The House in Grosvenor Square (46 page)

“Much obliged, Meyers.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Mornay. And allow me to offer you, on behalf of the firm, the very best congratulations upon your wedding and our hopes for only the happiest and brightest future for you and Mrs. Mornay.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lord Antoine was pacing in the library, trying to interest himself in a book but with no success. He sat down and ran his fingers through his hair. This blasted waiting! Would the man never be done? He stared out the window, watching without seeing the people passing on the street.

Frederick entered the room and then escorted the young man to the ground floor office, where his lordship instantly signed the paper. He stopped only to give the papers the most cursory reading. Afterward he was congratulated by the solicitor on a most excellent arrangement and then was left alone in the room with his benefactor.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Mornay said, while he sat himself behind the desk. The men eyed each other for a moment.

“Do you recall what our business is?”

Holliwell looked down, as if he was embarrassed. “I think so.”

“Yes?”

“To pray?” He lifted his head when he spoke.

“Yes.” Mr. Mornay took a breath, watching the young man. “We need to talk first, I think.”

“Yes? That's fine.”

Mr. Mornay chose his first words. “Tell me, sir, what do you believe about religion?”

M
ornay bowed politely to the Prince Regent.

“Ah, here you are, then. I know your wedding's tomorrow, and I won't keep you.” The Regent motioned for him to take a seat. They were sitting on a picturesque rustic bench in the beautiful gardens behind Carlton House, which the prince had recently commissioned one of his favourite architects, Nash, to transfigure. His Royal Highness spent the next minutes describing the new wonders that were to come, and Mornay nodded politely, though he would rather be spared the narrative. Prinny was always ordering costly changes to things that were perfectly pleasing and agreeable to begin with.

“So you played the hero and rescued your lady and one other, I understand.”

“With the help of other men, thank God, yes.”

“And Wingate is in custody. Dashed cove! There's no unworthier blood in England than his line, I daresay, and I hope I may have the pleasure of retiring the titles associated with it one day.”

“Don't be overhasty. There's a second son, you know.”

“He's a cove too, from what I understand. Probably won't live to see his majority, I shouldn't wonder.”

A smile flicked across Mornay's countenance and was gone. “I wouldn't count on it, Your Royal Highness.”

“Well! The critical thing is that the ladies are safe! And I might say I had a hand in their rescue, mightn't I? You took two of my special guards with you for the feat.”

“Say whatever you like,” he returned amiably, “but regarding Wingate, you mustn't let the lords excuse him for this. I will be satisfied only with a permanent solution, sir.”

“If you're asking me to hang him, I'll tell you right now I want nothing to do with the business. The papers would have a heyday with it.”

“The papers will love it—the people will love it—they all feel there's no justice when peers are concerned. They will applaud you for it.”

“Perhaps, but the lords won't. They are not happy to hang one of their own, as you well know. It means they're all vulnerable.”

“All who
abduct women
, yes! They've nothing to fear so long as they're law-abiding!”

“Law-abiding?” The Regent laughed. “What is law-abiding under one king is treason under the next, Mornay. You know that.”

“A hundred years ago but not today.”

The Regent was silent. “I'll speak a few words to whomever I can,” he conceded, “but wouldn't it be more effective if you yourself were in the House?”

“Even if I had a desire to sit in Commons—which I don't—you know full well it would do nothing to help my cause in this.”

“I was thinking of the lords actually.”

Mornay just looked at his friend. What on earth was he talking about?

“If you're talking about that baronetcy again, you know that wouldn't give me a seat—”

“No, I've thought better of it. I'm thinking of a barony.”

Mr. Mornay gave a large sigh, to which the prince said, “Good heavens! You'd think I'd just promised to hang you!” He took a sip of wine, given him by a liveried footman. Mr. Mornay declined the same. “Most men would consider this quite good news!”

“My wedding is tomorrow. I think I have quite enough to think about right now.”

“If you were pleased, sir, you should be happy to think about this one thing more.” He was fairly irked that his surprise had not elicited more enthusiasm. “Dash it, you've got your bride, and your enemy is in prison. Why are you glum?”

Mr. Mornay took a breath. “Not glum. Out of patience. The past ten days have brought one calamity after another. Time has stretched to the point of breaking for me. If the wedding wasn't tomorrow, depend upon it, I
would
elope!”

The prince laughed delightedly. “Mornay, I begin to understand you. What's more, you may finally begin to understand
me
! I've felt the lack of your approbation when I engage in an affair, but if I wasn't heartsick for
the lady, I wouldn't do it. I have no marriage, as you know. What is a man to do?”

To himself Mornay thought,
There are things a man can do, such as get on with one's wife,
but he chose a humorous tack. With mock seriousness he said, “Tell the princess to take a bath!”

The Regent gave a bitter laugh. “If only it were that simple, eh? But we shan't go there, shall we?” When his friend said nothing, he continued. “Now at last you see what it feels like—you are pining for love, sir! But you, at least, are marrying the woman you love, who deserves you. I was not, alas, so blessed.”

Phillip motioned to the footman. Then taking up a glass, he looked at the Regent. “To my bride.”

Prinny smiled and was pleased. Finally Mornay was being friendly. “To your bride.” They both took good swigs.

The prince held up his glass again. “To your wedding.”

“By all means.” Another shared swallow. It was Mornay's turn. “To your future reign.”

