Before the Season Ends (40 page)

Minutes later there was a scratch at the study door, and in walked Letty, all wide-eyed.
Lawks, it was true! A lighter-haired laidy she had never seen, and so prim and proper and kindly lookin’!
She noted the large eyes, raised in curiosity at the moment, the light green shawl over a pretty cambric dress, and fine bonnet; and even the genteel satin slippers on her feet. Letty, too, had an immediate sense that here was a mistress she could adore. Quickly laying the candlestick on the sturdy desk, she gave Ariana a slow curtsey.

Ariana felt it necessary to say something to the enormous pair of eyes gaping at her in astonishment.

“Good day.”

This appeared to satisfy the servant, for she smiled, revealing a missing tooth, and then turned and strode from the room, still smiling. She was smiling when she entered the kitchen, and when she described the vision she had seen to the others.

“Bless me!” Cook exclaimed, covering her mouth with one chubby
hand. “I ’ave a hankering to see ’er meself.” She was actually the under cook, beneath the real chef of the establishment, but with a good reputation among the staff as a hard worker.

“Is she pri’ee?” Bessie, a scullery maid who had just come in, wanted to know.

“Mor’n pri’ee!” offered a gruff footman, who often served as outrider on Mr. Mornay’s coach. He had seen Miss Forsythe on more than one occasion and would have sent a smart remark her way in a jif—if not for her station and the master, that is.

The parlour maid’s curiosity got the best of her, and soon Miss Forsythe’s musings were interrupted by another faint knock at the door. In a moment the servant swept in holding a feather duster. She took a split-second glance at Ariana and then quickly crossed before her and breezily dusted the desk top, not daring to peek again; then retraced her steps, lightly dusting all the way. She stopped abruptly in front of Ariana (who was beginning to think she might have to endure being dusted herself) and curtseyed, wide-eyed, like the first servant. She then swept out of the room, all in less than thirty seconds, so that it had been like a sort of dance.

A few moments later, a chambermaid came shyly into the room carrying a rag and pail. She hazarded a split-second glance at Ariana, headed straight to the fireplace and began polishing the grate, which was clean to begin with. When she turned to leave, she too was overcome by a compulsion to curtsey, and did so, her eyes larger than the last servant’s. Ariana smiled at her.

She had not alarmed her, as had the first maid, or nearly dusted her, as had the second. When, a few seconds later, yet another scratch came at the door, Ariana steeled herself to be interviewed, so to speak, once again.

This time it was Cook, ostensibly to question the lady as to her preference of fresh fruit for the basket. She took in nearly every inch of Ariana, barely listening to her response that, “Anything, anything at all will be fine, I imagine,” when Mr. Mornay knocked firmly on the door and entered.

He looked in dismay at Cook bending before Ariana with a crock of fruit in her hands.

“What’s this?” His hands were on his hips, and he scowled. Cook froze with fear. For a second.

“Oh, sir! Last week a lady on Grant Street ate a orange and dropped as dead as a doornail, sir! They said she never could tol’rate oranges but she went and ate one, anyroad!” She looked meaningfully at Ariana. “I ’ad to check that your laidy ’ad no indisposition to fruit, sir.”

Mr. Mornay’s brows were raised, but he no longer looked angry.

“The basket is for my aunt.”

Cook’s red, round face grew even redder.

“I am much obliged to you, nevertheless,” Ariana said quickly, in a hearty tone.

This put her in Cook’s good graces from that day forward. Meanwhile, below stairs, both housemaids had pronounced her to be as “pri’ee as a princess.” Upon her return to the safety of the kitchens, Cook added to the consensus but also exclaimed, “Now there be a kind mistress if ever I saw one.”

When Ariana and Mr. Mornay were finally seated again atop the board, the basket carefully stowed in back, she turned to him.

“Is your aunt expecting us?”

“No.” His eyes were upon his horses as he moved them into traffic. “She is expecting me. She asked me to bring you, but since I suspected she wished to interrogate you, I said I would not.” He looked at her. “Do you mind going? I believe she will encourage you, and right now I welcome encouragement from any corner.”

Ariana felt a small alarm. Mrs. Royleforst was apparently a
force
to be reckoned with, but as she was thinking thus, he added, “And she will be delighted to see you.” Ariana hoped he was right.

T
he visit began smoothly in Mrs. Royleforst’s opulent parlour where they drank lemonade, and ate biscuits and afternoon cake. They sat chatting about light subjects for a proper amount of time, after which Mrs. Royleforst bid her nephew go and bring her a newspaper.

He looked pointedly at Miss Bluford, who had joined the company: Why did not she do it, since it was her occupation to satisfy the whims of her mistress? But Miss Bluford refused to peek at him, though Ariana was certain she felt the dark eyes upon her.

Mrs. Royleforst shrewdly interfered.

“No, no, it must be you, Phillip! I am intent on speaking with Miss Forsythe.”

“In that case,” he said gallantly, rising from his seat, “I am at your service.” But he gave his aunt a strong look before he bowed and left. “Go easy on her.” The door clicked shut quietly behind him. Ariana and Mrs. Royleforst faced each other.

“Miss Bluford,” she said. “I am in mind to have some negus. Do see if you can make some up for us.” Without a word, the woman rose and left the room. Now it was only the two of them.

