The Country House Courtship (10 page)

He straightened his coat, checked his cravat with his hands, and reached up for the knocker. The next hour would no doubt be most illuminating as to whether his hopes had any chance of succeeding or not. He took a breath and rapped firmly on the door, twice. And waited.

A
note, sir, by special messenger, from Warwickdon.”

Freddie handed the missive to his master, and even Mr. Mornay seemed surprised to be receiving a second urgent letter in two days. He opened it right there in the parlour, letting Ariana read it with him, for they were seated side by side. Mrs. Royleforst's small eyes opened as wide as they were capable of while she waited, hoping to hear the contents.

Mr. Mornay's brows rose while he read, and he and Ariana shared a look of surprise.

“Upon my word!” she exclaimed.

Mr. Mornay looked at his aunt and explained, “Mr. Epworth, the magistrate at Warwickdon, reminds us that our neighbouring parish is going vacant of its rector, and a vicar is needed, directly. Mr. Hargrove is above anxious to take up a living in his town of birth in Yorkshire. He is the rector of the parish, you see.”

Ariana exclaimed, “We knew he planned on leaving, but thought he had a replacement secure. It seems that arrangement has fallen through. Did you ever hear of such a thing? A rector looking for a clergyman just when we have got us one! And,” she added, smiling, “if we grant Mr. O'Brien Glendover as well, he could hire his own curate for Warwickdon! That will put him in a splendid way to afford a wife and family, to be sure!”

Mr. Mornay held up one hand. “You run ahead of yourself, Ariana. I am perfectly happy to recommend O'Brien for Warwickdon, despite the fact that it means our endless pest shall be a mere two miles away at all times. (“I said that affectionately!” he assured her, when she rolled her eyes at him.) But keeping him on my own property is another thing, entirely. I should think you would welcome this news as a means of satisfying your hopes of doing him some good; he will be a vicar, have the glebe, a comfortable vicarage, and the lesser tithes.”

“It is rather
extraordinary
,” put in Mrs. Royleforst. “That two neighbouring parishes should fall vacant simultaneously!”

Mr. Mornay was scanning the letter again. “And that Mr. Hargrove is anxious to leave his situation as soon as possible! He says here that he has had a ‘flood of requests to perform baptisms, a few weddings, and that a funeral appears imminent, if he can make the move quickly enough.' Furthermore, his parish in the north is so happy of his returning that they are arranging a day of village festivities to proclaim his arrival.” He looked up. “They want him directly.”

“I daresay, he must be enormously pleased at that,” Mrs. Royleforst said, shifting in her seat upon the sofa until she felt more comfortable.

“Mr. O'Brien's coming is providential!” exclaimed Ariana. Turning to her husband she added, “You are not willing, I see, to grant him Glendover, but God has provided for him, nevertheless!”

“Indeed He has,” concurred Phillip. In fact, he quietly gave thanks for this unexpected boon. The timing of it was superb. Despite what he'd said to his wife about O'Brien, he'd had small misgivings. Now he could refer the man for an excellent situation without having to offer him his own parish. It was an act of Providence!

Mrs. Royleforst was closer to the mark than she could have known. Mr. Hargrove was more than enormously pleased at the thought of the enthusiastic reception awaiting him in the north—he was ecstatic. Suddenly the spacious parsonage at Warwickdon and all the accompanying comforts of the living was a millstone around his neck. He wanted a vicar to fill his shoes—now.

Perhaps it was a divine intervention that the Ordinary of the parish had inquired of Aspindon House—Mr. Mornay, that is—for the name of a suitable applicant, there being no great house in Warwickdon to inquire of. And Mr. Hargrove's conscience was sufficiently intact that he did not wish to abandon his current flock without ensuring that services would continue; but he wanted a good man, one who could do more than ride in upon a horse each week, say his service, and ride off again to the next parish! He disliked pluralism in the clergy.

In a moment of inspiration he had thought of Aspindon House, remembered that Mr. Mornay was very likely considering a list of candidates for his own parish at that very time, and felt surely this was his answer.

The question was, did Mr. Mornay know of a candidate? A man who was worthy and true in his religion? And most important to Mr. Hargrove: a man who could come directly?

Ariana came closer to her husband and searched his face with her large eyes.

“Phillip, are you certain he is not seeking merely a curate? You know as well as I do that a curate's salary is bound to be a pittance.”

“I can speak to Mr. Hargrove, if you like, and just my doing so is certain to secure a rise in the salary; but I gather from the note that our clergyman will shortly be vicar if he is acceptable to Mr. Hargrove and the Bishop.”

