Before the Season Ends (41 page)

She was pleased, and had to smile a little despite her teary countenance.

“You may give me as much instruction as you like, as much as you can pack into the next hour or two. Will that suit you?”

“Yes! I shall be happy to!” Mrs. Bentley’s groom, who had been standing against the house waiting to see if his services were required, now took the reins of the team. Ariana’s mind went to work planning Scripture passages she wished to share with Mr. Mornay. His willingness to explore the meaning of a true faith was encouraging to her.

Unfortunately, her aunt was entertaining a few society notables and was only too delighted to include the Paragon. Ariana did not have him to herself, therefore.

Then, shortly after dinner, Mrs. Bentley reminded her charge of an engagement they had accepted, to which Ariana would have to accompany her aunt. She sensed a relief in Mr. Mornay, which bothered her. In fact, he seemed almost eager to be off. She had no way of knowing that his eagerness was based in frustration. He was finding it difficult to balance his feelings for Ariana with the forced stagnancy of their relationship. The frustration was growing each time he saw her. Watching her interacting, graceful, sweet, and beautiful, had been about all he could bear for one night.

Ariana, too, was filled with an aching regret. During the meal it had occurred to her that she had never once prayed with Mr. Mornay. For him, yes, but not
with
him. Some awful weakness of character
prevented her. And yet, perhaps this was the very thing they needed. Simply to begin praying together.

Their eyes met; his swirling and dark, and hers, without their usual sparkle. Mrs. Bentley thought she had never seen such a forlorn pair. She sent Ariana to change into evening dress, and, after the girl had shared a brief embrace with her betrothed, she turned and ascended the stairs, the picture of beautiful sadness. They watched her leave, Mr. Mornay with an unreadable expression on his face.

The chaperon turned on him.

“Why do you not come up with some plan? You are the Paragon! Surely a young girl cannot be more than you can manage.”

He did not think Mrs. Bentley was intending to insult him, but insulted was how he felt. He had been fighting a growing feeling of defeat all week, and now, her words crowned it. His temper, his quick tongue—gone, at the moment. And he left the house in that sorry state. Outside, he reprimanded himself. Surely he could cope with disappointment! Why did it feel as if nothing in the whole world mattered, except getting hold of that soul-stirring blonde minx making him so miserable? He thought of going home and sitting in his study and thinking it all over. The image of the family Bible, sitting this moment upon his desk, entered his mind, and he decided he would have a look at it. That’s why he had taken it off the shelf to begin with.

When he climbed into his curricle, he was intent on doing just that; going home and reading the Bible, mulling things over. He had no sooner turned onto Grosvenor Square, however, than he ran into a roadblock. Someone’s gleaming black coach was standing fully across the road, obviously intending to bar traffic. A face appeared at the window, saw him, and smiled. The door opened and Lord Alvanley, one of the Carlton House set, came forth.

“Ho, Mornay! You black dog, keeping us waiting like this! Where the devil have you been?”

Phillip jumped off the board, holding to the ribbons, and went to meet his friend, who was approaching with a definite swagger to his walk. A footman followed behind him.

“Don’t give me that grimace!” They were face to face in the street.

“Move your coach, then, you idiotic rascal! Don’t you know better than to block the road?”

“We were waiting for
you!
” Clearly he thought that information must clear him from any wrongdoing.

Mr. Mornay turned to go. “That’s what parlours are for.” He prepared to climb atop the board.

“Not so fast, you dunce! Prinny is inside!” Alvanley pointed back at his carriage, and gave a snort of laughter. “We smuggled him out of Carlton House without any of his servants realizing it! When they discover his absence, there’ll be an uproar! Can you see
The Times,
tomorrow? ‘The Missing Regent!’ He collapsed into laughter.

Mr. Mornay was not in the mood for pranks, though the prince, when in league with others, could be alarmingly friendly to them. But he resignedly handed the ribbons to Alvanley, and headed to pay his respects.

