The House in Grosvenor Square (52 page)

Mr. Forsythe had resorted to prayer. He knew his future son-in-law too well to conceive that he would purposely jilt his bride. In fact the more he thought on it, the more convinced he was that there must be a reason to account for his absence. So he prayed for victory against the obstacle, whatever it was. Even Mr. Timmons had not appeared, which further strengthened his
conviction. Something was amiss. Mornay
did
want to marry his daughter, he had no doubt. Prayer was necessary. He shared his conviction with his wife, pointing out Timmons's absence, and she passed on the prayer concern to the Norledges. As a group the Forsythes fell to silent prayer.

Meanwhile the rector was speaking to Ariana. Did she know something of the delay of her betrothed? Did she believe the man would show? The new Mrs. Pellham stood nearby, glaring at O'Brien, who roundly ignored her. He had seized the chance to speak to Mr. Hodgson, telling him of his resolve and desire to wed Miss Forsythe, if the young woman could be convinced to have him.

“You had him
locked in the armoury
?”

Freddie explained their reasons. They hadn't thought he was home. They didn't want the rector to know he wasn't home, thinking he might cancel the wedding. Mr. Mornay ended up chuckling to himself, but he hurried down the steps and called impatiently for the butler to keep up and open the blasted door.

He heard Timmons banging and shouting before he reached the portal.

“Hold on, Timmons. I'll have you out directly!”

“You, sir, are a blackguard and a…knave!”

Mornay grimaced at Freddie, who was fumbling to open the door as fast as he could.

When Mr. Timmons appeared, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation, Mornay said, “I'm sorry, old fellow. It was a misunderstanding.”

“I think I understand well enough, sir!”

Mornay looked at the butler. “Tell him, Freddie.”

Timmons looked to the abashed servant, heard the account of the bewilderment of the staff, their desire only to protect their master, and the reasons for his imprisonment.

He was a good-natured fellow, and soon the three of them were first chuckling, then rolling with laughter. Mr. Timmons took his handkerchief and wiped his face, while Mr. Mornay came to with a start and said, “This is madness! Ariana!”

And he was off.

Freddie was enormously grateful to Fotch from that day forward, for
the valet had thought to ensure the coach was ready and waiting at the curb when the men rushed out of the house.

“To St. George's!” the butler cried. “On the double!” He and Fotch exchanged satisfied glances for a split second. With a start, they hurried to jump on the back of the equipage—the surprised footmen made space for them. Just as the wheels started rolling, they had scurried aboard. They could not miss this event.

Mr. Hodgson, the rector at St. George's, listened patiently to Mr. O'Brien's objections but then settled the matter easily. He said, “Sir, even if the lady was eager to have you, there is no license. It is out of the question.”

This had the immediate effect of deflating Peter O'Brien's last hopes for Miss Ariana Forsythe. With a care to maintain his dignity, he turned and made his way to the side aisle and exited the church. He had been willing to witness the ceremony on the grounds that his friendship with the family required it. His willingness was now exhausted.

Mr. Hodgson turned to Miss Forsythe. They could only be expected to wait so long for a missing groom. The princess herself was being forced to wait. Mr. Forsythe, with a keen eye, hurried to join the meeting. He had an opinion, and it must be shared.

“Before you dismiss this congregation,” he said, “I must tell you, the man is surely coming.”

“Do you know that for a
fact,
sir?”

Ariana's father consulted his deepest convictions on the matter. He had been praying fervently. He felt exceedingly sure of Mornay's intentions. He felt fortified in this belief from prayer.

The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much
. The verse came strongly to mind, and he felt it as a prompting of the Holy Spirit. He looked the rector in the eyes.

“I know it for a fact, sir.”

Ariana gave a relieved gasp, her eyes brimming with gratitude—through tears. She did not know how her father had received the information, nor did she question it. She was simply profoundly grateful.

Outside the church Mr. Mornay's coach, though it could not reach the curb, stopped in the street. The door burst open, and he jumped down from the equipage without waiting for a man to let down the steps. He was followed quickly by Mr. Timmons. Ignoring the cheering, jeering crowd, the two men hurried into the church.

As soon as he was noticed, a great buzz began and spread quickly so that all the church was soon astir. People were on their feet. This was the moment they were waiting for! The Paragon had arrived! Beatrice and Lucy jumped up and down in their excitement, and Beatrice, watching wide-eyed, began to whisper a fierce chant of, “Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” to herself.

