The House in Grosvenor Square

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Her aunt, however, was up to the task. Mrs. Bentley chose an ivory silk gown, as well as the accoutrements to match. Once it was all laid out and ready, Ariana had only to wait for the evening to arrive.

  As was rapidly becoming her habit (and to keep herself occupied) she decided to stop by the house in Grosvenor Square. She felt a compulsion to be there, not so much due to a growing familiarity with the place as out of a nagging fear that she might have ruined it! Mrs. Bentley had squirreled off into her study to go over kitchen menus and shopping orders with Mrs. Ruskin, so Ariana took a footman and set out for the house. It was a beautiful day for a walk.

  The street had a few pedestrians, and various carts, carriages, or servants on errands. Street-hawkers were much discouraged in Mayfair, but here and there one stood, beside a basket or cart holding wares for sale. She bought an orange from a girl, wishing she could allow her to keep the change, but it was all the money she had. A black coach came down the street and slowed as it approached her, but Ariana was occupied with the girl, and didn’t notice it.

  It rolled to a stop directly across from them.

  Ariana’s footman, Joe, came to attention. He hastened his steps so that he stood protectively beside his young mistress, between her and the street. Word had reached the servants, as it always did, of what had befallen her earlier that week. Mrs. Bentley had also warned them to be on their guard and so Joe felt particularly protective of the young miss. He watched with wide eyes, but no one came forth from the vehicle. Finally he had to speak up. “Mum,” he said, making Ariana look up in surprise, just as she put away her change.

  “What is it, Joe?”

  “That carriage across the way.” He never took his eyes off the coach. “Shabby, ain’t it? Just as the one what tried to take you, mum.”

  She looked across the street and saw a number of dark coaches and carriages. Having no wish for another fright, she gathered her skirt in one hand. “Let us hurry, then! I’ll be safe at Grosvenor Square!”

  “Wait. I know a roundabouts way; they can’t follow ye this way, mum.”

  As the footman most called upon to carry messages to and from Aunt Bentley around Mayfair, Joe knew the back alleys and hidden lanes. He hurried Ariana past Little Brook Street and across Bond, past the Venison Yard and South Molton Street. They turned right onto the very narrow South Molton Lane, walked for a short distance and turned west into a mews with a sign that read, “Little Brooks Mews.”

  When they came out onto Davies Street, the footman put out an arm to stop her and took a good look up and down the street. He motioned her to follow him across Davies at the soonest opening of traffic. Once safely across, they ducked down a stable yard, crossed an empty lot, and went into another stable yard.

  Ariana was growing doubtful of the wisdom of the route. She was wearing simple slippers, not half boots or walking shoes. Moreover, it seemed to smack of disrepute, following a servant in a furtive manner, and she had seen some people staring at her already. I must be quite a sight, passing through stables in afternoon dress, she thought. If only she’d had on a riding habit, it wouldn’t have appeared half so odd.

  They were getting closer to Grosvenor Square, however, and so she slogged on, eager to get there. Coming out on James Street, they turned south to Chandler and headed west to Duke. Finally they were heading towards the Square, going north on Duke Street. Ariana was convinced they must have discovered the longest route to Grosvenor Square from her aunt’s house that existed. Joe meant well and had her safety in mind, but she would welcome a rest when she reached her future home.

  Lord Wingate peered out the window of his shabby carriage—a secondhand equipage that he’d won at cards—and watched while a liveried servant rounded the corner with Miss Forsythe behind him. He snickered. The idiotic servant had no doubt taken the lady on a circumbendibus route with the intention of hiding her from them. All he’d had to do was stop his coach at the Square—and wait. He’d been guessing she was en route to her fiancé’s home, and he’d been right.

  The Square was nice and quiet. “Here they are, now.”

  His brother nodded. “I see them.”

