The House in Grosvenor Square (33 page)

Mornay moved toward him, but Ariana grasped his arm.

“He is injured!”

He seemed to consider this. He glared at Mr. O'Brien silently for a few moments while he grappled with his emotions. Then Mr. Mornay placed a
firm arm about Ariana and led her quickly from the room, without having said a word.

As they passed the matron of the house, Mrs. O'Brien gave Ariana a most heartfelt look of sorrow. She was utterly, utterly afraid that Mr. Mornay might vent his wrath on the poor girl, and she felt herself to blame for leaving the two young people alone together. She herself had asked the young woman to sit by her son! She was at fault! Then she turned her mind to Peter, the sad patient. She came around the circle of furniture and looked at him. All her pity was gone, erased by the shame that filled her for his behaviour, and in its place, she felt a sudden cold antipathy.

She stared him down for a moment, shaking her head in disbelief of his enormous impropriety. Then without a word, she turned and left the room.

He sat back against the cushions with a bit of relief—it hadn't been so bad after all. Mr. Mornay hadn't accosted him. His mother hadn't upbraided him. And, despite his failure to win her, he had actually kissed Miss Forsythe! He had kissed the angel! He would savour the memory. Or would it serve instead to remind him of his rash and ungentlemanly behaviour? He considered the matter and soon felt a slow sense of shame begin to creep upon him.

He knew he would need to repent of what he'd done. He would also need to apologize and ask forgiveness. Exhausted, Mr. O'Brien lowered his head slowly back upon the pillows on the settee. Why could he not maintain command of himself when in Miss Forsythe's presence?

For her part, Ariana knew her “friendship” with Mr. O'Brien had finally been put to an end. She would never risk being near him alone again. Never.

F
ar sooner than Mr. Pellham expected her to, Mrs. Bentley awoke groggily from her sleep. She had been dreaming that Mr. Mornay had eloped with Ariana to Scotland, and that London was abuzz with crude insinuations and remarks as to what had caused the Paragon to take such an infamous step. She awoke all aflutter. Mr. Pellham was at her side at once and offered the information that one of the ruffians had been arrested, and that Lavinia was safe. Mrs. Bentley's face registered relief, which she expressed with a grateful sigh. But her expression quickly changed to one of concern.

“Dear me!” she cried. “Ariana has been at Grosvenor Square all this time without a chaperone! How could I not think of it sooner? Miss Herley never got there! Oh, Randolph. This is precisely what I never wanted to happen.”

She rang the bellpull. “I must go to Grosvenor Square, where I shall remain if I never sleep another wink again!” To Haines, who came quickly, she said, “Haines, get the coach at once. You will drive me to Grosvenor Square and then drop Mr. Pellham at his home. I will remain at Mr. Mornay's house until further notice.”

Haines was surprised, but of course it wasn't his place to question a command. “Yes, ma'am,” he said and set out to take the precaution of loading again the little travelling pistol that usually sat, almost forgotten, in a small recess in the carriage.

Ariana did not know what to say. She allowed Mr. Mornay to scurry
her to his carriage, and then, as he took his seat beside her, she looked at him searchingly.

Does he know I did nothing to intentionally dishonour him? Does he know that Mr. O'Brien (that formerly gentle soul!) took cruel advantage of me? What is he thinking?

“You know that I belong to
you
.”

“I made it clear you were to remain at my house.”

She swallowed, thinking about what had caused her to leave. “Your servants despise me!” Tears formed in her eyes. “It is easy to see they think my presence early this morning in the house was scandalous!”

He frowned. “What makes you say so?” She went on to tell him of her afternoon at the house, of their insubordination, and how unwelcome she had felt.

“That is hardly reason to take my wishes so lightly. Is this what I am to expect throughout our marriage? That you won't do as I bid? That, at the least provocation, you'll fly up into the boughs and do what seems best to you without my approval? Against my expressed wishes?”

“I cannot tell you how wretched I felt about Mr. O'Brien's wound and how I had to see how he fared, though I am heartily sorry now that I did. I am sorry. I can and will do better. I promise you!”

This seemed to help.

“I must tell you,” he said in a different tone, for he had just remembered, “Miss Herley has been abducted.”

She gasped. “What? Oh, my poor Lavinia!”

“I spent hours looking for Wingate or Holliwell but without success.”

“Did you? Oh, my darling!” She grasped his hand. “And to think how she adored Lord Antoine!”

He was startled. “Did she?”

“I believe so.”

Mr. Mornay thought for a moment and rubbed his chin but said nothing. He was wondering if the “abduction” was merely a ploy to force a marriage between them. Perhaps he'd underestimated the man's intentions toward Lavinia.

