The House in Grosvenor Square (3 page)

“No, it must be you. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, and I am certain you will be more generous than I.”

“But that is what I fear!” she hissed in a whisper. “What if I name a sum that is too high?”

He smiled and simply said, “Name it.”

“Oh, dear! Very well,” she said and smiled back, bringing her two hands together in thought. But she was enormously pleased to have received that smile. It was the first she'd seen him wear all morning. “Would…twenty-five pounds per annum be appropriate?”

He said nothing to her but then turned to the recorder. “Send the bill to my house,” he commanded and went on to give the information necessary, while the appreciative clerk scribbled in his book.

Ariana watched, with a spurt of elation. A heady delight. A feeling of unexpected
power
. She found herself staring at Mr. Mornay as if realizing his great wealth for the first time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said with amusement. “'Tis only money.”

Only money! She knew of widows who lived on little more than what she had just been able to procure for the orphanage. With a few words, she had made a difference for the children. It was a marvelous new feeling, exhilarating and intoxicating. Of course it was Phillip's money, not her own, but had not her aunt told her numerous times that all he had would soon be hers? That Mr. Mornay had offered her everything that was his? Any amount of pin money she wanted? She had never paid the least attention to the thought of sharing in Phillip's wealth, but suddenly it presented a world of possibilities to her.

She barely noticed the rest of the proceedings, the thank-yous and good-byes. Only the parade of orphans, waiting to wave and cheer them off, brought her fully alert to her surroundings. As they pulled away in the coach, she looked at each child in a new way. What if she could afford to give them all a new article of clothing every year? Or new shoes? What if she and Phillip were to—to start their own society? There were still hundreds and hundreds of hungry, cold children on the streets. More orphans than this one asylum could house. As the carriage exited the iron gates of the grounds, Ariana was lost in a world of new thoughts and ideas. It seemed as if she'd been waiting all her life to have such thoughts—thoughts she'd never had the means to have before.

As Mrs. Phillip Mornay she
would
have the means.

As Mrs. Phillip Mornay she could do much good.

Her eyes wandered to her silent, handsome future husband. Studying him, she felt a strong wave of love. She recalled wrapping her arms around his neck and the wonderful feel of his arms firmly about her. The night of their betrothal, he had taken her into his coach and put her upon his lap and they'd kissed.

He was listening to Beatrice's absent chatter, or she would have bestowed upon him a most adoring smile. As she studied the appealing face, strong nose and chin, and the rich, neat attire, her heart swelled with love and pride—but also a slight discomposure. She was appreciating his circum-stances in a way she had never done. Was it wrong? Was it selfish? To be happy that she would be married to a rich man? But she thought of all the charities she could support, the good works she could do, and her qualms dissipated. Mr. Mornay had been only too happy to let her name the sum for the orphanage. Surely he would always be that way, wouldn't he?

During the drive home, she dreamed of the future benefactress to the poor she would become. The usually deflating scenes of needy children on the streets did not affect her as usual.

Soon, soon, my dear children,
she thought,
Mrs. Mornay will come to your aide!
At that moment her beloved turned his gaze upon her, and her inner musings came to an abrupt halt.

Once again there was nothing of warmth in his eyes, nothing of the affection she usually found in them.
Would
the future Mrs. Mornay be a benefactress to the poor?

Or was he having a sudden change of heart? Did he wish to—to
cry off from the wedding?
Had he allowed her to name the sum for the orphanage to lessen the blow of his change of heart? Her thoughts of helping the poor paled in light of this disturbing notion.
Is he regretting our wedding plans? Why else the coldness of his manner, the absence of meaning in his looks to me? I will need to find a way to speak with him privately. Perhaps his distracted behaviour has nothing to do with me at all.
She frowned.
If it does not, there was something else on his mind that was troublesome. In either case, I must seek to help.

Somehow she had to speak to him alone and soon. Something was most certainly wrong.

A
riana was in her bedchamber, looking at the clothing which constituted her trousseau, strewn for the moment across the bed and furniture. Silk, cotton, taffeta, bombazine, ostrich feathers, ribbons and bonnets—my, it was a colourful lot! Stockings, slippers, chemises, stays, gowns, shawls, turbans, handkerchiefs, and gloves—more things than she had ever owned in her life. Delighted with the glorious mess, she picked up a shoe or boot here, a new glove, brooch, or fan there. The sight of the parasol, shawl, even the laced drawers (if Princess Charlotte wore them, Ariana could too, Mrs. Bentley had said) filled Ariana with anticipation.

