The House in Grosvenor Square (24 page)

“I am sure I only need some rest, and I'll be as good as new,” he said, although he was not sure of this at all.

Mr. Mornay, eying Mr. O'Brien's wound, had to wonder. But the young man was kind not to worry Ariana, and he had to appreciate that.

“Be sure to call a doctor to clean the wound properly,” she instructed.

“My mother will be content at nothing less, I assure you.”

When they reached the West End, Mr. O'Brien became obsessed with the thought that he would be leaving Miss Forsythe alone in a carriage with Mr. Mornay. It irked him.

“It would be most efficient for you to take Miss Forsythe to her house first. You may leave me anywhere you wish afterward. I will find my way to my house, I assure you.”

There was a long silence. Even Ariana, who loved to jump in and rescue people from awkward statements or situations, found herself speechless. For some reason the real motive behind this suggestion seemed embarrassingly obvious. She did not relish what she instinctively felt would be a harsh response from her fiancé, but she could think of nothing to answer for it.

“That won't do, Mr. O'Brien, as you well know,” Mr. Mornay answered finally. His voice was light and lazy, as it tended to get when he was annoyed but not quite at the breaking point.

Mr. O'Brien swallowed, but he glanced at Ariana and continued, “Sir, even though you are betrothed to marry—”

“Do
not,
” said her beloved, “continue on this topic. I am in no mood for it, for one thing, and if you're thinking that I am not to be trusted with my future bride, I would like to say that you have no idea what I can or cannot be trusted with. And if you persist in conjecturing, I shall take it as an accusation—in which case you might just as well ask to meet me on the field.”

“
Sir.
Mr. O'Brien is injured and not himself,” Ariana offered.

“Thank you, Miss Forsythe, but I am in my right mind. I only speak on your account.”

“'Tis on her account that you are able to speak at all,” Mr. Mornay instantly replied.

Ariana was far too raw from fright and worry to countenance the burgeoning argument a moment longer. “Gentlemen! I beg you both, be silent!”

The ensuing quiet minutes, where only the sound of the carriage wheels and the horses hooves were heard, she greeted with relief. Mr. O'Brien had been forced to withdraw his indignation, but he was even now eying Mr. Mornay with stubborn remorselessness. Ariana was surprised at his bravado but knew it was hopeless. After what he'd been through that night, worrying on her behalf, she knew there was no one, save the king or queen, who could likely hold sway against Phillip right now. She placed her hand on Phillip's sleeve, and his hand quickly covered her own. This little movement awakened Mr. O'Brien's fears—or was it jealousy? Once again he had to say, “I shall be pleased to send a servant to return with you, Miss Forsythe, if you would allow it.” Since his family only had one manservant, a parlourmaid, and a cook, this was truly the voice of desperation.

Mr. Mornay sighed with annoyance. “What
are
you thinking, sir? You do a disservice to Miss Forsythe that is completely beyond the pale. No matter
what you think of me, you must do this lady the honour of recognizing her character and good sense.”

“He doesn't mean any harm,” put in Ariana, trying to diffuse the situation.

Mr. Mornay had an instant rejoinder to this, which at most times he would not have failed to deliver himself of. The look on her face, coupled with his recent scare of losing her, caused him to keep it to himself, however, and so he only nodded stiffly and vowed silently not to speak another word to the man, if he could help it. And he was very practiced at helping it.

Mr. O'Brien was grateful that Ariana had championed his cause. His disgust of Mr. Mornay was acute at the moment, but it was a relief to know that he would soon be at his own house. His head ached terribly, as it had all night.

When Mr. O'Brien had first reported the story, Mornay's worry about Ariana was greater than his disgust at Mr. O'Brien's foolishness. Now, however, having her safely back at his side, Mr. O'Brien's fault in the matter stood out more clearly, or so he feared. Perhaps he had ought to keep his mouth shut for now.

When they arrived at Blandford Street, Mr. O'Brien turned to Ariana and could not help but say, “I am eternally grateful that you are safe from harm, Miss Forsythe. I wish you a safe return to your own house.”

Mr. Mornay said, “Out!” between gritted teeth.

Mr. O'Brien left that way, in disgrace with Mornay, with himself, and soon, he knew, with most of society. They would likely share the view that he was a fool. He had seriously been considering giving up fashionable society because it had brought him nothing but heartache, of which every encounter with Miss Forsythe was a fresh reminder. And it cost a great deal to be accepted. He had no chance of saving enough money for his own equipage, if he continually frittered it away on the latest style of topcoat and boots. So perhaps it was a good thing, this night's business. Of course he wished, for Miss Forsythe's sake, that no ill had befallen her. But she had come through unscathed. She always did, didn't she? Then he thought of little Beatrice and her pretty, childish ways.

