The House in Grosvenor Square (49 page)

Already a small crowd had gathered near St. George's for the Paragon's wedding. Generally town weddings did not draw a large number of people, but not only did many hope to glimpse the man on his wedding day, they wanted to see his famously pretty bride as well. Others received word (as these things are bound to happen) that the princess might appear and were there to see her. In all, it was with extreme difficulty that the footmen who had been sent ahead were able to keep the church from overcrowding, and when the princess did arrive, of course there was a great fuss.

Her Royal Highness was equal to a fuss, being vastly acquainted with them. She walked to the front of the church, flanked by two of her ladies and one gentleman, and took a seat at the head. Her smiling countenance had already repaid the audience for their trouble of coming—and the principal beings hadn't even arrived yet. The mood was more jocular than for most weddings.

Mr. Pellham arrived. He made his way to stand before the altar smiling amiably, greeting acquaintances with a regal nod and looking cozy and dignified in his stiff dark trousers and tailcoat, as he carried his golden-handled cane. His face shone with happiness. The princess inquired about the little smiling man. She was informed, by a church dignitary, of the double wedding and nodded. She then asked for an introduction and gave Mr. Pellham a personal congratulation upon his marriage, which he would never forget. In a minute he began to regale Her Royal Highness with the sort of tales which had already made him a favourite among the
ton
. He had the rare gift of being funny without coarseness; interesting without tediousness. Now and then the princess's merry laugh rang out, and it added to the jollity in the air.

When Ariana and her aunt arrived, Ariana's father handed her down.
As soon as she stepped from the carriage, a cheer went up on the street. Amazing! People were everywhere, all craning their heads and necks to get a peek at her! She spied a man quickly sketching her appearance and another hastily jotting notes about her arrival, the crowd, the church—for the papers, to be sure.

She had still not grown accustomed to being of interest to the general population and felt strangely humbled by it. Her aunt came out next, and another cheer went up. Mrs. Bentley was elated at the attention and smiled all around and waved her bouquet. Afterward, the rest of the family disembarked and made their way into the church. Inside the excitement grew and then dropped to a hush as everyone craned to see the bride they had been waiting for.

Ariana saw Mr. Pellham at the head of the aisle and looked for Mr. Mornay—she did not see him. People were waving and gesturing at her from the pews, but she kept her eyes ahead.
Where is my beloved?
She saw the vicar, standing with a dour expression.
Something is wrong.
Mr. Mornay was not in front, like Mr. Pellham, smiling at her as the older gentleman was smiling at her aunt. Ariana tried not to look for him too obviously; she must act as though she hadn't a concern in the world.

Behind her, however, her father whispered, “Where is he?” And there was no question of whom he referred to.

“He'll be here!” she replied, in an equally fervent whisper.

She began to make her way down the aisle, with her aunt beside her. As she reached the front, she acknowledged the princess, who smiled gently at her. She curtseyed gratefully and smiled bravely. But inside she felt her first inkling that something might be gravely wrong.
Where is my beloved? Where?

Mr. Frederick, about an hour and a half earlier, found Mrs. Hamilton near the kitchens. The housekeeper had taken a day off yesterday and had sold the little lady's pistol from the armoury. She was feeling guilty—a thing she hadn't expected.

Mr. Frederick had not had a chance to dismiss her yet. He dreaded doing it and wouldn't even think of dealing with it now. There was enough to do, given the mysterious disappearance of the master. He looked at her now, and suddenly he thought it might have been a good thing she was around to be of assistance.

“I have something you must do,” he said. To her curious look, he added, “And not a word to the other servants about it!”

She nodded.

Mr. Timmons had eaten breakfast, washed and changed in his room, looked about the house for his host, and then retreated into the library for twenty minutes of reading and prayer. He was now back to the public rooms and wanted to know where Mr. Mornay was. He found himself feeling that something was afoot.
Does Mr. Mornay wish to avoid our meeting? Is he intentionally stalling?

Mrs. Hamilton appeared. “Mr. Mornay has requested to see you now, sir.”

