Before the Season Ends (30 page)

“What, me, turn away the Paragon?” she said in a teasing tone.

“Do not call me that. I am acutely conscious of how little I fit that description.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, touched by his admission.

He now continued leading them slowly from the ballroom.

“Is Mr. O’Brien aware you are disposed to accept his offer?” This seemed an abrupt change of subject, but she went with it.

“I think not.” A second later she added, “I am uncertain, actually, regarding the matter. I made that rash statement at your house because my aunt mortified me!”

He stopped. “Do you mean, he is not preparing to offer for you?”

“Oh, I think he is. But whether I shall accept him is not certain. I am determined to be open-minded; I enjoy his company, and he is intent on entering the church.”

A raised brow and a little smile. “Is that all it takes to gain your approval?” He had a further thought but did not speak it: That anyone with the right connexions and the money could enter the church.

Ariana’s face was flushed, however, for it occurred to her that had Mr. O’Brien been intent on any other occupation, he would immediately have appeared less eligible to her. Mr. Mornay was exactly right! It was that easy to gain her approval! It was a terrible realization.

“Is something wrong?”

She looked up at him, but had no words to say what she felt.

“What is it? You are not well.”

“No. I am not.” She was oddly at a loss and just looked at him helplessly.

“I will see you home.”

She always enjoyed his self-assurance, and he displayed it now, putting her hand firmly upon his arm and taking her toward the hall and door.

“I am not ill, precisely.” She did want to leave, though. She had been bored for much of the evening, finding a commonplace ball was no longer something to excite her sensibilities. Mr. Mornay was virtually the only man she would have delighted to dance with, and her aunt had denied her that pleasure. And now, having suddenly realized the shallowness of her attraction to Mr. O’Brien, it threw into sharp relief all of the stronger, truer feelings she had been fighting to suppress for Mr. Mornay.

“I must find Aunt Bentley,” she said. “To let her know.” He changed direction, going toward the room set aside for cards. Her aunt often abandoned the ballroom in favor of the card table, though she played strictly for small wagers only. She was far too sensible to hazard great sums. In addition, she had seen Ariana happily dancing enough nights away to know the girl would be fine left to herself. She did not need her aunt hovering about at every occasion, after all.

Thus, they found her engaged in a game of whist. It was the start of the third rubber but she would not be ready to leave until it had finished.

Mrs. Bentley saw Mr. Mornay and felt a twinge of satisfaction. He had come to complain about being banned, had he? But then she noticed Ariana looking strained; so when he informed her he would be escorting the girl home, she could only eye him doubtfully. She would have liked to deny him—and somehow she felt he knew it—but she was losing the present game and wanted to regain her few pounds. In addition, the ladies around the table were impressed that the Paragon was prepared to see her niece home. Under the circumstances, how could she say no?

Mr. Mornay was not one to miss an advantage when it came his way. In minutes, therefore, he was handing Ariana into his plush black coach. He might have been denied a dance, but his male pride was now fully restored. He enjoyed having charge of Ariana.

When comfortably seated across from her in the carriage, he struck the wall to signal them off. He lit the interior lamp, and it was evident her face was still crestfallen. Try as he might, he could not remember what had passed between them that might have caused it.

“Are you ill?” His voice was gentle.

She shook her head.

There was silence then, until he asked, “Is it something I said? ’Twould not be the first time I plagued your sensibilities.”

He was rewarded with a brief smile, but nothing more.

“Ariana, this is unlike you!” He sat forward in his seat and looked at her questioningly. “I would much prefer to be subjected to one of
your outbursts than to have you silent. Pray, if there is anything I have done, tell me!”

“But there isn’t!” She looked at him fully then, and, without knowing herself what was about to happen, burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

Mr. Mornay was dismayed. He felt helpless. It was not something he was accustomed to.

“Ariana!” he said, softly, handing her his handkerchief. When she continued to cry silently he moved from the cushion across from her and sat beside her, in what he hoped was a supportive gesture. He tried to lift her face so he could see her, but she refused to turn her head. This left him sitting there continuing to feel that awful helplessness, without a clue as to what he should do. Her blonde hair shone golden beneath the glow of the lamp and he gently cleared the side of her face of any stray tendrils.

He sat beside her until her shoulders ceased to rock, and he could tell she was calming down. He had a strong urge to put her upon his lap but realized the romantic implications, and could not bring himself to do it. He wished for a moment that he was her father or brother; it would allow him to be more affectionate without raising any false hopes. For he had long ago realized his utter unsuitability for marriage; no, not even with Ariana, despite the feelings of protectiveness she aroused in him.

Suddenly, Ariana raised her head, and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were puffy and adorable. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were quite pink and this too was not unbecoming. He stifled a smile.

“Forgive me!” she declared. “I am more fatigued than I thought.”

“But are you well, now?” He spoke mildly. “What was troubling you?”

When she looked at him, endeavouring to choose her words, she glanced at the neat mouth and clean-shaven jaw, the tidy cravat. He was still sitting close to her and his proximity was startling. She turned away again, without having answered, and suddenly Mr. Mornay knew.