Her future husband had paid for the lot of it, a fact which would have sent more than one haughty brow to its pinnacle, and which might have eroded Ariana's standing in society, were it known. But only she and her family and, of course, Mr. Mornay were aware of the fact. Mrs. Bentley had done her usual part in taking Ariana shopping and bespoke all the items on the list from her betrothed with rare satisfaction.

To Ariana the rounds of fittings and measurings all over town seemed to go on and on. From Bond Street to Threadneedle, from Ludgate Hill to Pall Mall to Jermyn, Ariana felt they'd been everywhere. She wheedled her aunt into allowing her a quick browse at Hatchard's on the condition that she would choose a perfume from Floris's. Although Ariana did not care to wear scent, she had agreed to purchase a mild vial of the stuff in exchange for the chance to snatch up the second edition of
Sense and Sensibility.

Except for one trunk's worth of clothes and a few hat boxes, Ariana's aunt had arranged to have everything in front of her moved to Mr. Mornay's house in Grosvenor Square, only a few streets from Hanover Square. Despite the fact that she had not managed to speak with her betrothed alone yet,
his keeping to the schedule Mrs. Bentley had written was encouraging. Mr. Mornay had even sent a fine coach for the occasion. Although most of the trousseau would be transported in the splendid carriage, some items would be hand-carried by servants on foot and accompanied by Mrs. Bentley, Ariana, and Beatrice. Surely if Mr. Mornay was entertaining thoughts of calling off the wedding, he would not have encouraged such an elaborate transfer.

Nor would he have given his approbation to the proposed tour she was to take of the house. Ariana was looking forward to seeing it—Phillip's house! She would be surrounded by his things, his tastes, his life. Perchance somehow the house would even open secret doors to his character. She might know him better by seeing it.

Because he had made it clear that he would be away for the day, she wracked her brain for a way to leave a reminder of her presence there. Something he would see when he returned home later, perhaps. But she got so busy being hurried along by Mrs. Bentley that she forgot to choose such a remembrance.

As Harrietta and another maid began folding and packing the articles— specimens of the finest textiles and accessories available in England—Beatrice entered the room without knocking.

“May I watch, 'Ana? I long to look at your beautiful things!” The younger girl gave a sigh of bliss as she looked around. Ariana wore costly apparel as though she was born for it but in truth would have been content with less. Beatrice, however, thought her elder sister had cause for joy that only entering the gates of heaven might equal.

“You may watch
if
you have finished packing your own things,” Mrs. Bentley interjected, as she came into the room behind the girl. Mrs. Bentley's plans to send Beatrice home were all for naught because upon hearing of the intended banishment, the O'Briens took pity on the girl. After Beatrice had given Mr. O'Brien a long rant on the evils of agues and how providence had ceased to smile upon her (a saying she had once heard her father use), the gentleman regaled his family with the story. They were greatly amused, and soon after Miss Beatrice was issued an invitation directly, entreating the young lady to stay with them on Blandford Street.

Mrs. O'Brien considered it providential because her youngest daughter, Miss Alice, was Beatrice's age exactly. Now the girl would have a companion
to share her days with. They sent a message to Hanover Square so that Mrs. Bentley would not remove the child from town. “Let her visit us and see if she and Alice do not suit first,” Mrs. O'Brien's note had said. But at home Mrs. O'Brien used words of a much different tone. “Certainly Mrs. Bentley is acting in a hasty manner to send the girl packing! A mere cold is no cause to ruin the happiness of not only Miss Beatrice but of her sister, who must want her in London for the wedding. Even a younger sister is some small comfort, I daresay.”

Mr. Mornay had indeed made certain that he would not be in residence when Ariana was to come. Rather, he was endeavouring to keep himself occupied—and away from her. He had no intention of being home when she would be in the house. It was the necessary measure he had to take, finding it difficult to be near her without feeling a powerful unrest—a sensation he hadn't struggled with since he was in his teens—all the more potent, it seemed, for having so long been denied. Thinking on it now, he realized that somehow he had trained his mind not to contemplate the delights of women. But that was before Ariana, before falling in love.