The girl had rashly promised to marry him without his asking her, of course. And he had no intention of holding her to a childish passion. Best if he put her out of his mind, in fact. If he forgot about Beatrice or could forget about her, then his contact with Miss Ariana Forsythe would be brought to
a minimum. Indeed, after the wedding there was a good likelihood that he would not see her again. Not for a long time, perhaps.

Of course he could no longer retain even the slightest romantic hopes of her, but he couldn't help that he reveled in her presence. Why was it so difficult to give her up entirely? He must concentrate on his vocation, the living that had been promised to him.

When afterward he dropped off to sleep in his bed, having been helped by their one manservant, Edwards, with his clothing, it was with true-to-his-soul weariness. He was still in pain, but he managed a single feeble prayer for Miss Forsythe's deliverance from Mornay, followed by a heartfelt wish to learn to forget her, utterly and entirely.

Little Beatrice, in her white chemise and stockinged feet, crept back to the chamber she shared with Alice and quietly took her place beneath the covers. Alice had not awakened at sound of her brother's return, but Beatrice had heard the noise and risen to investigate. She sighed now, satisfied that she could truly sleep. Mr. O'Brien was returned home and in his bed. All was right once again with the world.

I
n the Regent's apartments at Carlton House, the prince was reclining on a lounge chair as comfortably as was possible, considering that he was suffering a terrible case of the gout. His foot was wrapped in cloths and appeared many times its natural size. It was elevated, in hopes of easing the pain, by a pile of pillows propped securely in place. The Marchioness of Hertford, sitting in a small chair at his head, was feeding him spoonfuls of broth.

Princess Charlotte had received word from the Regent that she was not to further an acquaintance with Miss Ariana Forsythe. In response the princess sent word that she needed to speak to him urgently. As he did at times, he responded that she must not come that day—he was unwell, unable to receive visitors, in no state of mind to countenance a discussion of any sort, and likely to be taking laudanum, which would render him totally useless to her.

On rare occasions the princess defied his wishes, showed up at his house, and demanded to be seen. It was little known that Princess Charlotte, while equal to state tasks with equanimity and grace, could also behave in the most shockingly spoilt manner. She was terribly emotional at these times, in fact, and even her father, a master at displaying emotion himself, could barely constrain her.

On this day Her Royal Highness was fully prepared to stage a tantrum if the situation warranted it. She appeared at Carlton House and demanded an audience with her father. She
knew
one of her ladies had brought the parental stricture against her, as the princess had been so indiscreet as to have freely spoken in favour of Ariana Forsythe and of her particular wish to further her acquaintance with the future wife of the Paragon. This, she
was sure, had been reported to her father just at the time when he had been feeling greatly abused by Mrs. Tiernan, a thing he did feel Miss Forsythe must be to blame for.

After putting off the inevitable encounter for as long as he could endure, the prince gave leave for his servants to allow his daughter in.

The princess came heavily into the room, with determined long strides. She curtseyed to her father and looked at Lady Hertford pointedly, until that woman got reluctantly to her feet to curtsey to the princess. The two were not friends.

“Sir,” she said to her father, “I am deeply grieved that once again you have seen fit to forbid my acquaintance with a young woman of quality! May I ask why you treat me as a child? I am of sufficient age that you wish me to wed but not given leave to choose my friends! How is that just or fair, Sir, I ask you?”

The Regent was in no mood for another scene involving his daughter, but he asked, knowing full well whom she was referring to, “What friendship have I denied you?”

“Miss Forsythe! Miss Ariana Forsythe who is to marry your friend Mr. Mornay! I am sure one of my ladies let it out that I desired to further our acquaintance, and I would like nothing better than to dismiss her directly—”

“Except that I won't allow it.”

“No, of course not. I may not choose my friends, I may not choose my ladies, and I will likely not get to choose my husband!”

“You are England's princess,” he said, reminding her that her life was one of sacrifice to her country, without having to say so. They had had such discussions before. Numerous times.

“And you are the Regent, and yet I daresay I see little of sacrifice in
your
life!”

“Do you dare speak to me thus?” he asked, making as if to sit up in anger, only the pain in his left foot was so severe that he ended up collapsing back down in a paroxysm of pitiful moans. The princess was one of the few things in the Regent's life that he could exert a most determined control over, and he wasn't about to give that up easily.

“Leave us!” he snapped at her. “You are evidently in one of your moods, and I refuse to have a conversation with you. I will call for you when I deem the time appropriate.”

