The Country House Courtship (34 page)

But he had to live up to his situation: He now saw himself as the friend and neighbour to the Mornays, and the very last thing he should be considering was falling in love with their sister. While the Glendover curacy remained unoccupied, he would encourage them to attend his church, and would endeavour to exercise a clerical attitude toward them, as he would toward anyone in his parish.

It was the least he could do after Mornay had helped him get his new living. That he could be in it so quickly as to be of service during this dire happenstance was a double boon.

An hour or two later, he was handing up the ladies into Mornay's carriage; Mrs. Royleforst, who harrumphed her way in; then Miss Bluford, accepting his help with a big, wobbly smile (which surprised him a great deal, since she usually sat quietly and rather expressionlessly while the others spoke); then Mrs. Forsythe, with a polite word of thanks and ladylike ascent; and pretty Miss Forsythe, with a sad nod and word of thanks. Finally, the two children were brought out. Nigel was all aflutter, for he loved to ride in the carriage, and he scrambled up, hardly allowing Mr. O'Brien to so much as guard his back; and Mrs. Perler came holding the baby. Servants were following with all manner of luggage and blankets and toys in their hands, to be transported in a second coach which sat behind the first.

When both the large coaches were stuffed with passengers, supplies, and luggage, they started off. Mr. O'Brien had given the family the first vehicle, and sat across from a wet nurse from the village who appeared to be a young mother in good health, who had her own child in tow, a sleeping infant in her arms. She had only a single valise with belongings in it, and a large cloth sack of other things. A few other servants were along, a chambermaid and parlour maid, and Harrietta. The lady's maid was red-faced from crying, and sat forlornly, often wiping the tears which kept falling down her face with a sodden handkerchief.

She raised the volume of her crying most remarkably as the trip commenced, though the wet nurse scolded her for it, saying she was like to raise the dead, and what was the new curate to think of such a display?

Harrietta sobbed, “I can' 'elp it! My poor mistress! My poor Mrs. Mornay! They say MaryAnn's dyin'!” She blew her nose loudly into a handkerchief, while Mr. O'Brien said, “There, there, she isn't even sick yet. She may be spared entirely, you know.”

“I know it, sir.” But her eyes once more welled with tears. “It's 'avin' to leave the 'ouse an' all, I suppose! It's just like she's got the plague!”

“Now, look here,” said Mr. O'Brien, who was becoming slightly incensed. “There'll be none of such talk, do you hear? If you spread your pessimism to the other servants, I'll speak to your master about it.”

At this Harrietta's head came up and she studied Mr. O'Brien. She did not want to cause trouble, but she had to think him a most unfeeling man. They all ought to be worried about Mrs. Mornay as much as she was. But perhaps they did not love her like her lady's maid did. Harrietta was a devoted servant since the day that Miss Forsythe's coming had raised her from the position of housemaid to that of lady's maid. Mrs. Bentley (now Mrs. Pellham), her former employer, had provided the necessary instruction for her to learn how to style hair, and to care for the expensive fabrics used for ladies' clothing. She had, in one short week, gone from a life of drudgery to that of, comparatively speaking, luxury. And Mrs. Mornay was so pleasant and kind! Why, if anything were to happen to her—and here Harrietta began to shed fresh tears, only she turned away from the parson so he wouldn't see them.

He did, of course. But he looked to the other maids. “Understand this regarding your mistress. She has only been exposed to one sick person. Physicians come into contact with the sick every day of their lives, and yet most of them live to a ripe old age. Mr. Speckman is merely being cautious on account of the children.” The maids listened, wide-eyed, interested in knowing every detail they could get hold of. He nodded toward Harrietta.

“This lady has exerted herself far beyond what is merited by the situation. See that no one of you goes off on fanciful notions like hers; we have left Mrs. Mornay in good health and in good hands, and we will add to that our sincere and earnest prayers. If any of you should wish to join us in the drawing room for prayer, we will hold them, say, about nine o'clock of an evening. Does that suit?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” added Harrietta, almost apologetically.

When the carriages with their luggage and supplies and servants and guests reached Warwickdon, Mrs. Persimmon came out to greet the new master of the house. She had received word barely an hour since that such a numerous company was to come! Her heart was lifted up at the thought; and to have children beneath the roof! What a blessing! Of course, she had quite a load of new concerns, and meant to ask the new master if help might be available, but as she saw the servants exiting the carriage, she took a sigh of relief.

She knew nothing of the reason why all of these people were descending upon the rectory—which she would have to remember to begin referring to as the vicarage—at once, and with her previous master's departure only that morning, it was all a bit unsettling; but she knew that a square was a square and a circle a circle; in other words, all would settle down in its place in time. She had shed a few tears at the loss of Mr. Hargrove, but Mrs. Persimmon was a woman of high energy, and she bounced back from setbacks quickly. Further, she lived upon being needed; and she was elated at the change in the vicarage that was happening.

