Before the Season Ends (27 page)

He turned to Ariana. “You need to change out of your wet things immediately.”

“Yes, but you must stay and warm yourself,” she said.

“Only for a moment.”

The servants began scurrying about, the word having spread that some accident had befallen the pair, and that they were thoroughly soaked. Mrs. Bentley’s voice could be heard shouting orders shrilly. She soon appeared looking bewildered and concerned.

She saw Mr. Mornay and put her hand to her heart.

“Mornay, for pity’s sake! What has happened?” She went to Ariana and felt her skin. “Dreadfully cold!”

Mr. Mornay gave her a short account, laying out it had been an accident caused by the boatman’s hasty turning of the vessel.

“You both fell in?” she asked, doubtfully.

“No, ma’am, I fell in,” Ariana said.

“Mr. Mornay rescued me.” Mrs. Bentley, still wearing a look of great consternation, ushered Ariana off her bed and behind a screen where she and Harrietta hurriedly stripped her of the wet items and put a warm, dry nightdress on her. Another housemaid, meanwhile, changed the damp blanket on the bed to a good, dry one. Ariana resumed her place, this time beneath the sheets, and sat up looking charming beneath a large white cap with laced edging to keep her head warm.

Mrs. Bentley continued to shout orders. “Harrietta—a hot bath up here as soon as possible!” “Hot tea for Miss Forsythe.” “Tell cook to make a compress!” “No, Betty, get the woolen blankets! And do not dawdle!” She turned to Mr. Mornay. “I will have you taken care of in the next room.”

“I thank you, no, I must be off.”

She studied his face a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “But, you are wet and cold! And with this frightful turn in the weather. Of all the bad timing! So unseasonable and chilling. I cannot allow it, not even for you, Mornay!”

He walked over to the fire and stood close by it for some moments, stretching out his hands, and felt some relief. But the thought of his own fire and house, so near by, beckoned to him as the place he’d be most comfortable.

“I am obliged, but no.” He went to Ariana’s bedside and reached for her hand.

“Do let my aunt provide you with some warm attire!” she insisted. She was horrified he meant to continue home without help. “I am sure she possesses some fine clothing of my uncle’s.”

The fact that Mr. Bentley had been dead for nearly a decade and that his clothing would be dreadfully outdated did not matter a whit to Ariana. But of course it mattered very much to Mr. Mornay, even in this dire circumstance, for he declined hastily with an odd look on his face.

“I regret our outing met with such disaster.” He smiled ruefully, still holding her hand.

“It was all my wicked doing! I am dreadfully sorry!”

“See that you eat something, and keep to your bed for awhile. I have no doubt I shall do the same.”

“I pray you do.” She had a thought. “What of your friends? I am distressed we had to abandon them.”

“I’ll send a carriage.” With that, he dropped a soft kiss on her hand and a polite bow, then turned to leave. He stopped to tell Ariana’s chaperon to send him word when she was certain Ariana was recovered. And then he was gone. Mrs. Bentley was standing in the background, all eyes, and her little mind was spinning wheels. First she saw to it that a few good, warm blankets were sent off with Mr. Mornay. Then she came back to Ariana, all in a flutter.

A servant followed with a tea tray, and Mrs. Bentley poured a cup of the steaming liquid for her niece.

“Here, drink this quickly. It will warm you on the inside.” While she sipped, her aunt hovered nearby, pacing and thinking and then asked for Ariana’s recounting of what had happened upon the water. After hearing the full account, far from being angry at Ariana’s petulance and stubbornness, Aunt Bentley seemed excited.

“Mr. Mornay has called upon you when he no longer needs to; Lady Covington’s accusations are wholly forgotten. I think it signifies! And the way he parted from you just now. I maintain I have never, in all my days, seen that man speak so kindly to anyone. And he kissed your hand so gently.”

“But I was rather ill when he first took me from the water,” Ariana said. “I don’t know if I was breathing. I think it must have affected him. He is not heartless, you know.”

Mrs. Bentley continued her thought. “Indeed, Ariana, under normal circumstances I should think an incident like today’s would have sent the Paragon into a fury such as would make a body quake to be near him. But no, he was hardly concerned about his own condition or discomfort—not even his clothing! He looked only to you.” The more she thought on it, the more she was convinced that Mr. Phillip Mornay had a serious
tendre
for her niece. She was cautiously ecstatic;
it would be delicate going from here on. Mr. Mornay was not someone to be easily managed.

“My dear Aunt,” Ariana said, seeing that familiar scheming look on the lady’s face. “I daresay you are presuming too much. Mr. Mornay has no intentions toward me.”

“He is not the sort of man to take up a flirtation. If he continues his interest with you then I shall be convinced.” A knock at the door revealed four footmen who shuffled into the room carrying a large tub of steaming water. After they had gone, and Ariana was luxuriating in the glorious warmth, her aunt came and stood nearby. Momentarily, she asked, “If Mornay is interested in you, will you encourage him?” It had suddenly occurred to her that perhaps her niece was hindering the matter, not helping it as she ought.