“Sir!” she said, her tone low and strong. “I cannot be treated thus! What
harm is in it for you if I take tea with Miss Forsythe? I fail to comprehend how this could be displeasing to you or why it should concern you at all!” In truth it was not so much the loss of Miss Forsythe as it was the loss of so many things, so many times, in so many battles of will against her father. Why could she never win?

“Everything about you concerns me,” he replied. He looked at Lady Hertford, who instantly fed another spoonful into his mouth. He squeezed her hand and gave her a short smile. The princess looked on fuming. But she had a thought.

“My Lady,” she said, getting that woman's full attention. “Can you think why my father has forbidden me to see one of our most famous saints? Seldom do we hear of such piety as Miss Forsythe is said to possess among the
ton
! Wouldn't you suppose, to the contrary, that he would wish me all the more Godspeed in making and keeping her acquaintance?”

Lady Hertford sensed she was being baited. With a look to her royal admirer, she slowly replied, “Are you asking me to question your father's authority?”

“Only as his friend, ma'am. As a true friend—who will not allow fear to blind her eyes to what is right but will give her honest opinion when it may help. Can you believe for a moment that my father will be served by alienating Mr. Mornay from his circle?”

Lady Hertford seemed to think on the matter for a moment. “This situation really concerns Miss Forsythe—and I should think the young lady must keep to the ranks of her religious friends, Your Royal Highness. She has displayed a severe lack of judgment, as you know, in bringing that dramatic lady to the fore!”

“Keep to the ranks of her religious friends?” The princess looked at her father. “Does Mr. Mornay comprehend that you hold his lady in such a thought? Does he know, Sir, that you are forbidding me to keep an acquaintance with his future wife?”

“I care not what he knows!” he shouted vehemently, as though he might have banged his fist upon a table if he'd been in position to do so. Yet, the very force of his pronouncement tended to belie the words he spoke.

The princess began to slowly circle the room, thinking. She stopped and asked him this, “I have heard you say that Mr. Mornay would make a fine addition to your cabinet—if only he had a heart for it. Have you since changed your opinion of him then?”

“No. I believe he would, or so I did think. How is this to the point?”

“The point is your own best interest, Sir. You are still in need of true friends in your government. I cannot see anything but trouble ahead between you and Mornay if you alienate his wife. I thought you actually mentioned ennobling him at one time.”

The Regent was listening, almost with a smile. “You do begin to remind me of myself,” he said, raising his glass to her.

She nodded, accepting the dubious distinction, and added, “In fact, now that I think on it, with this Parliamentary session nearly over, it would be an advantageous time for you to do so—strike while the iron is hot, and all that. The lords are all getting itchy to return to their country seats, and with his popularity, who will dare speak against him?”

Lady Hertford had to smile. Her smiles were not the warmest, but this one warmed the heart of the princess. She knew she was making an inroad.

The Regent made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I've never even broached the subject with him! 'Tis out of the question.”

“What title did you have in mind for him, Sir?” Lady Hertford was curious.

The Regent hesitated. “Oh, a baronetcy, I suppose. See if it raises a dust.”

She looked at the prince. “That might flatter him, but it wouldn't put him in the house.”

The Regent explained, “I'd follow it with a barony if there's no strenuous objections.”

“There will always be strenuous objections when men see another man profit,” said the princess, “but I daresay you can manage them.” The intended flattery was well received.

“Well!” Lady Hertford fanned herself. “The Whigs will surely oppose you in it. Why not encourage him to seek election to the Commons?”

“Because I know he'd never do it. Mornay try to appease a crowd? Exert himself to win favour? Devilish unlikely!”

The princess was listening, her face controlled, her demeanour nothing but polite attention. Inside, however, she churned with the thought that Lady Hertford herself was inadvertently championing her cause!

“Blast it all! The Whigs oppose everything I do! Everything I
want
to do, in any case.”

“I daresay Mr. Mornay could worry about the Whigs, if need be. He does have a way of getting things done!” Lady Hertford seemed to like the whole idea of creating him “Sir Phillip.” Of course she was also pleased with
the fact that Mr. Mornay had never shown a sympathy, publicly anyway, for the Regent's wife, the Princess of Wales. It might be very advantageous to see him in the House on the prince's side. He was an intelligent man, capable of swaying a vote, if need be. Indeed, quite capable.

Later that day the young princess happily instructed her secretary to make room on her calendar for tea with Miss Ariana Forsythe. A card must be sent to Hanover Square directly. Or was the wedding, perhaps, too close? On second thought, Her Royal Highness gave different instructions on what sort of correspondence to send Miss Forsythe. It was a singular idea and would no doubt draw criticism from some corners. But Princess Charlotte smiled at the thought. She so rarely got to do things of her choosing and merely for amusement. This was going to be an exception.