“Most definitely! To my future reign! Good show.” Another swig. “To England!”

“To England!”

The glasses were refilled. More jovial toasts ensued.

And then Mornay stood up. “Sir, I beg your leave. I am expected at Hanover Square.”

“Of course! You'll be quite the family man now, I expect! Only don't forget my offer, Mornay. I am depending upon you to take a seat in the House of Lords for me.”

“Is that your aim? I should think you would have spoken to me about whether I have the least inclination of taking one, sir!”

“All I ask, Phillip, is for your decided vote. I cannot say how many times things would have swung my way had I one more dashed vote! I'll come to your wedding, if you like!”

“Who needs you there?”

The Regent cocked an eyebrow. “It would raise a breeze for you.”

“The last thing I want.”

“Since when has a dust bothered you? The papers love you.”

“Thank you, but leave me a quiet wedding.”

“Quiet? I hardly think so. Not with my daughter attending, and she is planning on it, you know.”

“What? What on earth?” And then he realized at once that it must have had to do with Ariana. He'd find out when he saw her later.

The Regent said, “Yes, go, Phillip. I can see there is no reasoning with you now. You've no mind for anything but Miss Forsythe. The man who never loved a woman? Love appears to have forced your hand. It does have a way of trumping all else!”

Ariana was nodding and smiling with great satisfaction. To have her family around her once more! Alberta, who was Mrs. Norledge now, and her new husband, John. Beatrice, whom Mrs. Bentley had sent for this morning from the O'Brien's, and Lucy with Mama and Papa—it was wonderful to have them all here. If only they could have more time together! But she could not regret that her wedding was tomorrow. Ariana and Mr. Mornay would have time in the future to spend with her family, but right now what they needed and wanted more than anything was to be with one another.
Where is he?

Mr. Timmons, the rector from her hometown of Chesterton, had also come to Mayfair with the family. It was he, perhaps more than anyone, who had spent hours expounding the text of various books on religion with Mr. Mornay. He had gone through the book of Romans with the man, almost verse by verse, and then had the honour and distinction of leading him in the “sinner's prayer.” At the moment he was pretending to spar with Mr. Forsythe, who was doing an admirable job of “fighting” back.

Lucy was all energy and darting across the room in between the men or hanging onto Ariana's gown, which was rather irksome as it caused terrible wrinkles. All in all, she was having as much fun as any six-year-old could hope to. Beatrice was regaling her mama with a day by day account, or so it seemed, of her time at the O'Brien's. And Mrs. Bentley was sitting on the sofa next to Mr. Pellham, more quiet and unobtrusive than usual, engaging in small talk with the Norledges. The new couple was carefully sitting some distance apart from each other, as if afraid to reveal their new-found intimacy. By contrast Miss Herley and Lord Antoine were sitting only inches apart, with eyes only for each other. Ariana wished for Phillip's closeness at this moment. He was the only one missing from this perfect gathering.

Holliwell had told her of Mr. Mornay's call to Carlton House—again
Will the Regent always be stealing him from me? And how long does the prince
require his presence anyway? Where is he?
Supper was ended, and that had been in itself a great disappointment. She had so wanted him to be with her—she was so proud of him and delighted by his company. Her aunt had wished to send a man to the square to see what was what, but Ariana had forbade it. She would not nag him.
But if one more person asks me where he is as though I ought to know his every move—

She wanted to tell him how her family was unanimous in thinking that she was much changed. She was older somehow, her mama said, with a happy sadness that only a mother could understand. Her papa saw it too. Ariana suspected it was due to the fact that she was a woman in love and that she had survived two episodes of horrendous handling by the likes of Lord Wingate. That would age anyone. That topic—of her recent trials—might have ruined the mood of the gathering, but she shared an exciting surprise at table: that Princess Charlotte herself had sent word that she would like to attend the wedding! Of course Ariana had accepted the honour!

Mrs. Forsythe, upon hearing of it, had tears in her eyes. The princess! At her own child's wedding! Mr. Timmons was as impressed as anyone, but he was at least as concerned over the absence of the Paragon as Ariana. He had written Phillip, sharing his wish to come for the wedding. It would do his heart good, he said, to see Phillip again, not to mention besting him with an epée—he couldn't resist taking the poke. Mr. Mornay was delighted and issued an invitation for the man to stay at Grosvenor Square this night.

Unknown to Phillip, Mr. Timmons was hoping to spend enough time with the man to assess his growth and understanding of his religion, now that he had made a step of true repentance. It felt like a long time since Mr. Mornay had fallen to his knees on the lawn at Mr. Timmons's house and recited the prayer with him. The man was not a member of his parish, but he was a member of the family of God and had opened his heart to religion following Timmons's tutelage. He had a personal interest in him, besides an enormous liking and respect. His was the only other face except Ariana's to frown this evening, and he wondered if Mornay had fallen into some mischief.

On the night before a man's wedding, these things were known to happen. Particularly when said man had friends who were not the marrying sort.

When Mr. Mornay left Carlton House, a good hour after his arrival, he ran smack into a coterie of the prince's friends, all of whom had been about to descend on Carlton House to buzz about the prince as they were wont to do. At the sight of Mornay, they halted.

“Look! 'Tis the man himself! Mornay, we've just been talkin' about you.”