The House in Grosvenor Square

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “He—he said I was just the baggage he was looking for!”

  “One of the men who tried to take you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. I’m sure he didn’t mean that exactly, but that you were just the right sort. They were intent on abducting a lady of good birth.” He wanted to upbraid her for going forth alone at night while he was at it, but refrained on account of her teary-eyed state.

  But she shook her head. “No. He had the link boy’s light in my face, and then he said, ‘By Jove, ’tis just the baggage I’m looking for!’ And he spoke like a gentleman! Not like a criminal. What could it mean?”

  Mornay was silent for a moment; only the carriage wheels rumbling could be heard. “No matter, now,” he said, tersely. “When I get you home safely, I’ll see if we can’t find this man—the men, rather—who were involved.”

  She looked at him longingly. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “I won’t be alone. The blue-bloods detest any sort of violence or threat against themselves, and you are just close enough to their ranks,” he said, with a little touch to her hand, “to make them feel threatened. They’ll all help with the search.”

  “Good.” She didn’t move her hand from beneath his. And still her eyes were on him. She was trying to work up the courage to sink her head against him, to creep ever so slightly nearer. But he asked, “What made you run from the house, to begin with?”

  “Oh—not now, please.”

  “Now.”

  “Nothing that signifies at this moment.”

  “What if I hadn’t followed you? You see how dangerous the streets are at night!”

  “I never dreamed—!”

  “Precisely. You mustn’t go about at night unescorted.” He studied her for a moment, and then reached over and snuffed out the lamp. The carriage wheels began slowing, for they had reached her aunt’s house. Ariana blinked back fresh tears. He should have taken her in his arms to soothe her—wouldn’t he usually do so? Something was coming between them, and she had not the slightest idea what it was.

  He brought her to the door of the house. “The physician will be here shortly. Will you be all right?”

  Her heart sank. He was leaving, and there was an uncustomary chasm between her heart and his. She longed for that feeling of closeness they had been enjoying, it seemed, only a week earlier. What had happened? Swallowing her tears, she nodded at him, and gave the briefest of curtseys. She would have turned but he stopped her by taking her hand, and lifted it to his lips.

  It meant everything to her, the way he lingered his kiss upon her glove. Though there was fine satin between her skin and his mouth, her spirits lifted. He still cares! He studied her with his dark eyes.

  “I think it best if we limit our contact until the wedding. I’ll escort you to anything at your request, but I have determined to pass the days until the wedding apart from you—” He stopped, seeing her face fall. Her eyes widened as though he’d said something terrible, and then she compressed her mouth as if holding back tears. He started, as if to speak, but Ariana turned and went in the house.

  He entered behind her.

  Haines was discomfited to see the young miss come into the house looking distraught, but merely stood aside helplessly as Ariana swept past, one hand to her mouth.

  Mr. Mornay caught her on the stairs, ignoring the servant, and took her about the waist.

  “Whyever are you ready to cry?” He spoke gently into her ear.

  The sound of his voice, soft and intimate, brought forth a sob, but she turned and threw her arms about his neck, and loved doing so. “You break my heart!” she said, in a shaky whisper. He had received her with a tight embrace, but at her words he pulled away, looking thoroughly bewildered.

  “You are changing!” she cried, admirably trying to suppress a sob. “You are determined to avoid me! You have hardly looked me in the eye this past week!”

  He breathed a sigh and took her hand and turned without a word and led her up the stairs. He took her into the drawing room, his exquisite eyes upon hers in a look that she could not decipher. He did not appear angry. Neither did he seem sorrowful or upset. She tried to steel her heart against what she might be about to hear.

  He closed the door behind them, turning to face her while he completed the task, making sure it was closed firmly. He said, “Come here,” and held out his hands to her. When she drew near him, he took her by both hands and pulled her toward him. “What on earth do you mean, ‘I am breaking your heart?’ Don’t you realize, my foolish darling, that I am having a devilish time of it?”

  “You are? On what account?”

  He pulled her closer. “On account of wanting this marriage yesterday! I am living for our wedding!”

  Ariana’s countenance lightened instantly. This was more like the man who loved her. She put her hands up and clasped his well-shaven face, avoiding the snowy white neckcloth that edged out beneath his chin.

  “Oh, Phillip!” They kissed, and then they stopped. But he pulled her closer and kissed her again more passionately. Then he showered her face and forehead with kisses, then her neck. Then—

  He froze.

  He released her.

  “This is precisely why I must keep my distance from you! Do not mistake my meaning, or lessen my resolve. I am only thinking of your honour.”

  She frowned, but nodded.

  “Do not look so troubled,” he said, almost smiling. “If I did not adore you I would have no need for such caution.” These words filled her heart and she impulsively threw her arms back around his neck. “I love you!”

  He sighed, for her enthusiasm did little to help his state of mind, but his eyes held a sparkle as he answered, “And I love you, Miss Forsythe.”

  The use of her formal name made her smile. Still with her arms about his neck, she said, “I can only allow and bear this separation because it is what you wish, and for your sake.”

  He chuckled. “I have your permission? You little minx!”