  Wingate quickly unwrapped his neckcloth—he’d need it to keep the chit quiet—and held it, turning and twisting it in his hands with anticipation as he watched their approach. Just then, the footman noticed the carriage and Wingate pulled his head back sharply to stay out of view, hissing at the same time, “He’s noted us!”

  In another second, three carriages turned onto the square, moving slowly and blocking their view of the pair. The carriages stopped right there in the road, and still Wingate couldn’t see his prey. Evidently, Derby House, the residence next door to Mornay’s establishment, was receiving guests. The door opened and a butler came out, followed by two footmen. A groom appeared for the horses. People stepped down from the carriages, and there was Miss Forsythe—stopping to greet an acquaintance. Wingate stifled an oath, his hands gripping the cloth in frustration.

  Joe had a wary eye on their carriage. Wingate had to sit his gaunt frame as far back into the squabs as the cushions would allow to remain hidden.

  Miss Forsythe moved on. The butler at number 25 opened the door, and she was inside. The servant, after settling a last, suspicious glance at them, went below stairs to the kitchens.

  “Devil take it! We’ve bungled that chance, and that deuced footman is going to leak our presence!” He sullenly kicked the wall of the carriage and they started off.

  “There’ll be another time,” said Antoine, who was secretly relieved. His heart was still not in this business. He’d tried to put himself into it. He’d come along to help, but no sense denyin’ it, he wanted nothing more to do with the scheme. With any luck, Miss Forsythe would be married and gone from London before his brother was able to fulfill his plans. But of course, he’d never had any luck.

  Never.

  Ariana was relieved to enter the house, but not because she was convinced of danger without. She was tired. Her slippers were somewhat muddy—thanks to all the horse yards and mews they’d been through—and she hoped she had not picked up an odour. When she stepped inside, Frederick said, “This way, ma’am; I’ll inform the master,” with a little nod.

  “Oh!” She rippled with unexpected pleasure, not having thought to find Mr. Mornay home. But she stopped to dash into the dining room for a peek. And one peek was enough to send her scurrying back toward the staircase. The upheaval in the room hadn’t improved.

  Mr. Mornay met her at the top of the stairs. He had successfully kept himself elsewhere during her previous visits, and he seemed equally surprised as she to have encountered her here now. His admiring expression underwent a speedy transformation as he bowed, kissed her hand, and spotted her slippers. He gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing except to ask her to step into the study with him for a minute. He held her hand as they descended the steps. She studied him—she could never tire of doing so, it seemed.

  “I would not have come, if I had known you were at home.”

  “I can believe that.” His eyes sparkled, and that near smile was on his mouth.

  He opened the door for her, and she, looking at him with a curious expression, entered the room. She wondered if he wished to discuss the charitable concerns she had left on his desk. He made a gesture for her to sit in a comfortable wing chair, and he took a position against the adjacent one, studying her, his arms folded across his chest.

  She folded her hands upon her lap, and just looked at him with her large, pretty eyes.

  He had to smile.

  “What is it?” she asked, smiling back at him.

  “You are enormously pretty, and since I hadn’t thought to lay eyes on you until this evening, I am enjoying the unexpected pleasure.”

  Her smile broadened. “Thank you.”

  “You also appear to be in high spirits today.”

  “I believe I am, sir.”

  He sniffed, and his eyes narrowed.

 
With a blush, she admitted, “I followed Joe, our footman, here, and he took me off the street, and we passed through horse yards, and—”

  “What?”

  “He saw a shabby-looking carriage on Little Brook Street. I didn’t see it, but Mrs. Bentley warned all the servants to keep a sharp eye out—”

  Mr. Mornay came sharply to attention. “Where? Was it following you? Where is your footman? Stay here!” And he disappeared. Ariana frowned. Here she had found him home, and now he was gone already. She hoped he wouldn’t be long. She looked around and saw the family Bible, open on his desk. Her heart warmed. Phillip had been reading or studying it. Good. Rising and going round the desk, she saw there was also a book by Martin Luther, Table Talk. She picked it up and went back to her chair resignedly. She might as well do some reading.