“I can spare a minute.”

Not likely!
Thought Alvanley.
Now we’ve got you!
He nodded at his footman, who promptly took the ribbons, waited until Mr. Mornay had gone into the coach, and then began walking the horses carefully around his master’s coach—there was enough room by a hair—toward the Mornay house, just as he had been instructed earlier to do.

Alvanley laughed and went toward his equipage, stopping to holler at his coachman, “Turn ’er around, Fritz!” He then climbed inside.

A few other mischievous aristocrats were inside the crowded coach with the prince, including Brummell, but they pulled Mornay into their midst. The mood was high and spirits were flowing freely. A bottle was slapped into his hand, but he put it down.

“Drink up, Phillip, you look to be in the blue devils, at any rate.” The Regent welcomed him thus. Someone else piped in: “Having trouble with Lady Mornay?” And another: “Has she taken a disgust of you already? Excellent! We’ll have you back to ourselves.”

“Perhaps it is only his style she liked; in that case, we can send
Beau, here, to Hanover Square—a pretty pair they would make, eh, Mornay?”

Mr. Mornay allowed the comments to run their course before he turned to the Regent. “What’s the plan? You look to be on an all-nighter.”

“
You
are the plan!” interjected Alvanley, to laughter. “We are determined to have you join us in the most foul dissipation evil imaginations can devise. The prospect of your saintly future bride reforming you was our excuse, if we must furnish one. So we smuggled Prinny, and now we have you!” The coach was indeed leaving Grosvenor Square.

“Not tonight, gentlemen. I have things to attend to—” He moved to exit the vehicle before it picked up speed, but his way was instantly blocked, and others held onto his arms.

“I hate to inform you, old chap, but we have indeed reached the unanimous conclusion you must join us tonight,” said Brummell. “And ignore Alvanley! We’re merely intent on some harmless fun,” and he raised a bottle to his mouth and then offered it to Mornay, who again declined.

“Prinny insisted on your company in any case, isn’t that right, Your Royal Highness?” The equipage, meanwhile, had picked up speed. The coach was bulleting through narrow London streets. Even if Phillip managed to get past the men, it would be taking his life in his hands to try and jump for it. With dismay, he realized his friends meant business. He sat back with a sigh. He could see it was going to be a long evening.

A
riana fetched a fresh handkerchief from the wardrobe. She was going through her entire stock in one night, for she had been crying pitifully. She looked down at the new one only to realize it had the letters “P” and “M” in ornate embroidery on it. How ironic that she should be using Phillip’s handkerchief when he was the reason for her tears!

She wanted to confess her failure to pray with the man she loved. If only they could pray together, it might reveal to him how easy it was to talk with God.

Tonight, one prayer had led to another, and soon she was reciting her woes to the Lord afresh, though she had done so, it seemed, a hundred times. Were her prayers in vain? Why had she became inadvertently entangled with Phillip Mornay from her first day in society? Why was she betrothed to a man if he was not the one meant for her? And if he was, was she wrong to be harping on that one Scripture about being unequally yoked? But wasn’t this what she had been taught? What she always had believed was immutable?

She resorted to begging God on her knees, to please,
please
bring Mr. Mornay to a saving faith. Then, she switched tactics and prayed not to love him at all if he was not to share her faith and life. Finally, she begged God to show her what to do. She could bear the disquiet no longer. She hated the perplexity and hurt she saw in Mr. Mornay’s
eyes! Feelings, she knew, that were mirrored in her own. Oh, why, why was God treating her thus?

She lay down, exhausted from her emotional turmoil, and still dressed in her gown, fell asleep. A few hours later, the silver moon was already dipping in the sky when she awoke with a start and a gasp. Her troubles still lay heavy upon her. Too heavy. She recognized it, she thought, as a call to pray, again. But no sooner did she fall to her knees than a ferocious restlessness came upon her.
She should go see Mr. Mornay. Now.

