Before the Season Ends (4 page)

Mr. Forsythe removed his pipe, which was empty, from his mouth. “I did not think it pertinent to tell her…the bit about the rector, and so forth.”

“Then, perhaps I shall go!” declared Alberta, to whom this had heretofore been a rather painful business. She agreed with her aunt that the eldest daughter must have the first coming-out.

“No, my dear, no,” her mother said, in the voice of gentle maternal affection that all her girls adored. Like Ariana, Alberta was tall and slim, but she had darker hair (though it was still considered blonde), and her eyes were a pretty shade of Cornish blue.

Alberta’s fashionably rounded shoulders sagged in disappointment, and she turned to head for the family’s favourite room, the library. The rest of the family followed, with Mr. Forsythe closest on her heels.

“Now, now, if you went to your aunt, ’Berta, she would insist upon making a match for you. I daresay Mr. Norledge would little like it.”

“She could make no match for me, Papa, for I am not willing to have it so.”

“But it happens all the time, my dear!” put in Mrs. Forsythe. “Young ladies are commonly wed for the sake of a fortune or title, whether they be happy over it, or not.”

“But you would never allow that,” she returned, accurately.

“True.” This time her father spoke. “But you will be among the upper class with your Aunt Bentley, and she will never stop trying. Your uncle worked under Pitt; he knew everyone, and your aunt maintained her social ties all these years.”

“I will not seek a husband!” Alberta’s eyes were threatening to spill tears.

“Who is to say a would-be husband shall not seek you? Is that not what the season is about? Meeting eligible partners? Being paraded about for the approval of young men? Many gels wait all their lives for this chance to induce an eligible young man to offer for them. And every mama with a son to marry off will be seeking the right young lady.”

“Indeed,” put in her mother. “The season is known as the marriage mart.”

“And yet you will countenance
my
going?” Ariana asked in surprise.

“My dear, we are not against your getting married.” Mrs. Forsythe smoothed out a wrinkle in her gown. “We only require a suitable mate. A man of faith, of course, but one nearer to your own age than Mr. Hathaway. You may meet that man in London, and if so, we shall
rejoice with you. But we cannot endanger your sister’s betrothal. The Norledge family would take it very ill indeed if we were to send Alberta to London, I daresay.”

“When I return,” Ariana replied soberly, “if the rector still sees fit to court me, will you allow him?”

“We can better answer that question,” stated her papa in a firm voice, “when you return.”

Mrs. Forsythe took up the letter again. She read: “
As time is of the essence, I must have your daughter as soon as possible. I am prepared, of course, to sponsor her at my own expense, which I hasten to assure you lest you have forgotten, shall be no hardship to me.
”

Mrs. Forsythe paused, her eyebrows raised, and Ariana took the moment to gasp, “How generous she is!”

“She has always offered to help,” said Mrs. Forsythe. “But to take on the entire expense! Outfitting a young woman for a season. ’Tis remarkable, even for a rich old dame with nothing better to do with her fortune, I think.” She ended on a chuckle, but Mr. Forsythe knew his sister better than his wife did, and had to comment.

“She is more concerned about her own reputation than in generosity. She won’t be seen with a gel who is not as modish as she. If your aunt is nothing else, she is supremely ‘in the mode.’ ”

“So,
in a fashion,
she is generous,” stated his wife quickly in a droll tone. She and the older girls smiled again, while Beatrice asked, “What is funny?”

Mr. Forsythe frowned. “My sister ought not to incur the expenses which are properly the family’s—Ariana’s wardrobe, and whatnot—all those little fripperies which women think are vital to existence.” Ariana and Alberta shared a look of amusement with their mama.

“But she
is
family, Papa.”

“And the offer is freely made,” added the girls’ mother. There was silence for a moment and then the letter was raised once again and Mrs. Forsythe continued reading. “
There are shopping and fittings to consider, and just when the seamstresses are at their busiest. All this takes time, and it is urgent that you send her at once. (Please, Julia, do not try to
copy the London fashions for your daughter from Chesterton. These things must be authentic!)”