The rector had to motion for silence, which took a few minutes to accomplish. Mr. Timmons went right to the head of the church with his friend and found the bride and her papa waiting there with such looks! Gratitude! Relief! Joy! He spoke a few words to the rector. The rector shook his head, looking with interest at the man who he just learned had been shot the previous night. And then the rector shook Mr. Timmons's hand and thanked him.

He cleared his throat, and a deep hush fell upon the audience.

Mr. Mornay stood beside his bride, and using only his good left arm, entwined hers inside it. He met her eyes. His look was so full and intent and yet sorry, all at once, that Ariana was instantly reassured. Tears lingered on her face, but now they were happy ones. He reclaimed his hand to pull out a starched white handkerchief and gently removed the drops from her cheeks.

Together they turned to face Mr. Hodgson, waiting now with an indulgent look on his face and a prayer book in hand. He cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved…”

B
y the time the carriage pulled into the winding drive at Aspindon, the setting sun was just visible, peeking through the trees that lined the path. When the road opened to reveal the stately manor, Ariana craned her neck to get her first look at the estate in months.

“Come back here,” Mr. Mornay murmured. He had been planting little kisses on her neck and on to her shoulder.

She giggled but replied, “The first and last time I was here, I had been thoroughly versed in why I should avoid the frightful Mr. Mornay at all costs. And now look at us! Can you conceive of it? That we are the same two people?”

“We are assuredly
not
the same.”

She waited for him to explain.

“For my part, I pray I may never revert to being the frightful Mr. Mornay, and for your part, you are no longer Miss Forsythe. We are both of us thoroughly changed.”

“You must call me Mrs. Mornay now.”

“I will call you ‘Ariana,' for it is a beautiful name for my beautiful wife.”

“My parents use their names with each other. But I can promise you that Mr. and Mrs. Pellham shall always be ‘Mr. Pellham,' and ‘Mrs. P' to one another!”

“That is their prerogative.” He wanted to pull her back against him, but they were coming up to the house, the door opened, and the servants were already filing out to greet them. He took his hand from about her waist reluctantly, straightened her gown, and replaced her mantle. She allowed him to fuss over her for a moment, and then she smoothed down his coat with her hands.

“Is your arm hurting much?”

“I am too happy to give it any heed.”

“Nevertheless,” she said with resolution, “I am happy I insisted upon Mr. Wickford following us here tomorrow. I will not begin my marriage, sir, by putting your health at risk!”

“You are no threat to my health. Quite the contrary.”

The couple stepped out of the coach and was met by the servants, all grouped in a semicircle now. They greeted the pair with smiles and sincere joy at their master's happiness, clapping effusively. Mrs. Hamilton was at the end of the semicircle, having confessed all to Freddie. After vowing her eternal faithfulness and gratitude to Mr. Mornay, she was to be kept on, under the butler's approval. Further, she herself was to train Molly to read and promote her within the household so that her position of scullery maid would be a thing of the past.

“Here,” Phillip said, smiling proudly while he faced the staff, “is your mistress—Mrs. Mornay.” Fotch and Freddie scurried to get in line, as did the footmen who had also come on the coach.

After the congratulations and best wishes were received, Cook announced, “Supper is waiting, sir.”

“Are you hungry?” the groom asked his bride, as they moved toward the door.

“I can rarely eat but little when I am aflutter, and I assure you, being married has caused quite a stir.” She patted her stomach. “Here.”

Mornay eyed the servants reluctantly. He knew there would be talk— albeit harmless—if they were to forgo the meal in favor of exploring the
bedchamber
. While he was thinking thus, she added, “If there is soup, I think I can manage a little of that.”

Freddie hurried to receive his new mistress's mantle, but his master's impatience was barely disguised to his affectionate eyes. He would be sure to see that the servants moved smartly.

The dining room was splendid—the house was elegantly sumptuous, even to Ariana's tenured eyes. But as the darkness settled and the rooms grew cosier by candlelight, she had eyes only for her splendid groom. Her
husband.

Her place was set at the far end of the table from his, and she looked imploringly at him.

“Freddie—Mrs. Mornay will sit at my right.” Their eyes remained upon each other.

“Very good, sir.”

The meal was fashioned to be formal, with many courses, but he was watching her carefully, and as soon as she began to refuse further servings, he looked at his footman and said, “That will be all, Charles. Clear everything.”

Phillip then leaned his head toward her. “Is there anything else you would like?”

Ariana's heart fluttered. All she wanted was him. She shook her head.

He stood up and took her hand in his left to help her from the chair.

More servants came in, already busily clearing the remnants from the meal.

Ariana blushed lightly.

“Take this,” he said, giving her a candle sconce. He wanted his one good arm free to put around her waist, which he did with a great deal of pleasure.