Coming straight to the point, Mrs. Royleforst was astonished, she said, that any girl would refuse her nephew, and she wanted to know why Ariana had done so. When Ariana explained her hesitation as stemming from her spiritual life, the woman became annoyed.

“You should then consider it your Christian duty to improve Phillip, and you can best do that by marrying him.” Without raising her voice, she managed to pack a good scold in her words.

“Only God can improve a person, ma’am,” Ariana countered. “And I consider it my chief duty to please the Lord by marrying a man who shares my faith.”

The lady’s eyebrows went up above her small eyes.

“You are dead set against him, then!”

“No, I am hoping…the situation will change.” Her words sounded lame to her own ears.

“But you are unwilling to change it yourself! Humph! I see little hope there.” She gazed at Ariana with a severe expression on her face.

Ariana tried to soften that expression. “We are indeed betrothed.”

“Nonsense! When you refuse to set a wedding date? I am greatly moved by Phillip’s astonishing concern for you, Miss Forsythe. And I daresay you have no idea of the great honour he is offering you.” She paused, looking searchingly at the girl, then continued. “If you want a man who will say whatever you want and deceive you, I warrant there are many for the taking. But if you want one who is true to his word, to his heart, and will be true to you—Phillip is your man. Despite my disappointment in your stubbornness, your
foolishness,
I advise you as a friend: Be done with your qualms, and thank God for what He has given you. My nephew may not be the man to please a crowd, but he is true to the bone, I assure you.”

Ariana had no more replies. And worse, she felt a nagging conviction that what Mrs. Royleforst was saying was true: Mr. Mornay was good for his word. He wouldn’t intentionally deceive her. He could have professed a false faith, but hadn’t. He was a good man.

When he returned to the room the unmistakable tension in the air was palpable. He thought it best to take Ariana home. She was quiet on the return drive, and he was too familiar with his aunt not to know why.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No. Thank you.” Then, “She despises me.”

“She gave you a set-down?”

“Quite.”

“For putting off my suit?”

“Yes.”

“Then she does not, believe me, despise you. If she did, she would have given you numerous reasons why you are right to do as you are doing.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Are you certain?”

“Completely.”

When they arrived at Hanover Square, Mr. Mornay did not move to help her down.

“I am not accustomed to being patient.” He turned and was facing her. “I am endeavouring to be so for your sake.”

She gave him a tender smile. “You have been patient. It is a struggle for me, as well.”

He looked perplexed.

She remembered the leather-bound Bible on his desk. “My best advice is to read the Scriptures for yourself. The Lord speaks to us through His Word. He will speak to your heart, I promise you, if you only open your heart to Him.”

His gray-black eyes studied her intently. “You are certain of that?”

“I am. ‘
They that seek me will find me, when they look for me with all their heart.
’ ”

“I spoke to the vicar and told him, I believe, the extent of our difficulty.”

“Yes?”

“His reply was that I should convince you at all costs that I am a Christian, having been raised in the church. I must say he nearly convinced me, but having heard your definition, I retain my doubts.” He paused. “I do not come from a religious family as you do, but I have never, in my darkest hours, renounced the faith I was born into, and I have indeed had my share of dark hours.”

She looked at him compassionately, thinking of the register of
deaths recorded in the family Bible—had they caused his darkest hours? She raised a gloved hand to softly touch his face.

“Mr. Mornay—I must remind you. You cannot be born into the faith. It is not a religion so much as a friendship with God, more than that, a relation to Him. You must deliberately choose to be His relation. To open your heart to Him. That is all.”

“I have never closed myself to Him!” He sounded irritated as he reached for her hands. “If you would like me to say I choose to be a Christian, as you have, then very well, I choose it.”

When her countenance did not lighten, he said again, “I choose to be a Christian!”

Ariana was filled with love and sadness. Hopelessness washed over her. He squeezed her hands.

“I am willing to change for you, Ariana, as much as I can…but you must believe in me, just a little. I want to love you, and take care of you, and raise a family with you. I have never wanted such a thing before, not for a single second. You are the beginning of a new life for me, don’t you see? And I want more than anything to provide a wonderful life for you, too.”

He went on talking soothingly, laying out for her a picture of his assets, holdings, and properties. He described how they could come to London every season if she wished; that he would escort her to whatever entertainments she fancied. She would own equally all that was his. He was being earnest and gentle and her head was beginning to swim with the ache of knowing and loving him and yet having to keep him at a safe distance. It sounded wonderful—but it was not truly within her reach, for he was not fully hers, nor could he be, unless he was God’s first.

“Do you wish to persuade me by what you own?” She cried out suddenly, unable to bear listening a moment longer.

He was taken aback. “Ariana, you amaze me. I did not hope to
win
you with this information, only to enlighten you on what sort of life you can expect to have with me. I supposed these things would please you.”

“Forgive me! You’re perfectly right. It sounds wonderful.” She studied his impossibly handsome face. “
You’re
perfectly wonderful, in fact! It would be easier if you weren’t! I wish I had never met you if I can’t have you!”

He reached for her, but she turned away.

“Please help me down, now,” she asked.

He resignedly got down to do so. After handing her down, he kept his hands about her waist for a moment, making her meet his eyes.

“I believe Mrs. Bentley will have a dinner guest tonight.” When she looked questioningly at him, he added, with a little smile: “Me.”