Ariana’s head was beginning to spin with excitement. Her mother continued reading about traveling instructions and necessary stopovers at posting-houses, but Ariana kept repeating the phrase “shopping and fittings” to herself, and was quite unaware that she was smiling. She remained lost in thought while her mother told Dory to bring tea; and she was in a dreamy state, moreover, when her father relented and said if his sister truly wished to spend some of her own blunt on his child he would not object. (She could well afford it, he noted, having twice been widowed and both times left a fortune.)

Over tea and biscuits, after Mrs. Forsythe finished reading the many pages of the missive that included instructions regarding traveling arrangements, where to change horses, and so on, they decided that because Mrs. Bentley wished to hurry matters, they would send Ariana at once, in a matter of days. She would take with her a letter explaining fully why it was she, Ariana, who must go to London, and not Alberta, which they thought sufficient to settle the issue. While talk about London continued, Ariana was all ears. She heard her mother say, “The Regent’s court can be wild, according to the papers—and it encourages the upper class towards wantonness.”

“The Regent! Shall I meet him?” She met her sister’s gaze with mock horror, and Alberta managed a wan smile. George, Prince of Wales, had been appointed regent two years prior due to a protracted illness of the king. He was recklessly extravagant, always in debt, and worse, rumoured to be something of a libertine.

“I hardly think so,” answered her mama. “Your aunt is not the social dignitary she once was, and she’s getting on in years. Remember she is Papa’s elder sister.”

“Of course our illustrious Regent prefers older women,” Mr. Forsythe commented snidely. He was referring to a few well-known
liaisons
the prince was known to have had. “Even if Princess Caroline is peculiar, as they say,” he inflected strongly, “I cannot respect a monarch who cheats!”

“Few of our monarchs have been known for their virtue, Papa.” Ariana loved to read, and knew much regarding the history of the crown. But Papa always compared the Regent to his father, George III, who was a stellar example of fidelity, economy, and, until his illness, a most sound-thinking man.

Since his sentiments regarding the Regent were not new to anyone in the room, Mrs. Forsythe continued, “I am sure your aunt will properly care for you, my dear, or we should not give leave for you to go, no matter—” she stopped, not wishing to name the rector. “No matter what!” She nodded brightly to Ariana.

Alberta blew her nose lightly into an embroidered handkerchief, and Ariana turned troubled eyes to her. “ ’Berta, I am sorry you are not going. Pray, do not be out of countenance with me.”

Her sister shook her head. “I shan’t. Mama and Papa are right. Mr. Norledge would hate it dreadfully were I to go. It must be God’s will for you.” Alberta’s mild tone and gentle look filled Ariana with gratitude for such a wonderful sister, and she gave her an impulsive hug that was returned with equal fervour.

Alberta was definitely the saintliest member of the family. She could overcome her disappointments so easily!

“But since you will be in my place,” Alberta said, her eyes twinkling (and proving how thoroughly she had accepted the situation), “you must make an enormous success and marry a dashing nobleman!” Eyes alight, the sisters giggled, but Mr. Forsythe clucked his tongue at them.

“You will meet odd feathers of all colours in my sister’s company, but we trust you to entertain no serious feelings for anyone of her ilk.”

“Papa, Ariana knows I was only making fun.”

“Still,” he said, while a sleepy Lucy climbed up onto his lap and settled herself there, “many gels will set their caps at a man because of a fortune or how dashing he is. We expect wiser choices from you, Ariana. Never allow yourself to be drawn into the amusements of the season to the point that you neglect your spiritual offices.” He paused, giving Ariana what he hoped was an expression of confident approval.
“Seek others of our faith—which I believe must be possible, for our Lord sent His angels even to Sodom for the sake of the upright living in its midst. Who knows but there may be upright ones among the upper class? Look at Wilberforce! There may be a
Lot
for you, my dear.”

“Oh,
Papa!
” The idea of finding a Lot did not strike Ariana as pleasant in the least. There was a silence then, until Mrs. Forsythe stood, signaling to her daughter.