  Ariana drew back and smoothed his snowy cravat with her hands. “I always want to touch your neckcloths. You do them so beautifully. You have the perfect neck, and the way your face is framed is so exactly—”

  He took hold of her hands and stopped her. “Unless you wish to leave for Scotland this minute, I must go.” But he bent his head and planted a quick last kiss on her lips.

  Just then they heard Mrs. Bentley’s voice. “What? Where are they?”

  Mr. Mornay stroked Ariana’s hair, taking a long last look at her. Then he took her hand with one of his, while opening the door with his other. Mrs. Bentley was coming toward the room in a nightdress, robe, and mob-cap. She held a candle in one hand, and Haines was with her.

  “Why, Mornay, how do you do? I hadn’t thought to see you in the house.”

  He bowed politely. “I was just leaving.” The memory of Ariana’s near-abduction came to the fore and that he was supposed to be searching for the criminals. “In fact,” he said to Ariana, “I’ll never catch those dashed coves if I’m not off, directly!”

  Their eyes met; a silent message of love passed between them. He reached down just to place a quick, chaste kiss on her lips, and then bowed again at her aunt and turned to leave. Mrs. Bentley saw his hurry to be off, or she would have stopped him to answer her questions, but instead she plied them at Ariana.

  “He left rather hastily! What was he talking about? What dashed coves? Did something happen? You weren’t alone with him very long, were you? A man gets bold before a wedding, I dare say.”

  “Aunt!”

  “Well, what was he talking about? Come, tell me everything.” She motioned for Ariana to accompany her. Thankfully she headed to Ariana’s bedchamber and listened while Harrietta helped the younger girl with her clothing. Mrs. Bentley was indignant to be sure, at the near disaster, but not nearly as vocal or reprimanding as Ariana feared. Finally she was alone in a white chemise nightdress and cap. A single candle glowed softly on the tabl
e beside the bed. At last. Alone with God.

  She hadn’t read the day’s collect, and so she started to now. Her soul felt dry, but of course, as such things are bound to happen, that is when the doctor arrived. He’d gone first to Merrilton House, and then was directed to Hanover Square. After hearing the account of what had befallen Ariana, he did his usual ministrations: listened to her heart, felt her pulse, and recommended a diluted mixture with laudanum. Then, if she did not feel better with the morning, he said he would return with leeches for blood-letting, which was sure to do the trick.

  Mrs. Bentley felt in need of laudanum herself, but chose instead to order a late glass of bishop—a drink that often had soothed her tired bones in the past. Imagine it—her niece, nearly abducted! The more she thought on it, the more it disturbed her. Why was Ariana prone to difficulties? What if she had been abducted? And what if Mr. Mornay had then decided her purity was too compromised to have her as his wife? What if she had been harmed?

  Oh, would she never have this wedding done? It occurred to her for perhaps the first time that her niece’s marriage was not, in fact, her doing. Yes, she had dressed the girl, and brought her into society. But Mornay had made her fashionable, and Mornay had fallen in love with her. Mrs. Bentley could take no credit for either feat.

  She sipped her drink and tried to relax. A vision of Ariana on the street and in the hands of ruffians ruined her composure, however, and she had to sit up abruptly. Another thought intruded. I can pray. That’s what Ariana would bid me do.

  She folded her hands and thanked God that Ariana was safe in her bedchamber after such a close call. Her mind wandered....perhaps Mr. Mornay would think to elope! (She had never thought elopement respectable, but it was certainly superior to the ominous idea of Ariana being abducted!)

  “Dear Lord,” she added, with as much earnestness as she could muster. “keep my niece from mischief and—bring this wedding speedily, even if it takes an elopement. Amen!”

  In all, two carriages of indignant lords and gentlemen spent near two hours driving around town, looking for the would-be abductors who had accosted Miss Forsythe in Mayfair. The Duke of Grafton had taken charge of the first vehicle, having always found Miss Forsythe exceedingly charming and wishing to be of service.

  Mr. Mornay, of course, was at the helm of the other—literally. He, with only Beau Brummell at his side, reverted to his curricle, feeling that it was easier to maneouver as they reconnoitered the neighbourhood. They saw plenty of coaches, most with only their drivers and a footman or two, at the curbs. They questioned the servants. How long had they been there? Who was their master? Who were they visiting? Nothing suspicious was uncovered.

  They stopped many a coach on the street, forcing them to a halt to avoid a collision by slowly crowding them out of space. This elicited no small reproof from the occupants until they saw who it was and fell into awed silence instead. But no one fit the shadowy figures Mr. Mornay had glimpsed in the night. By one o’clock, as the roads grew crowded with the moving of the ton, it became near impossible to hope for success, and they returned to Merrilton House.

  Inside the long gallery, the talk returned to Miss Forsythe’s near disaster and what ladies must do to avoid such dangers. The overwhelming concurrence was that a lady must avoid being alone outdoors at all costs.

