The House in Grosvenor Square (10 page)

Mrs. Bentley was coming toward the room in a nightdress, robe, and mobcap. She was holding a candle in one hand, and Haines was with her.

“Why, Mornay, how do you do? I must say, I hadn't thought to see you in the house.”

He bowed politely. “I was just leaving.” The memory of Ariana's near-abduction came to the fore and that he was supposed to be searching for the criminals. “In fact,” and he was speaking to Ariana now, “I'll never catch those dashed coves if I'm not off directly!”

Their eyes met, and a silent message of mutual regard passed between them. He reached down just to place a quick, chaste kiss on her lips and then bowed again at her aunt. He turned to leave. Mrs. Bentley was ready for her bed, or she would have stopped him to answer her questions, but instead she plied them at Ariana.

“What was he talking about? What dashed coves? Did something happen? He left rather hastily! You weren't alone with him very long, were you? A man gets bold before a wedding, I dare say.”

“Aunt!”

“Well, what was he talking about? Come, tell me everything.” She motioned for Ariana to accompany her. Thankfully the lady headed for Ariana's bedchamber and listened while Harrietta helped the younger girl with her clothing. Ariana wasn't comfortable until she had sent the maid away and was finished speaking with her aunt (who was indignant to be sure, at her niece's near disaster, but not nearly as vocal or reprimanding as Ariana feared). Then she was alone, in her bed, in a white chemise nightdress and cap. A single candle glowed softly from its perch on the table beside the bed. At last. Alone with God.

She hadn't read the day's collect, and so she started to now. She really needed to pray. Her soul felt dry, but of course, as such things are bound to happen, that is when the doctor arrived. He'd gone first to Merrilton House and then was directed to Hanover Square. After hearing the account of what had befallen Ariana, he did his usual ministrations: listened to her heart, felt her pulse, and recommended a diluted mixture with laudanum. Then, if she did not feel better with the morning, he said he would return with leeches for bloodletting, which was sure to do the trick.

Mrs. Bentley felt nearly in need of laudanum herself, but chose instead to order a late glass of bishop—a drink that often had soothed her tired bones in the past.

Imagine it—her niece, nearly abducted! The more she thought on it, the more it disturbed her.
Why was Ariana prone to difficulties? What if she had been abducted? And what if Mr. Mornay had then decided her purity was too compromised to have her as his wife? What if she had been
harmed?

Oh, would she never have this thing done? It occurred to her for perhaps the first time that her niece's marriage was not, in fact,
her
doing. Yes, she had dressed the gel and brought her into society. But Mornay had made her fashionable, and Mornay had fallen in love with her. Mrs. Bentley could take no credit for either feat.

She sipped her drink and tried to relax. A vision of Ariana on the street and in the hands of ruffians ruined her composure, however, and she had
to sit up abruptly. Another thought intruded.
I can pray. That's what Ariana would bid me do.

She folded her hands and thanked God that Ariana was safe in her bed-chamber after such a close call. Her mind wandered…perhaps Mr. Mornay would think to elope! (She had never thought elopement respectable, but it was certainly superior to the ominous idea of Ariana being abducted.)

“Dear Lord,” she added, with as much earnestness as she could muster, “keep my niece from mischief and—bring this wedding speedily, even if it takes an elopement! Amen!”

In all, two carriages of indignant lords and gentlemen spent near two hours driving around town, looking for the would-be abductors who had accosted Miss Forsythe in Mayfair. The Duke of Grafton had taken charge of the first vehicle, having always found Miss Forsythe exceedingly charming and wishing to be of service. Mr. Mornay, of course, was at the helm of the other—literally. He, with only Beau Brummell at his side, reverted to his curricle, feeling that it was easier to maneouver as they reconnoitered the neighbourhood. They saw plenty of coaches, most with only their drivers and a footman or two about them, at the curbs. They questioned the servants on how long they'd been there, who their masters were visiting, and so on, without uncovering anyone suspicious.

They stopped many a coach on the street, forcing them to a halt to avoid a collision by slowly crowding them out of space on the streets. This action elicited many reproofs from the occupants until they saw who it was and fell into an awed silence. But no one fit the shadowy figures Mr. Mornay had hardly been able to see in the night. By one o'clock, as the roads grew crowded with the moving of the
ton,
it became near impossible to hope for success, and they returned to Merrilton House.