He was not alarmed or annoyed, as was his usual response to any
woman who intimated she found him attractive. Indeed, he felt a rush of concern for Ariana—he did not want to hurt her. This was a decidedly unusual predicament, and for a few moments he was at a loss again, not knowing what to do. He reached over and took her hand, and held it firmly in his own.

“Ariana, I would like to help you, only I find myself uncertain how to do that. If you think of something I can do for you, please let me know.”

She nodded, and let out a small, “thank you.” But she continued to keep her face turned away from his. This charmed him, for it was completely void of manipulation. Ariana never did anything intentionally aimed at attracting him to her—aside from just being herself—and that, in itself, he found attractive. Her lack of artifice, of deliberate attempts to gain his attention, was refreshingly welcome. There was no question, moreover, of her being after his money or anything of his. Ariana genuinely liked him. He knew it, but all he could think to do was to grasp her hand in his own.

Somehow, he would have to help Ariana Forsythe. He had unwittingly been a part of causing her problems, as her aunt had pointed out, and he needed to make it right. But he could not bring himself to change the relationship from the platonic one they had settled into. Why? He did not know.

When the coach pulled up to 49 Hanover Square, the two in the carriage were still as they had been. Mr. Mornay gave Ariana’s hand a squeeze, and spoke softly into her ear.

“I’ll see you the night of the ball. If you need me for anything before then, do not hesitate to inform me.” Looking at the side of her face, he felt a great affection for her, but that same sense of helplessness overcame him, so that he rose and left the coach to help her down. He walked her to the door and kissed her hand.

She tried to smile before he left. “Good night. Pray forget my behaviour tonight. I am sorry for having cried.”

“Do not be,” he said, holding up one hand. “I am not the least put out by it. My only concern is for you.”

Ariana looked up at him and blinked in surprise. For a moment she looked ready to burst into a fresh torrent of tears.

“Good night, Mr. Mornay!”

She swept into the house. With a grave nod of the head, Haines closed the door after her.

T
here hadn’t been a ball at Hanover Square for more than a decade—not since the master was alive. The servants, for this reason, were in a tizzy. They were falling over each other during the special cleanings and preparations which must go beforehand, since even Mrs. Ruskin seemed confused about who should be doing what.

Ariana was compelled to give her opinions, which, to her surprise, were immediately implemented. The servants, unbeknownst to her, had placed her in their highest esteem because she was often found reading either her Bible or the prayer book. Many of the servants were devout, and took heart to see a copy of
The Book of Common Prayer
in use at Hanover Square.

Gilded invitations had been sent. The house was washed, waxed, polished, and aired. Then it was polished once more until the woodwork shone and the floors sparkled. Every nook and cranny, every utensil, was given painstaking attention. Extra servants were hired, including an undercook to help with the enormous food preparations. Cook remained in the kitchen for an entire day before the event, thinking that if all went well she would die happy. Certain specialties were ordered out, such as an exquisite cake from
Gunter’s,
with little beautifully formed marzipan figures on top. When Ariana saw the cake, she burst into tears and retreated to her room.

It was too much to bear. She had resigned herself to the realization that what she felt for Mr. Mornay was a deepening love, and that in
itself was a great reason to despair. She had an acute awareness that, despite her feelings for him, he could never return them. He maintained a semblance of caring for her—thus his displeasure at being denied the dance—but it was not love. Rather, it was more like a brotherly affection.

Worse, she knew it was wrong to love him. How could she love a man who had no interest in the things of God? Had she seen him, even once, at St. George’s on a Sunday? No!

And why did she not love Mr. O’Brien who was a sincere, devout man? Was there ever more reason to despair? And yet Aunt Bentley was determined to treat her as if she deserved the best of matches. Ariana worried that her aunt might become a laughingstock on her account. If she did not marry money, her relation would be maligned for having made her a spectacle. Society would regard the lady with a mixture of pity and distaste. Ariana felt an enormous pressure with each expenditure, which was why the beautiful cake from
Gunter’s
had sent her to her chamber in tears. The utter hopelessness of it all had driven her there.

She had sent a wild letter to her parents, imploring them to answer her correspondence; begging for their advice and counsel. Their silence was incomprehensible and felt as a sort of punishment; but, to what purpose? Surely if they wished to reprove her, they would do so in writing, or send for her outright.

If only Mr. Mornay were a devout man! But he was not. Ariana fell to her knees many times to pray over the matter, but felt so agitated she could barely concentrate. The still, small voice of God which she desperately wanted to hear, was lost amidst the noise of her own unhappy thoughts. She wanted to be still before the Lord, to open her heart and mind to His counsel while reading Scripture—but found it exceedingly difficult to do so.

The morning of the event found the house bedecked with numerous floral garlands bearing sugarcoated fruit and berries. They hung
from the mantels and adorned the curtained windows. They were spread across clean, white tablecloths. They were even outside, on the iron railings of the house. A small fountain was brought in and set up at one end of the dining room. It had an adorable little cherub seated on its outer rim, which normally Ariana would have delighted to see, but now her heart sank.