  Lord Antoine wanted a diversion. He was absent-mindedly watching passersby from the carriage as they returned to the East End, considering stopping by one of his favourite lower-class haunts, a tavern called The Black Bear. Suddenly he noticed a young man on the pavement who looked familiar. It was Chesley. Harold Chesley.

  He kicked the wall of the coach, and it began to slow.

  “What the devil are you doing?”

  Holliwell looked at his brother. “I’m leaving.” He prepared to exit the carriage as soon it stopped.

  His brother, the jaded aristocrat, put his head back, yawning. “Do as you like. Just find me later and don’t get too deep in your cups to be of any use to me. The Forsythe chit ain’t keepin’ to her house, at least, so we should have another opportunity soon enough.”

  “Right.” Holliwell jumped out of the carriage and hurried back the way he’d seen Chesley going. “Ho, Chesley!”

  The man stopped and turned, and recognized Lord Antoine. He smiled and waved.

  When Mr. Mornay was satisfied there was nothing further to pursue regarding the mysterious black coach Joe had seen, he returned to the study. He had gone outside and looked warily all around the square—as much as he could see of it—but saw nothing fitting the description of a shabby black equipage with sorry-looking horses.

  Ariana shut the book. “I don’t believe Mr. Luther is quite fit for ladies.” She had read some rather shocking quotes from the man.

  Mr. Mornay smiled. “Not that book, but other of his works would meet with your approval, I am sure.”

  “He was rather—” she hated to say it— “crude, was he not?”

  “Perhaps earthy would be the kinder word.” He grinned and gently eased the book from her hands and put it back on his desk. He turned again and surveyed her thoughtfully.

  “Did you see the carriage?” she asked.

  “No.” His look changed. He went behind the desk and returned holding the ink-stained garment.

  Her face changed to puzzlement. “What on earth happened?” she asked, looking up at him blankly. “Is this yours?”

  It is.”

  “I’m sorry for you.” Her eyes sparkled, however, and her mouth quivered—for she had a terrible urge to laugh. The very idea of Mr. Mornay making such a mess! It was almost inconceivable.

  He was looking at her intently and asked, surprised, “Are you endeavouring not to laugh?”

  She stared at him, trying to hide her amusement—but then sputtered into laughter, holding her stomach and almost doubling over. “I’m sorry!” she gasped. “But I cannot conceive how you—you! Could have made such a disaster!”

  He set the shirt on his desk and then held out his hands to her. “Come here. You naughty girl.” He ended up pulling her from the seat, and then he drew her to him and kissed her soundly.

  Afterwards, with her arms about his neck, she asked, “How did it happen?”

  “’Tis of no consequence.”

  “Of no consequence? After you took the trouble to show it to me?” He pulled her very close again, and would have kissed her, but Ariana drew her head back. “My dear sir, I must remind you of your good intentions to maintain a proper distance between us.”

  But even as she spoke, he began to kiss her face and nose and cheeks, and she couldn’t help giggling.

  Then he kissed her mouth, with a lingering kiss. His dark hair made a sharp contrast to her golden ringlets held up with pins and adorned with a wide taffeta ribbon and one small ostrich plume.

  Afterwards, still holding her, he asked, “What were you about, looking in my wardrobe, yesterday?”

  She pushed apart from him and her eyes fell upon the ruined shirt. “You think I did that! That I would be so careless as to—”

  “No, I don’t think you did it. But you must see the uncanny coincidence of your having been seen in the vicinity of my clothing, and the fact that this shirt was later found in this condition.” She stared at him. It did seem incriminating. She had no answer.

  “So tell me...what brought you there?”

  Ariana’s eyes dropped as she thought how to answer. “I was merely...curious.”

  “Curious? About a man’s clothing?” It was his turn to be amused. “About what, in particular, may I ask?”