  Mr. Mornay made a mental note to speak with Mrs. Bentley. He decided, to be safe, he must ensure that Ariana wouldn’t be out of the chaperon’s sight for the next ten days. Surely that wasn’t asking too much. He couldn’t do it himself, or he’d go mad from proximity to her. Especially when she felt affectionate—he had to force his mind to behave, and not to think about what was beneath those beautifully fashionable gowns she wore.

  Somehow he had trained his mind not to contemplate the delights of woman. But that was before Ariana, before falling in love. He was a new man now, 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, even the idea of his future bride in his house was almost too happy a thought; it was no accident he was off at the fencing master's, followed by lunch with his friends at his favorite club when she toured his house. He didn't dare remain on the premises with her. The little blonde minx addled his brain and upset his customary detached attitude. He wanted nothing more than to be married to her—yesterday. Since society and good manners demanded he wait for the date set by Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe for their daughter, he would of course comply.

  Let Ariana keep herself occupied with whatever things women did before their marriage, while he would do the same. Ten days was really a short period of time, and he did not anticipate any problems.

  Mr. Mornay assigned the task of reaching Mrs. Tiernan to his steward, Mr. Horton. An intelligent man, he made short work of the business. He reported that Mrs. Tiernan was gratified for the opportunity to perform before the Regent and Princess Charlotte and would be available, asking only that Lord Merrilton would send an equipage to convey her there and back again.

  Little reminder cards were hastily sent out about Mayfair and its environs, as Lady Merrilton feared that the incident with Miss Forsythe might serve to discourage the more delicate ladies from venturing forth to her house. She needn’t have worried, however, as no one wanted to miss the princess.

  When Mr. Mornay saw the invitation he had a moment of indecision. Ariana adored Her Royal Highness, as most English subjects did. Moreover, she had enjoyed Mrs. Tiernan and recommended her to Lady Merrilton. She would want to attend the affair. It took him only a minute to realize he could not deprive her of the pleasure, and he sent round notice to Hanover Square that he would be escorting her. So much for maintaining his distance!

  Later that day, after sending notice ahead by messenger of their coming, Ariana and Mrs. Bentley stopped at Grosvenor Square. The chaperon had sent for a seamstress to take measurements in the master bedchamber for new matching counterpanes and drapery. Ariana made a quick detour to Mr. Mornay’s study. She had a small wad of correspondence in her reticule which she wished to leave with him, on top of which she had written in her best handwriting “Please read and consider. Thank you, dearest! Your Most Affectionate, Ariana.” She left them squarely in the middle of the desk. How utterly satisfying to know that she might help the worthy causes being brought to her attention!

  Back in the bedchamber, the seamstress asked about bed-curtains, pillows, a foot stool, and bench. If they were to match, she must know and measure accordingly.

  Bed curtains were considered a little old-fashioned by some, but they were charming, too, and Ariana felt aghast at sharing a bed with her husband in a house with so many servants (who might walk in when least expected!). She bespoke the curtains.

  Her own little escritoire from Chesterton had been delivered just that morning and placed in the room. It was evidently not so fine a piece as Ariana had always considered. It looked out of place. Mrs. Bentley’s decided opinion was that it had to go. Ariana’s opinion was that it had to go elsewhere but not from the house. A footman was sent off to procure a furniture maker’s catalogue. No merchant in London would mind parting with a catalogue for the Paragon’s establishment.

  Mrs. Bentley’s true aim was merely to keep the girl occupied and beneath her eye. Moreover, she enjoyed the townhouse, and the fact that she was privy to its secrets now that her niece was to become its mistress.

  Mr. Mornay, upon receiving word of their coming, had also got word from Westonʼs that his new coat—the one he would wear for the ceremony—was ready for a fitting, and he gladly went. He'd give Westonʼs as good a fitting as he ever had rather than stay home to greet his artlessly beguiling love. 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 grey Arabian he wanted was only available because its owner had
lost a formidable fortune at cards, and hoped to make it up by the sale of 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, or without procuring the opinion of his head-groom, Quibb. Ariana and her aunt were therefore to have the house to themselves all afternoon, and he wouldn’t give them another thought—lest he concede that he was in the pitiable condition of being a lovesick fool!

  He’d searched his brain and could remember when he’d seen other men stricken by the anguish of loving a woman, heart, soul and body, so that waiting was torturous. He’d thought them idiotic, besotted fools. And now (it was no use denying) he was one of ‘em. No reason why all of London had to know it, however.

  He recognized the irony of his behaviour: 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.

  Ariana, meanwhile, was struck by a bittersweet longing by the mere fact of being surrounded by the belongings of her future husband. A joy and an ache, at the same time. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d been there with her friends on Monday. Now, it struck her forcefully at every turn.

  She hadn’t anticipated the sudden strong shafts of affection that would strike her merely at the thought of him. She lingered by the wardrobe, tempted to run her hands through the clothing he wore—indeed, might have worn just yesterday. She touched, sniffed, and stroked pillows and draperies. She stopped and studied every painting, roundel and fresco in the vicinity, marveling that Phillip had surely done so at some time or other. Everything she saw, he had seen. All that she was now admiring, he had either introduced to the house or seen fit to maintain.