Inside the long gallery, the talk returned to Miss Forsythe's near disaster and what ladies should do to avoid the danger of having such a thing occur to them. The overwhelming concurrence was that a lady must avoid being alone at all costs.

Mr. Mornay listened without comment, but made a mental note to speak with Mrs. Bentley. He decided, to be safe he must ensure that Ariana wouldn't be out of the chaperon's sight for the next ten days. Surely that wasn't asking too much. He couldn't do it himself, or he'd go mad from proximity to her.

Mr. Mornay assigned the task of reaching Mrs. Tiernan to his steward, Mr. Horton. An intelligent man, he made short work of the business. He reported that Mrs. Tiernan was gratified at the opportunity to perform before the Regent and Princess Charlotte. Certainly she would be available, asking only that Lord Merrilton would send an equipage to convey her there and back again.

Little reminder cards were hastily sent round about Mayfair and its environs, as Lady Merrilton feared that the incident with Miss Forsythe might serve to discourage the more delicate ladies who might not wish to risk showing up at her house. She needn't have worried, however, as no one wanted to miss the princess.

When Mr. Mornay saw the invitation he had a moment of indecision. Ariana adored Her Royal Highness, as most English subjects did. She would want to attend the evening affair. It took him only a minute to realize that he could not deprive her of the pleasure for selfish reasons, and he sent round notice to Hanover Square that he would be escorting her. So much for maintaining his distance!

Shortly after Mornay sent his message and left the house, Ariana and Mrs. Bentley arrived. The chaperone had sent for a seamstress to take measurements in the master bedchamber. The bed from the adjacent room had been placed next to Mr. Mornay's bed, as Miss Forsythe had requested. The little aisle between the two beds was there at Mrs. Hamilton's bidding. This afforded her some small relief—it was still not as proper, to her mind, as separate bedchambers, but at least there was some manner of separation.

While the seamstress measured the furniture for new matching counter-panes and drapery, Ariana made a quick detour to Mr. Mornay's study. She wished to leave a small wad of correspondence with him. On top of the pile she placed a note, written in her best handwriting. It read, “Please read and consider. Thank you, dearest! Your Most Affectionate, Ariana.”
She left them squarely in the middle of the desk. How utterly satisfying it was to know that she might help the worthy causes being brought to her attention!

Back in the bedchamber, the seamstress had nearly finished. She needed to ask about bed curtains, pillows, a footstool, and a bench. If they were to match, she must know and measure accordingly.

Bed curtains were considered a little old-fashioned by some, but they were charming too, and Ariana felt aghast at sharing a bed with her husband in a house with so many servants (who might walk in when least expected!). She bespoke the bed curtains.

Her own little escritoire from Chesterton had been delivered just that morning and placed in the room. It was evidently not so fine a piece as Ariana had always considered. It looked out of place. Mrs. Bentley's decided opinion was that it had to go. Ariana's opinion was that it had to go
elsewhere
but not from the house. In any case a footman was sent off to procure a furniture maker's catalogue. No merchant in London would mind parting with a catalogue for the Paragon's establishment.

Mrs. Bentley's true aim was merely to keep the girl occupied and beneath her eye. Moreover, she enjoyed the town house and the fact that she was privy to its secrets now that her niece was to become its mistress.

Ariana, meanwhile, was struck afresh by being surrounded by the belongings of her future husband. It felt bitterly sweet—it was a joy and yet an ache at the same time. She hadn't noticed it when she'd been there with her friends on Monday. Now it struck her forcefully at every turn.

She hadn't anticipated the sudden strong shafts of affection that would strike her merely at the thought of him. Ariana lingered by the wardrobe, tempted to run her hands through the clothing he wore—indeed, might have worn just yesterday. She touched, sniffed, and stroked pillows and draperies. She stopped and studied every painting, roundel, and fresco in the vicinity—all the while marveling that Phillip had surely done so at one time or another. Everything she saw, he had seen. All that she was now admiring, he had either introduced to the house or seen fit to maintain.