  She blushed and sighed. “I merely wanted…I wanted to touch your things.” She suddenly remembered Mrs. Bentley’s distrust of Mrs. Hamilton. “Who found your shirt, may I ask?”

  “Fotch did, of course. He tends to my wardrobe exclusively.”

  She gave him a very concerned look, blushing afresh, and looked away and then back again. If she hadn’t looked so adorably confused, he might have taken her reaction as an admission of guilt, but he knew better.

  “Can there be an explanation, such as an accident?” Perplexity was reflected in her large eyes, as sparks of colour surfaced in them, as happened when her feelings were provoked.

  He studied her for a moment. “Could you have caused an accident? Don’t be alarmed, I shan’t be cross with you.” He smiled.

  “I am not in the habit of carrying ink with me! And you need not speak to me as though I am a child. I remind you that I am not too young to be your wife!” She pressed her lips together in indignation. “You do think I did that!”

  “I don’t.”

  She searched his face.

  He smiled gently. “Well, perhaps for a second or two, I might have. But I knew 'twas unlikely.”

  “Indeed!”

  “But tell me what you were up to—”

  “What was I doing? As I said; I was just...enjoying...being near your things.” She blushed and looked away from him, remembering. “I could smell your snuff …it was like smelling you.”

  His eyebrows rose. Her took her into another tight embrace and kissed her once more.

  “You are my angel!”

  “I look forward to being yours,” she said, and then blushed freshly with mortification, pulling away from him with haste. What a thing to have said! He is bound to think I meant—

  He knew she had not meant it that way, but couldn’t help, nevertheless, engaging her in another soulful kiss. Ariana pushed herself from him. “We must go to a public room!”

  He reluctantly released her. At that moment she spotted the correspondence she had left him, sitting in a neat pile on one corner of his desk.

  He saw the direction of her gaze. “Yes, we will discuss those but not now.”

  She tried to read his features. “Please, let us talk of them today. I am so eager to—”

  “You are eager to support every charity in England, I think.”

  She did not contradict his exaggeration. Adding to his conviction, she said, “And missionaries, you must know.”

  “I don’t doubt it!”

  She smiled gently. “Have you looked them over?”

  “I have; and if you must know, I will not support workhouses of any sort; they are heartless places, keeping people barely alive while they work them to the bone, and at useless endeavours like the tread mill. They ought to be abolished!”

  She opened her mouth a little in surprise, speechless for a moment. Finally she replied, “Which is all the mor
e reason to help them—with proper support they would be more generous to their inmates; kinder in their treatment.”

  “Unless there is a law to ensure it, Ariana, it would be foolish to expect it.”

  “I see,” she said, realizing suddenly that what he said was undoubtedly true. “Very well, but can we visit these places so that I may see for myself what their manner of operation is?”

  “I assure you, it will not be to your liking.”

  Her eyes clouded in concern. He added, “If you insist upon it, when there is time after our marriage, we may see one. There is a workhouse not half a mile from Aspindon. I own a little property, a sheep farm, not far from it, in fact.”

  She gave him a little smile. “Very well. But what of that second school for orphans? May we support that good cause?”

  “I already sent something on your account.”

  “You are so good to me, sir!”

  He smiled, and took her back in his arms. He went to kiss her, but she ended it quickly and rested her head against him. “I daresay your servants are already scandalized at our being alone in this room,” she uttered into his shoulder.

  “Not at all,” he said, though inwardly he knew his behaviour was less than sterling. This was exactly why, except for the coming evening, he needed to renew his efforts at keeping apart from Ariana until the wedding. But then he remembered there was still another matter he hadn’t yet broached. He moved her gently from his embrace to see into her eyes. “Before we go, I need to mention that, since you’ve been coming by the house, a number of items have gone missing.”

  Ariana’s face registered stark amazement. “Do your servants actually count your handkerchiefs?”