But still she frowned. Her voice sounded pained. “When we have Glendover available, it does appear to be a slight to him!”

A look of resoluteness fell upon her husband's handsome face. “We are doing him a great service with my recommendation. He will get the situation based on my word, you know that. It is far superior to St. Pancras; he will welcome it, I assure you. And he will not feel slighted. The man can hardly expect me to love him so well that I should want him in my life perpetually. 'Tis hard enough that I must suffer to keep him within two miles of us. You must see the unreasonable nature of your hopes.”

“I understand your feelings upon this, truly I do.” Ariana had come and placed her hands upon his chest, smoothing down miniscule wrinkles in his silk waistcoat. “But please consider that he and Beatrice may find they suit one another.” She could not help but to smile. “I did not want to speak of this too soon to you, but I do think you must hold in mind that if he and Beatrice were to…become better acquainted, you may have the opportunity to benefit your own family by presenting him with Glendover!” She hoped to find him amused but instead he grew impatient.

“Ariana, they have just met.”

“No, she knew him in London. Do you not recall her promise to marry him?” She looked very amused, but he did not share her feeling. In fact, Mr. Mornay looked thunderstruck.

“
What?
Are you telling me they are
betrothed?”

Ariana lost a degree of optimism at this reaction, admitting, “Well, no; he did not offer for her; Beatrice felt sorry for him for losing
me
to
you
, so
she
offered for
him
!”

He let out a breath of relief. “That's absurd. It isn't done.”

“I know, but it happened. It may mean something, yet.”

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “This changes nothing. I have said I shall give the man until Sunday to prove his worth—and I shall. But he won't do it, mark my words. And I have no intention of holding this benefice until a romance
may
bud between two people who may well have other interests!”

“Beatrice has no interest more upon her thoughts these days but finding a husband, she has said so!”

“It was my understanding,” he replied speedily, “that she desires a wealthy man; a man about town; not a country curate.”

“Well, that is nothing!” said Ariana, wide-eyed. “She will change her mind if she falls in love.”

“
If
she falls in love?” he asked dubiously. “I cannot conceive that I am having this conversation!” He kissed her on the forehead. “I must see to this business. I'll go to my office directly; send O'Brien to me, will you?”

Ariana's lips were compressed, but she said, “Oh, very well.”

He started to move off, but noted her expression, and turned back to her, putting his hands upon her upper arms to face her. He was wearing a “patient” look and Ariana steeled herself for a mild combing.

“Have you forgotten his disregard for your betrothal? For your expressed wishes? After you'd refused him more than once, he had the audacity to take advantage of you! Do you think I could ever willingly bring him so much into our lives?”

“I am beyond remembering that at all!” she replied, heatedly. “Why can you not do as I have done?”

“If you are beyond remembering it,” he said, as though it was hard to conceive, “I am assuredly not. A man does not forget an offence involving the woman he loves. Perhaps you have truly forgot how he lost his head, his manners, his honour—when he dragged you into his arms in his house that day in London! But I have not. I cannot.”

She watched him with a silence that was born not of ease or agreement, but of disturbance. He had never spoken of that day since their marriage; how could it still be so engraved upon his heart that he could recite it like a favourite poem, memorized and cherished? She turned away from his eyes, though there was not overmuch of reproof in them. It was more like injury.

“Can you allow that he is a changed man, now?” Her voice was quiet.

“He has done some growing up, I grant you. But the man is still untested, in my opinion. I do not want to have to consider whether he shall stop to visit you on occasion; or whether I should arrive home to find him present. His own past behavior has merited my disapproval in this matter, and you must not pretend it did not happen, Ariana. I cannot.”

She said, “Mr. O'Brien did behave badly, but he sent me—he sent
us
, an apology. And he has matured since then. His youthful passion is behind him.”

She met his eyes, upon which he said, “Waiting only for the right time to sprout up again, like a dormant seed in winter.” He moved her toward him and his arms about her were heartening. “You are more beautiful than ever, Ariana.”

“Only to you, sir!” She was amused by this.

“No, upon my honour, no! Motherhood has brought more lovely a glow to your face than I've ever noted. Being twenty-four has agreed with you more than any lady of my acquaintance heretofore. He will fall right back in love with you, I assure you. It is his nature.”

“You forget that Beatrice is here now. I am a mother; a matronly dame to a single man.”

He had to laugh. “A matronly dame? Not you, I assure you.” He had to plant another little kiss upon her face, too, for he loved her like this.