go on to lead productive lives in society. We have had dozens of young people go off to be missionaries in foreign lands, and we have also
furnished a good many governesses, cooks, and housemaids for people of quality. Many of our young gentlemen, it must be added, who do not choose the mission field, go on to find apprenticeships or serve as footmen or grooms in the best households.”

With a wave of her hand, she added, “These are the same children who are brought to us destitute, with nothing but poverty, death, or a life of crime facing them. It is only by the generous help of our patrons,” she smiled benignly toward them, “that we are able to effect such changes for society.” After a brief pause for effect, she then said, “And now—the children.”

The sight of the needy young orphans erased all other concerns from Ariana's heart. How glad she was to have come today. She so wanted to somehow make a difference for children like these! God knew each by name and loved every one of them.

The children stood in file and on cue began to sing an old hymn, “Ye Holy Angels, Bright.” By the end of the song, Ariana was thoroughly satisfied that the London Orphan Society was a worthy cause, indeed.

When the dramatic actress, Mrs. Tiernan, finally stood before them, silent, even grave of countenance, a hush fell over the audience, including its youngest members. Her gown was of the classical Roman style, more like those that had been in vogue a decade ago. Expecting the actress to begin, the audience waited. But the woman kept her eyes fixed on a spot overhead, toward a window.

When she continued to stare at that fixed point against the opposite wall, people began to look at it too. Was it supposed to mean something?

Then just when everyone despaired of her ever doing anything other than staring at the window, she turned and faced the assembly. This time she stared down the main aisle, as though she were in a trance. Then suddenly, with a dramatic flourish of her arm, she cried, “
Hear the Word of the Lord!
” Her voice rang out loud and piercing as it cut into the silence.

Then in a quieter tone, “
A dramatic reading from the book of Revelation, chapter one, verses ten through twenty.
” She slowly moved her gaze to take in the onlookers. Her eyes were calm and yet seemed to blaze from within, settling to flicker momentarily upon Ariana and her companions.

Again the hush grew deep with anticipation. Mrs. Tiernan dropped suddenly to her knees, her arms raised high, and then turned her head as if listening. In a clear tone, which carried an authoritative quality, she began in earnest.

“
I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and I heard behind me a great voice,
as a trumpet.
” She added measured movements of her arms and even her body, so that she made a captivating sight.

“
I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being I turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks.
”

“
His feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice
,” she said, lifting her head to listen, “
as the sound of many waters…in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword.
” She made a motion as if taking a sword from its sheath, and then, magically, a small leather book was in her hand! How had she done it? Ariana didn't know. But there it was, a concrete allusion to the “two-edged sword” being the Word of God.

And then the book was gone. Vanished as if it had never been there. The audience gasped, and she continued, “
His countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.”

When the reading ended, Mrs. Tiernan froze, statue-like except that her head was bowed. In a minute people began to applaud, led by Mr. O'Brien, which would have been rather amazing except that he had the impetus of knowing the presentation had ended for he alone had been following along in his little leather Bible. Mrs. Tiernan remained with her head bowed as the clapping slowly grew stronger. Finally when the applause ceased, the lady bowed low, so that everyone had to clap again. She then said, “Thank you! Thank you!” and swept out of sight, leaving from a hidden exit behind the pulpit.

Soon the guests were led to a small breakfast room, where a light repast was waiting. While they ate, they shared thoughts on what they'd seen.

“I daresay she cast a spell on us,” chuckled Mr. Pellham, tugging on his moustache thoughtfully.

Mrs. Bentley added, “Rather a bit of a trickster, I should think. Making that little book appear and disappear as if by magic. And in a chapel!”

Mr. O'Brien cleared his throat. He hated to disagree with anyone who was socially superior to him, but he had to correct what he saw as near-blasphemous thinking.

“But, ma'am,” he managed to say, “it was only for effect. To heighten the power of her presentation, which, I thought in all honesty, to be quite… quite
good
.”

“I thought it was wonderful!” put in Beatrice, loyally—and loudly. “Did you not think so, Ariana?”

Ariana smiled. “I was impressed.” She glanced at Mr. Mornay and felt a fresh concern. Instead of finding the warm eyes and gentle smile she loved,
she saw his blank expression. It was an expression she recognized as being his “tolerant” look—he was merely enduring the proceedings, nothing more.

Mr. Mornay turned to the faces around the table. “It was interesting, and,” he paused and chose his word carefully and continued, “worthwhile.”

While they continued eating, Mrs. Gullweather approached with a little bald man, who wore spectacles and carried a small, bound leather book in which he was jotting information.

“I hope you have enjoyed our little entertainment,” she began. “And now we must rely upon your patience and goodness a little longer, while we beg you to consider making our orphanage a grateful recipient of the generosity that so distinguishes your class among men.” Ariana wished devoutly that she had the means to be as generous as possible but knew that within her reticule lay a single crown. It was the last of her money.

Mr. Mornay, meanwhile, had no wish to listen to any flummery and spoke to the man with the book. “Are you recording donations?” The man looked up, startled to be addressed, but quickly replied, “I am, sir.”

He rounded the table to where Ariana and Mr. Mornay were sitting, across from one another. He waited, pencil poised and ready to enter an amount in his account book. Meanwhile Mrs. Bentley offered the woman a few guineas, which she accepted gratefully. Mr. Pellham followed with a bank note of an unknown sum. Beatrice solemnly gave sixpence, and Mr. O'Brien just a little above that, as this unfortunate time of the month always found him in low water.

Mr. Mornay, meanwhile, had turned to Ariana. “I should like you to propose the amount.” It was an embarrassing moment, as the topic of money was considered ungenteel. One did not discuss it, as important as it was. She blushed.

“I dare not think of it.”

With surprise, he asked, leaning in toward her for privacy, “Do you not wish to support the place?”

“Oh, I do, of course. I mean to give my last crown…”

“I've no doubt. But tell me the amount you should like to give if you had the means. Only name it, and it is done.”

She eyed him uncertainly. Suddenly his distance keeping seemed to have fled, and he was himself again. And he loved her. He was asking her to make a financial decision for the two of them! Many a woman would have been astounded at it. Perhaps Ariana was astounded, for she could only reply, “I think perhaps that
you
ought to—”