Ariana looked quickly at him, still embarrassed. “Your servants will talk,” she chided, trying to move out of his reach, but he tightened his hold about her.

“Nonsense. We are man and wife now.” But he cleared his throat. “Speaking of talk,” he said, looking at her wryly, “there are rumours abounding that you will soon bankrupt me.”

This stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

“My servants tell me that every charity in London has discovered my direction and sends letters or messengers daily. Freddie sent ahead a full sack of 'em for me to go through.”

Ariana's face coloured, and she averted her gaze. “Certainly I do wish to support particular charities, but of course they are subject to your consent or approval!”

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Of course!”

Freddie caught up to the couple, who were by now moving up the grand staircase.

“Well, Mr. Frederick? Is everything tight? Anything I need to know right away?”

Frederick grew thoughtful a moment and said, “Only that there is a great deal of correspondence for you, but none, I believe, that cannot await your pleasure.”

“Correspondence?” He acted as though he was surprised. “What sort?”
He gave a knowing look to his wife, who blushed afresh and listened with a look of concern.

“I believe they are entirely from charitable organizations, sir.”

“At this, Ariana immediately turned her head away, rather mortified. Mr. Mornay stifled a smile.

“Charitable organizations, you say?” he asked the butler, keeping his eyes steadily on his new wife, who was valiantly trying to behave as though she was blithely unaware of the exchange. She looked about at the huge stairwell, the casements, the portraits on the walls.

“Yes, sir. An extraordinary number of them, I might add, sir.”

“Astounding! How can they ever have found me out? And what would you say the cost is in postage alone, Freddie, to receive all these letters?”

“I hesitate to guess, sir. Four shillings apiece, at least, and there've been well nigh a dozen or more a day. I brought them to your attention for precisely that reason, sir.”

“And I appreciate that you did, Mr. Frederick.” He eyed his young bride, who was staring at a portrait on the wall with eyes filled with alarm. She held the candle weakly in one hand, not even bothering to hold it up to the artwork. He wondered if she was actually seeing the picture at all.

“For the time being, Freddie, you will refuse any further letters if they should happen to find us here in Middlesex, unless they are of a personal nature.”

“Very good, sir. And if they are addressed to Mrs. Mornay, sir?”

Phillip looked at Ariana, whose head came up with a start. She was still blushing, much to her distress, but she said quickly, “You must treat my mail no differently than your master's.”

Mr. Mornay was still smiling to himself when she added, with a troubled countenance, “Unless it is from the London Orphan Society.” And to her husband she said, “We promised to support them, you recall!”

“Unless it is from the London Orphan Society,” he repeated with a smirk to Freddie.

“And I must receive mail from the Lying-in Asylum!”

“The Lying-in Asylum,” Phillip repeated, with a nod at his butler, who was himself smiling.

They both waited, feeling sure that more was to come, and Ariana did not disappoint them.

“I nearly forgot,” she breathed, turning to peek nervously at her husband.
“I did give my word to a nice woman from the Institution for Decayed Housekeepers—”

This made Mr. Mornay stop on the stairwell. “The
what
?”

“The Institution for Decayed Housekeepers,” she repeated, her voice growing lower. She could hardly stand to meet his eyes.
Why did I agree to support that place? It doesn't feed orphans, or help the homeless! What was I thinking?

He turned to the butler. “Leave them all on my desk. Goodnight, Freddie.”

“Very good, sir. Goodnight, Mr. and
Mrs
. Mornay.”

“Goodnight, Freddie. Thank you,” Ariana said, watching him turn back down the steps. She met the eyes of her beloved.

“I
am
sorry. I suppose I did get carried away.”

“I suppose you did,” he agreed, but he was smiling.

They moved on in silence, reaching the second floor. He moved her toward a corridor that branched off to the left. Ariana felt more of the nervous fluttering inside. At least he wasn't angry about the onslaught of charities, and she knew he had not exaggerated, as she herself had received countless solicitations. She tried to break the silence, for it reminded her that she was anxious. “To think you are so familiar with this place and have walked here a thousand times, when it is all completely new to me! I want to know every inch of it because then I shall feel that I know you better!”

“You're about to know me much better,” he replied.

“Will you take me back to the tree?” she asked brightly. “Where you first rescued me? What a fright you gave me that day showing up there. The last person I wanted to see!”

He continued to move her along, listening to all her comments with a little smile. Finally he stopped before a door, opened it, and put his arm around her waist, gently ushering her into the room. He locked the door behind them, turned, and beheld his bride.