He was discovering a new man within himself. A man with whom he was not familiar—a man who longed to be a woman's lover. More, her husband. The father of her children. It was much, much easier to wait calmly for the wedding when he was not in the company of his beguiling bride-to-be.

Indeed, the idea of his future bride in his house was almost too happy a thought. He wouldn't dare remain on the premises with her. The little blonde minx addled his brain and upset his customarily detached attitude! He wanted nothing more than to be married to her—yesterday! He wished to be done with waiting. However, society and good manners demanded he wait for the wedding date set forth by Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe, and so he had no choice but to comply.

He'd searched his brain and faintly remembered how other men had been struck with the anguish of loving a woman, heart, soul and body, to such a degree that waiting was torturous. He'd thought them idiotic, besotted fools. And now (it was no use denying) he was one of them. No reason why all of London had to know it, and so he was being careful—very careful—to keep his head, maintain his usual style of detachment, and force himself to wait. Especially as there was nothing else for it.

He had arranged to watch a fencing match, followed by lunch with some friends at his favourite club, White's. Then having received notice by messenger that a new coat—the one he would wear for the wedding ceremony—was ready for a fitting, he'd make his way to Weston's and give the tailor as good a fitting as he ever had. From there he intended to inspect a few horses, which were soon to be up for auction, to see if one might suit Ariana. It would be a wedding gift. The dapple-gray Arabian he wanted was only available because its owner lost a formidable fortune—ten thousand pounds—at cards and hoped to make up his losses by selling his renowned race stock.

Ariana did not need a racing horse, but this mare had seen a good amount of action and was due to be retired. With years of racing behind it, the mare was spent and would be safe for his new wife. He would never bid on a horse without first inspecting it himself and procuring the opinion of his head groom, Quibb. Ariana was, therefore, to have the house to herself all afternoon. He tried not to think about her in his house and set about the day. He was not ready to concede that he was in the pitiable condition of being a lovesick fool!

He recognized the irony of his behavior; that he had often avoided women in the past because they dared to set their cap at him. Now he was avoiding the one woman he loved for quite a different reason. Let Ariana keep herself occupied with whatever things women did before their marriage, and he would do the same. It was a simple, sensible solution. Thirteen days was really a short period of time, and he did not anticipate any problems.

Ariana did not question his busy schedule. He was about to become a married man after having been a bachelor for near three decades. Surely that was reason enough for a man to desire some time to do whatever it was men did. (What did they do? Shoot? Play cricket? Fence? She had no clear idea what he would be up to, but no matter, she had enough to occupy her mind.) She
was
looking forward to seeing the house. Number 25 Grosvenor Square was a masterpiece of Georgian architecture. It was sure to be a delightful afternoon.

When the servants finished packing the clothing, Ariana and Beatrice joined Aunt Bentley in the hall, preparing to leave the house. Ariana, wearing a tunic over her gown and a turban, moved out to the pavement in a strange state of mind. It felt like a dream. Could she really be preparing to move into
a town mansion? There was a fluttering in her stomach at the thought. She longed to be Mrs. Mornay, to have Phillip as her very own. Being mistress of a large establishment had never been her aim, however, and she was startled to find herself unnerved at the thought of it.

The hustle and bustle of the servants and Mrs. Bentley's shrill voice giving orders only added to her detached feeling. It was all happening around her, to her, and she had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. How odd. How exceedingly odd.

A coach came rumbling to a stop directly behind the one containing a load of hatboxes and bandboxes. When Ariana saw the curious faces of Mrs. Herley and Lavinia peering from the window, her friends' warm smiles restored Ariana's presence of mind. Mr. Mornay's coach started moving, being led into a turnaround to head back to Grosvenor Square. A small parade of servants waited on the pavement for their mistress to lead the way.

From the window of their coach, Mrs. Herley begged to know what was all the to-do. When she understood what was afoot, she asked if she and her daughter could be included. Mrs. Bentley's face broke into a disapproving frown, but Ariana was delighted to have her friend along and welcomed them heartily. The ladies sent their carriage ahead and joined the threesome on the pavement.