“Oh, excellent!” He was vastly relieved to find that his fears were false. He followed her down the hall with a lighter heart, looking forward to the meeting and thinking of what he wished to say to the man.
Perhaps a few words on the blessedness of the estate of matrimony? The duty of husbands and wives?

Mrs. Hamilton stopped at the door to a room he hadn't seen yet. He readied himself for another dose of grandeur. Mornay was certainly a solid oak, he'd grant him that.

“What room is this?” he asked lightly, as her hand went to the doorknob. It seemed a bit out of the way, now that he thought on it.

“An office, sir. The house has two of them.”

“Ah.” He was curious as to why he was being received there, but he had no concerns about it. Mrs. Hamilton turned the doorknob. She had unlocked it herself only minutes earlier. When she had opened the door enough to stick her head in, she said, “Here is Mr. Timmons, sir,” and then motioned for the rector to enter before her.

When he did, she pulled the door shut swiftly and stuck a key in the lock and turned it with a click of finality. Already there was a protest from within. A banging on the door.

“I say! Open this door! What is this? Is this some kind of trick? I am a guest of your master's!” It was no good, however. Mr. Timmons, locked in the armoury with all manner of weaponry, was stuck. He was a patient man. But this was above all. This treatment! What bothered him even more than his imprisonment, however, was what it signified.

Mr. Mornay was up to devilish tricks. He was a blackguard! Why else
bother to lock up a rector—his guest!—if not to conceal some deep infamy? Why else?

Mr. Frederick met Mrs. Hamilton in the hall, and his face revealed his anxiety.

“He's in there, sir, and yowling like a tom cat,” she said distastefully.

“Very good, Mrs. Hamilton.”

She looked at him expectantly. She was still rather nervous about the goings-on with Molly and whether she had been found out or not, but being asked to lock a man of the cloth in a small inner room with no outlet was so unusual, it pushed her fears to the back of her mind.

“Might I ask, Mr. Frederick, why you want that cleric locked in the armoury?”

“Not now, Mrs. Hamilton. You may ask later. Right now we need to discover the whereabouts of the master!”

“His whereabouts? Today's his wedding! He must be here!”

He gave her an agonized look. “We cannot find him!”

“Good gracious!” Mrs. Hamilton felt a rush of concern. My goodness, but she cared. She had seen, it was no use denyin' it, that Mr. Mornay had been happier than she'd ever known him to be of late. It was on account of Miss Forsythe. And yet all she had been thinking of was herself! All she had worried about was her own situation! She turned her eyes to the butler's.

“I'll check all the bedchambers!”

“I'll send word to Mr. Brummell and Lord Alvanley. Perhaps Lord Grafton.”

She looked at him once more. “Well, let's be quick about it, sir!” She turned and headed for the stairway.

One hour before the wedding, Mr. Mornay awoke. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. A dull pain…in his arm. No, a scorching pain. Something was amiss. He couldn't place it at first. Something was not familiar. He sat up abruptly to find that he'd been asleep in a guest bedroom of his own house! What on earth! He rubbed his eyes a moment, and then it hit him.
By Jove!
The wedding! He scrambled to get up, winced at the pain in his arm, and then his head, and thought,
“Oh, Lord! If I've missed it—Oh, God, no, don't let me miss it!

After he'd been press-ganged into Boodle's, Mornay used the club's amenities to send Ariana a note. It was a lame sounding note, even to his own ears, but he had decided that he would satisfy his friends by sharing a dinner, his “last supper” as Scropes Davies called it. He fully expected time to extract himself afterward and make an appearance at Hanover Square. He hadn't forgotten that he was to entertain Mr. Timmons either.

The prince had indeed joined them, creating a stir at the club. The supper had far exceeded the usual spread, which was excellent to begin with. Mr. Mornay ate sparingly, as he felt an unusual restlessness—no doubt on account of the wedding. Cards were shortly produced, and no one even bothered to remove to the first floor card room. Ask the prince to move? It wasn't going to happen.

Phillip had a hand dealt in front of him while he was speaking to Prinny, and then numerous gentlemen appeared ready to keep him from even rising from his seat.