By the time Mr. O'Brien made his way to the front door, she could almost have kissed his face. “Sir!” she exclaimed. “Might I be allowed to say how very welcome you are to this establishment? How wonderful it is, to have you here directly!” She made a small motion, so that he looked past her to the butler and the maid, the other servants of the place. The butler bowed, holding back a smile; and the maid curtseyed, though the incoming parade she could see on the walkway, and behind her new master, set her heart beating in a flurry. What a great deal of work she was in for!

Mrs. Perler came in directly after the new curate; Mrs. Persimmon almost melted at sight of the infant. But she had a sudden thought: “Mr. O'Brien, sir! You did say you were an unmarried gentleman, did you not?” She was eyeing the infant with wide eyes.

Mrs. Perler blushed, and he answered, “I
am
an unmarried gentleman.” He motioned to the baby and the woman. “This is Mr. Mornay's child, and the children's nurse. I will explain all to you shortly, Mrs. Persimmon. The order of the day right now is to find rooms for all of our guests. In the meantime, send a servant to the village—and there are a number of them come with us, who will help you in everything—to put together a dinner for us.”

From behind him, a maid spoke up. She was a kitchen maid, helper to Cook, and she said, with an earnest countenance, “Oh, sir, Cook says she'll be sending over the meal, for she 'as enough for a regiment, sir, and no bodies to eat it at all!” Mrs. Persimmon was already counting the little crew of servants from Aspindon, with excitement. “Very good, very good!” she repeated.

To the servants, she added, “Go with Bessie, here, then, and she'll show you to your quarters where you can leave your things. Then hurry down to help our guests!” She paused. “Mr. Sykes, see that our guests are shown to the drawing room and given our finest bohea! I will settle them in their guest chambers soon enough, if you please.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the butler replied, with a deep and proper nod of the head. It was easy to ascertain that Mrs. Persimmon was the head of the staff in this household.

Mr. O'Brien was welcoming the Forsythe ladies, and then Mrs. Royleforst and Miss Bluford into his abode. Ah! How good it felt, to be master of the house! His own establishment! The papers hadn't all been filed, yet, but here he was! It was a miracle.

Mr. Barton plopped down upon a sofa in his house, and exclaimed to his sister. “Thank goodness we got through that business without having to entertain the lot of them! Quite a production that would have been. Would have sent me to Bedlam, I'm sure!”

“Tristan.” Her quiet rebuke made him look up, innocently.

“Did you actually wish to have that whole lot here? With us? Farewell to peace and quiet, then!”

“Since when have you ever sought or required peace and quiet?” she asked. “And what do you intend to do with yourself now that Mr. Mornay is in quarantine with his wife?”

Barton was silent for a minute, eyeing her while he considered the matter. He had kept his hat and was absently tossing it into the air and catching it while he lay back, his feet upon a table.

“May I remove your boots, sir?” It was his manservant, who served as butler, footman, and valet, all in one.

“Goodness, no! I shan't stay home for long!” To his sister, he continued, “I'm going to the vicarage to see if I may offer my services. With all the moving in and other business going on, this ought to be a diversion.” He yawned.

“Offer your services?” she asked doubtfully. “Get in the way, is more like. You ought to give them time to be settled properly, before adding to the commotion.”

At that moment the manservant was back, and he held a letter upon a salver, which he offered to his master, saying, “For you, sir. Just arrived—by special messenger.”

Barton took the missive, spied the seal, and sat up quickly. “Did you pay the man? Does he await a reply?”

“I directed him to the kitchens for refreshment, sir. He will carry a reply.”

He paused while Barton tore open the seal, exclaiming, “It's from the Regent, Anne! What did I tell you? He writes to me!
Me!
”

“If I may, sir,” the servant said. “Since you have only carriage horses, the man will need to rest his horse for some time before he returns to London.”

Barton was already reading, and his face crumpled at the brevity of the note. He made no answer to his servant.

“What does he say?” asked Anne.

“He wants an answer from Mornay.” Barton's face was frowning. “Dash it, but I've made precious little progress on that head.”

Anne was silent a moment. “Tristan, no man in his right mind will turn down a peerage—or any title. Mr. Mornay is a peculiar sort of person, to be sure, but he is imminently practical. I cannot expect that your mission can do anything but succeed.”

Barton surveyed his sister, meeting her eyes. “Are you suggesting I give the prince a reason to hope?”

“Yes!” She looked very decided. “Would he deny his chance for his wife to be ‘Lady Mornay'? Or ‘Lady Something-or-other'? He has a son and heir! Would he deny his son the chance to inherit a title? To sit in Parliament? Nay. I think not.”

Tristan slowly smiled. “You know, Anne, you are proving your worth to me.”

She did not smile in return.

“Does that not please you?” he asked, perplexed.

She looked up. “I should never
have
to prove my worth to you, Tristan. I am your sister. Your flesh and blood.” She returned her eyes to her knitting, which she had instinctively picked up after sitting down. “I do worry about you! About who you are as a man, in your secret heart of hearts! You do not respect me, for you did not respect mother. And how can you think to make any woman happy as your wife?”