Ariana decided she must end her aunt’s speculations quite firmly. “Just today, Aunt, he made it abundantly clear that he despises members of my class!” Her voice was earnest or her aunt would have doubted her hearing.

“Fustian! Your class is the same as mine, and while I grant that he seems generally to despise the majority of people, he does not despise you, no matter what your class. I tell you, upon my word, if Mr. Mornay decides to hold you in favour, he shall do so, devil may care what your circumstances!” After a moment’s thought she added, “He does not need a fortune, goodness knows, and he should likely be quite content to have a bride who can wear all the mode to his fastidious satisfaction.” She looked at her niece. “Some women look absurd with the least little feather on their bonnets, but not you, my dear. You will do him credit, I assure you.”

Ariana sighed deeply. “Do not place your hopes on the match, Aunt. I myself have no such expectation, and I am certain Mr. Mornay’s thoughts are equally wide of that mark.” She looked plaintively up at the dowager. “May I get out, now? I think I’m hungry.”

L
ater that week Mrs. Bentley sent word to inquire after Mr. Mornay, and dared to include an invitation for tea, if he was well. Unfortunately, he was not. He had suffered the cold longer than Ariana, taken a stiff drink when he reached home, and was now laid up with an ague that, according to his doctor, threatened to turn into pleurisy if he was not careful.

He sent round a polite apology, mentioning how pleased he was to learn that Ariana was completely recovered; a fact which Mrs. Bentley attributed to his hasty intervention on her behalf.

Ariana was conscience-stricken, knowing her stubbornness was to blame for the entire incident. She hesitated over whether to send an apology, a letter of thanks, or both. In the meantime, Mr. O’Brien called. It was an awkward meeting, but Ariana was sincerely relieved to see him.

“I am so obliged you have come.” She offered him a seat with an outstretched arm.

“Thank you, Miss Forsythe. I felt it necessary to apologize for what happened.”

“Oh, I beg you, do not even think of it.” Her face grew rosy. “Mr. Mornay was in the wrong, I assure you.”

“Apologize?” Mrs. Bentley had come to attention. “For what?”

“There is no need,” Ariana insisted.

“It is generous of you to say so.” Mr. O’Brien was all admiration.

“No need for what? Apologize for what?” A chaperon had to know!

“No, not generous, only fair. I assure you it was all a mistake.”

“You are too good, Miss Forsythe.” The young man was relieved and pleased. “And perhaps I may bring my sister with me on my next call? She is still intent on meeting you, as well as my mama.”

“Your
mama?
” The indignant tone of the older lady suddenly captured their attention, and they turned to face Mrs. Bentley. She had a newspaper before her and was sitting on a wing chair, adjacent to the pair.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I have told her of Miss Forsythe’s superior qualities—”

“Young man.” Aunt Bentley’s voice was severe. “You hardly know my niece! I think it is too soon to bring your family to meet her.” This set-down was sufficiently humiliating that Mr. O’Brien only mumbled, “I beg your pardon.”

Ariana was astonished at her relation and hurried to change the topic.

“And what have you been reading for devotions of late, Mr. O’Brien? I love to hear what others are learning of our faith.”

Mr. O’Brien called again the next morning. And the two days following that. Over the course of these visits he and Ariana had discussed his family, her family, the royal family, and today, the future family he hoped to have. Mrs. Bentley did not like the subject, feeling correctly that he was alluding to his wish to include Ariana in his plans. The younger girl sensed the same thing. She tried to envision the family he spoke of, children around the table, with her as the mother. But something did not feel right, and her smiles faltered during the discussion.

She felt the Lord had sent Mr. O’Brien to steady her confused soul, to be the beacon of light she needed during these trying times of tumultuous happenings with Mr. Mornay. So why was there hesitation regarding him in her soul? It was different from the way she hesitated
over Mr. Mornay. With that man, her heart was in danger, but her head knew he was not suitable. With Mr. O’Brien, the opposite was true. In her heart, she couldn’t quite fully embrace him, though her head assured her he was perfect husband-material.

Her aunt’s assertions that Mr. Mornay might be entertaining a
tendre
for her had sent her into a frightful discomposure for just these reasons. She liked Mr. Mornay overmuch, though he was not at all the sort of man she ought to like. Mr. O’Brien, on the other hand, was the kind of gentleman who should have set her heart dreaming, but, no sooner than he left her, she would find herself wondering when she would next see the other man.

Her prayer times were now full of self-reproaches, and she earnestly sought the Lord’s help.
If it is Your will, take away this foolish, foolish attraction to Mr. Mornay, and show me, please, if Mr. O’Brien is the man You have chosen for me. I am a senseless, emotional creature! You must change my heart, and my feelings, to comply with Your plan!

To her mind, it was impossible that God could be actually leading her and Mr. Mornay together (though she would have liked to think it so), for that gentleman, though not without good qualities, was not a man of faith. Disqualified, therefore. No exceptions. She had been raised to marry a man who lived by his religion, and the Paragon did not.

Mr. O’Brien, on the other hand, had grown up in the faith, and was intent on becoming a clergyman for all the best reasons. To preach the gospel. To better society. To extend charity.

Now, if he made her an offer, what could be easier to decipher as God’s will?