“Let us examine your wardrobe, Ariana. You have suitable gowns for both morning and evening, and I daresay your riding habit is not yet outmoded. I warrant even Agatha can only be happy if you bring some of what you will need.”

This little speech sent new energy into Lucy, whose eyes shot open. The family lovingly called her the “little coquette,” because she adored all manner of feminine attire, especially the fripperies which Mr. Forsythe had earlier referred to. She shot up off his lap and in a trice was following her sister and mother out of the room. Beatrice, too, scrambled after them.

“Mama,” Ariana said thoughtfully, as they climbed the stairs, “I see no fault with any of my gowns save the gray kerseymere, which is fraying at the elbows; why should I not bring the rest? Perhaps Aunt will wish to update a few, but certainly that is more economical than bespeaking new things.”

Mrs. Forsythe was thoughtful a moment. “I’m afraid Papa is right about your aunt—she is mindful of fashion to a fault.” She stopped, surveying her daughter, her lips pursed in thought. Then she smiled. “But no one can be eager to put forth so much that to make do just a little cannot be deemed satisfactory. Yes! We shall pack the lot!”

Once inside Ariana’s chamber she stood humming to herself while she went through the gowns in the armoire. Pulling out a plum-coloured, bombazine day dress, she held it out for inspection. “I do think,” she said, “that it will please Agatha to shop for a young woman. Do not be surprised if she rejects more than half your wardrobe.”

“May I have what she doesn’t fancy for Ariana?” asked Beatrice, quickly.

“No.” Her mother gave her a quelling look. “Alberta can certainly make better use of Ariana’s cast-offs than you.”

Lucy was watching, wide-eyed. “Did Aunt Bentley really have
two
husbands?”

“Not at the same time,” chuckled Ariana. “But that does account for her fortune. Oh—I do fancy that gown!” Mrs. Forsythe had pulled forth a fetching afternoon dress in light gray figured silk with a small black leaf design, and trimmed with puffed gray crepe and jet beads. The skirt was flounced at the hem with black crepe and embroidered silk, and Ariana even had a matching pelisse of dark gray velvet lined with sarsnet. It was indeed a copy of a London fashion that their local seamstress had admirably copied from
Ackermann’s,
and so valued by its wearer that it was only worn on the most important of occasions.

“May I wear it for the journey?”

“For the third day’s journey when you shall be sure of arriving, yes.”

“Third day!”

“It could be done in two, but your aunt is particular on this matter, and insists too much travel is fatiguing for a lady, even a young one like yourself. She is paying your shot at the coaching inns, so we should do as she says. Of course Dory will be with you,” she added hurriedly, as Ariana’s eyes revealed alarm at the thought of spending two nights in strange roadside inns.

Ariana was silent a moment. “Poor Aunt Bentley!” She was thinking of her widowhood. “How hard it must have been for her, to lose two husbands!”

“She was a good wife,” said Mrs. Forsythe, “and indeed took it quite hard, both times.” She looked brightly at Ariana and exclaimed, “Well, my dear, in every cloud a silver lining. The Lord is using her for your advantage. A young lady can hardly be comfortable in fashionable society if she feels inferior in appearance.” She put down the clothing she had been holding and put her arms around her daughter. In a confidential tone she said, “I am very pleased for your sake that you will be going. There is nothing quite like a London season for a young lady. So
many agreeable things to do and see! The balls! So much excitement! I believe our Lord is granting you this to some purpose, my love.”

Then, as she led her daughter to sit on the bed, she added, “Do be on the lookout for that purpose. There is no doubt some good you can do there.”

Ariana nodded, but her mother’s gaze was far away. She was lost in the memories of her own debut in society, more than twenty years earlier.

“I remember my own come-out,” she started to say, with great affection, but was interrupted by Lucy.

“Will Ariana find a husband in London, Mama?”

Smiling at Ariana, she answered, “Only the Lord knows, my love. But she may, you know. She may.”