“We'll speak to the servants,” he said, “regarding this morning and see what's what.” But he was still bothered by the memory, fresh in his mind, of seeing her rising off the sofa upon which Mr. O'Brien was reclining. “And perhaps you can explain to me,” he added, in a caustic tone, “how I came to find you in such a compromising position with that endless pest, O'Brien!”

In no time at all Mrs. Bentley was raising her hand to the knocker at 25 Grosvenor Square. Haines prepared to take Mr. Pellham home, waiting only long enough (as any thoughtful butler would) to be certain his mistress gained entrance to the house.

Once inside Frederick informed Mrs. Bentley of the astounding fact that neither Ariana nor Mr. Mornay were at home. Her hand flew to her heart with the thought that they'd absconded to Scotland, just as she'd dreamt! She feared the answer, but had to ask where they'd gone.

Frederick thought for a moment. It was not his duty to give people the whereabouts of either his master or anyone staying in the house.

He did not know.

Had he no idea whatsoever? What time had they left the house?

He offered only the information that they had not left the house together.

Did not Miss Forsythe say where she was going or when she would return? Frederick's house of cards began to crumble. He had no loyalties to Miss Forsythe at the moment, since she was soon to part him from his situation, so he said in absolute honesty, “I believe Miss Forsythe said she was going to Blandford Street.”

“Blandford Street?” Mrs. Bentley's face wrinkled in confusion.
Oh! The O'Brien's
. She then remembered that she had sent Haines away, and now she could not go to Blandford Street to collect her niece.
How vexatious! Why did Mornay allow my niece to leave the house? And why, especially, apart from him, after raising such a dust about her needing his protection?
The more she thought on it, the less sense it made.

“Will you be waiting for the master's return, ma'am?” Frederick asked, interrupting her ruminations.

Mrs. Bentley was very tired. But Ariana was not here. No reason, then, why she might not just as well go back to her own house and get some rest. At least there she
could
rest.

In moments she was back on the street, faced with the tiring prospect of walking home. She, Mrs. Bentley, was going to walk! Too vexing to wait for a message to reach Haines to bring the carriage back. The horses would, no doubt, have just been unharnessed. With a sigh, she started down the street, wondering if she ought to call upon Mr. Pellham.
If I do I might have his company for the walk. But then why disturb the man when I will just return
to bed upon reaching my house? I do not feel well and will not feel well until my niece is securely married.

Ariana stared at her betrothed, no longer blinking back tears but angry now. She crossed her arms. “I was
astonished
by Mr. O'Brien's behaviour! You cannot think—that I welcomed it?”

“How does a man get that close to a woman if she does not welcome his attentions? How came you to be on that settee, Ariana, when Mr. O'Brien was indisposed?”

She told him exactly what had happened, but only silence ensued. Even though they were sitting together, she felt they had never been so far apart. How could he think she had encouraged the man to impose on her? But the longer she sat there, the less she felt she had any right to be angry. She herself had given sway to jealousy for much less cause.

She took his hand again and turned to face him completely on the seat. This got his attention, and he looked at her. She reached for his other hand. Then holding them up, she kissed them. First one, then the other. Slowly and with love and sorrow in her eyes, watching him as she did. She saw feelings flit across the handsome face and dark eyes, but he kept himself in check. Still holding his hands, she inched closer to him and then raised one of his arms so she could put it around her shoulders. She quickly scooted into the spot against his side. She leaned up and whispered. “I love you!”

Then he turned and pulled her up against him, and they shared a good embrace. She clung to him, holding him as hard about the head and neck as she could. And then they were kissing, and it was wonderfully different than what she had felt in Mr. O'Brien's arms.

“I ought to take you to Scotland right now!” he said, keeping her right up against him. “I feel I dare not let you out of my sight for an instant, lest you run into some form of mischief.”

She smiled weakly. “I shan't. I'll be ever so careful.”

“One more episode with you, young woman, and I shall—I avow it—I shall take you directly to Scotland, and we'll be married before you can blink an eye!”

“I think I should like that.”

This earned her an additional kiss.

“I have property there, you know.”

“In Scotland?”

“Yes. My grandfather acquired it by fighting in some royal cause.”

“Amazing! Where do you
not
own property?”

He smiled. “Park Lane.”

She laughed. “But you own the approval of all its inhabitants.”

He grinned, but then his face sobered, and he moved his arm and touched her below the neck in the area of her heart.

“Here. Here is where I most wish to own property.”

“Foolish man.” She leaned up and kissed him again. “It is there where you own all of it.”

They pulled up to his house, Mrs. Bentley having disappeared around the corner only minutes earlier.

Traffic was cluttered, as it often was on Upper Brook Street. Mrs. Bentley kept a sharp eye out for a break in traffic and an opportunity to cross the road, as she would have to sooner or later to reach her own house. Suddenly she heard a voice calling her. A distinctly French voice. She looked ahead and saw that Madame LaCroix had stepped out on her doorway and was waving at her with a handkerchief.