What was she thinking? Go see him in the middle of the night? When ladies did not usually call upon men at any hour? She must continue to pray, that was all. But the longer she tried to pray, the stronger she felt that urgent need to go and see Mr. Mornay. It was positively unshakeable.

How absurd to think of doing such a thing! She started to argue with God and then caught herself. Argue with God? Why remonstrate if it was God calling her to do this? She was receiving divine guidance! And so she must, of course, obey! Yes, strange as it was, she must obey.

“This is Your bidding, isn’t it, Lord?” She had to ask once more. She forced her mind to be still. She must cease the roiling thoughts of her heart and mind, and listen. And then, she knew. It was not an audible voice but nevertheless she heard it:
Go!
Perhaps she only heard it in her heart. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she was certain of what she must do.

Many of the beau monde regularly spent entire nights about town; Young ladies were sometimes among them. She herself had experienced coming home as the light of dawn was rising. She assured herself that her call would not seem too outlandish to Mr. Mornay, who surely was accustomed to keeping late hours.

I could see him in the morning.
But no, it was no use. She had to go now. Somehow this was a part of God’s plan. If she failed to obey, she would miss something important, that was certain. She straightened her gown and left her bedchamber to find Mrs. Bentley.

When she approached her aunt’s door she was relieved to see light coming from beneath it. Her aunt was awake! So far, so good.

Mrs. Bentley was indeed awake. She was at her escritoire writing the banns for the wedding, after tossing and turning for hours to no avail. It was rare for her to have difficulty sleeping, and she finally thought she may as well do something useful with the time. When she heard the knock, she knew at once it was different from the usual scratchy sound the servants made, and she quickly opened a small drawer of the desk and shoved the half-written notice inside. She closed the ink bottle and hid her pen.

“Come in.”

Ariana entered the room, obviously in some perturbation.

“What is it? Why are you not sleeping?”

“Aunt Bentley, is it possible—would it be too improper—for us to make a call on Mr. Mornay?”

Her aunt smiled. “Not at all! You are betrothed. I’ll tell Haines in the morning to have the carriage ready, say, around noon.” She stood up and adjusted her mob-cap.

“No, no, Aunt, I mean to call upon him now, this very minute.”

Mrs. Bentley froze. “
Now?
”

Ariana nodded mutely.

Slowly the chaperon returned to her seat.

“Absolutely not.” Her face was raised in a posture that said she was prepared for a fight. “Whatever for?”

“ ’Tis imperative that I see him this very night! I need to speak with him. To pray with him. I believe our wedding may go forth. Oh, I hardly know, myself, what has happened,” she cried, wringing her hands, “but I feel urgently I must see him!” In response to her aunt’s unpromising demeanour, she prayed,
Lord, Mrs. Bentley must give her leave, or it is off!

The lady rose from her seat and started pacing. She studied her niece. “You think the wedding may go forward?”

“I do…although I cannot say why or how.” She recognized the inanity of her words, but was helpless to change them, for that was just
how she felt. Something momentous was afoot! The sense of urgency was still heavy upon her.

Her aunt began thinking aloud.

“His house is not far from here… Perhaps I will send a messenger to announce our intentions. He can give his leave, then, and there will be no question of impropriety.” She began to walk toward the bellpull, but Ariana made a worried sound in her throat.

“Now what is it?” Aunt Bentley groaned.

“My dear Aunt, can we not just go? Nothing shall be lost, I warrant you; he will not be angry to see me.” Her aunt seemed to be swayed by that, thinking the same thing herself, that Mornay could only be glad if Ariana wanted to see him so desperately. It must have been due to her own desire to see her niece’s wedding go forward, for in the next second she agreed to go.

Rejoicing, Ariana quickly helped the older woman out of her chemise nightdress and into a suitable gown. When they were downstairs, Mrs. Bentley put on her bonnet, tying the strings slowly, with a look almost of wonder upon her features.