The House in Grosvenor Square

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “What I’ve become, sir, is sober.” The brothers stared at each other, and Wingate’s glare lost just a token of its strength. Antoine’s eyes were calmer, but with a firm resolve in them that did not portent well for his brother. “What is your next move?” the younger one asked.

  There was a moment of wary silence, and then, “I’m off to Hanover Square.” Wingate’s tone was grim. “If I have to wait a fortnight by her house, I’ll do it until I get that blonde mort!”

  “What if Mornay sees you hanging about?”

  “What’s that to me? He knows nothing of my plans. He and I have some old business, but I doubt he’ll be eager to face off on it. Probably forgot all about it, though I have not.”

  Lord Antoine was silent for a few moments. “This is why you took up ‘my’ cause to begin with. To revenge yourself on the man.”

  “Don’t be a gudgeon. I’d always intended on revenge, but your little matter clinched it.” He drank down his pint and wiped his mouth and turned to go. “It’s not too late, Antoine. I’m going to win this time. I’ll have Mornay on his knees!”

  The younger man had taken his seat. He watched the other, but did not reply.

  Wingate seemed reluctant to leave. Antoine, after all, was the only family he had. The rest had done with him long ago. He was no longer welcome in any of their homes. “Do not abandon me, Antoine.” There was a hint of a plea in his tone, spoken more softly than usual. This did have its effect, and the younger man rose and went and stood in front of his brother.

  “Give up your revenge!” His tone was heartfelt. “Let us think of a better way to regain our fortune.”

  Lord Wingate snorted in derision. “There is no better way.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll ask you once more. Come with me, and let us do this thing together. We can get your Miss Herley, leaving her no recourse but to marry you if her virtue is compromised.” His glittering eyes stared at his brother. But Antoine’s look became determined. Without a word, he turned and went back to his seat. It was not easy for him to walk away from Julian but he felt it was absolutely necessary. He might have ruined his young life with dissipation and keeping poor company, but he was not lost entirely to his conscience. He was not such a cove that he’d participate in this addle-brained idea of revenge. And he would sooner lose Lavinia than sully her! Julian evidently knew nothing of love.

  Lord Antoine had gone against his better judgment from the beginning. He may have been reckless and selfish, but not so much a son of Lucifer that he could terrify a young lady of good character for a dastardly purpose. Mr. Mornay had only done what any upstanding person would, in his place. He’d been right to warn the Herley’s, dash it! And he had no one to blame for his being right except himself.

  Lord Wingate released a torrent of oaths at his brother’s back before finally leaving. As soon as he stepped out of doors he saw a man he knew he could hire for his cause, and in a few minutes had done so. A short time later they found a carriage at the curb and persuaded the coachman to abandon it by brandishing pistols in his face. Soon he was heading once more to Hanover Square, his mind set on extortion more than ever.

  He was in a rage over Antoine’s betrayal. He let his head fall back—he had to think, think! In minutes, he realized that his brother’s assistance was not vital for his plan to work. He had a little money left; enough to pay his new “coachman” to help him confiscate the girl. Once he had Miss Forsythe in his power, he was certain that getting Mr. Mornay to open his purse would be a simple matter. His brother was a cork-brained idiot, and when the deed was done, he’d give him nothing of his earnings. Not a shilling.

  Mrs. Bentley was not comfortable with Mornay’s decision to keep Ariana beneath his roof. She wished she had gone along as chaperon but knew it would have meant no sleep for her. She was utterly fagged, and could not countenance giving up her home. But she had sent for Miss Herley. With a respectable young woman as chaperon for her niece, there would be no question of impropriety.

  Haines had gone himself to fetch Miss Herley. He had orders to say that Mr. Mornay had requested the girl for the sake of his future wife. Mrs. Bentley dozed fitfully in a chair in the parlour, for she wanted to see Lavinia before sending her off to Grosvenor Square. The young woman had to understand the utter seriousness of what was expected of her.

  The Paragon had sent for their Lavinia? What could be afoot? How exciting it seemed to the family to be summoned by such a personage. Lavinia was speedily dressed, her things packed, and on her way to Hanover Square in little more than an hour.

  She had no sooner entered and was standing in the hall removing a light shawl from over her head when Mrs. Bentley came towards her from the stairs, saying, “Do not remove your shawl, Miss Herley.” She seemed a bit breathless as she came to meet the girl. “Mr. Mornay has taken Ariana to Grosvenor Square—you must join her there. You are to be a companion to her—a chaperon, actually, and on the way there, I will tell you everything you must know to do it properly.”

  Miss Herley stood there blinking. “A chaperon? Me? But you are also coming?”

  “I am only coming along to see with my own eyes that you get there, my gel. After that, I am returning to my house and going to bed directly!” She turned to Haines who was standing nearby. “I hope you did not send the carriage to the mews. We must take Miss Herley to Ariana.”

  “The coach awaits, ma’am.”

  “Good. I have had precious little sleep this night—all worry and vexation!—and I am determined to get my rest later. That is why we called for you, Miss Herley. I cannot be Miss Forsythe’s chaperon at Grosvenor Square. I can only rest in my own bed. She must have you.” She had finished tying on her bonnet, and said, “Come! Let us go.”

  “I do not understand,” said the young woman, as they left the house. “Why has Mr. Mornay taken Ariana to his house?”

  “Oh, my word! You haven’t heard! Come, come, into the carriage, and I shall tell you all.”

  Inside the vehicle, Mrs. Bentley said, “I am grateful to you for being available, I must say.”

  “Not at all,” Miss Herley replied, politely. “I am happy to do anything for Ariana.” She had draped her shawl back around her head, as she often did when trying to preserve an especially nice hair design. Last night’s card party had given her mamma incentive to have Lavinia’s hair done. A local noblewoman allowed her best lady’s maid, who was exceedingly talented with regard to the latest styles, to be hired out. And a good shawl around one’s head, Lavinia had learned, helped much to maintain the style far better than a bonnet, which rested more heavily upon one’s hair.

  “You see, it is like this,” Mrs. Bentley said. “Ariana was abducted last night!”

  Lavinia gasped. “What! How?”

  “Oh, I don’t know the particulars yet myself. Someone named Wingate was behind it, I think.” Miss Herley’s features froze. Lord Wingate was Antoine’s brother! Could it be the self-same man she referred to? But why would he do such a thing?

  Mrs. Bentley noted her expression, but misinterpreted it. “Yes, exceedingly horrid, isn’t it?”

  “Upon my soul, yes!” Lavinia couldn’t have meant it more. “Was Miss Forsythe harmed in the least?” she asked with great trepidation.

  “Not bodily, though she swooned, you know, for the first time in her life!”

  “Perfectly understandable!”

  “Indeed! But this is not to the point. Since I am not able to stay at Grosvenor Square with her your presence is necessary so that there is no question of impropriety. Mr. Mornay could not feel that Ariana was quite safe with me, though I daresay she would have been—why do men take these strong notions into their heads? But the thing is, you must rise above the call of mere friendship and be a companion, a chaperon. As such, you must not go traipsing about town nor doing anything apart from Ariana. She is to stay close to the house. But her staying there, in the house of her betrothed before the wedding, is rather extraordinary, so every effort must be made to ensure
there is no hint of scandal.

  She stopped suddenly and looked questioningly at Lavinia. “Do you think you can manage this?”

  Miss Herley had been listening intently. “Of course.” She was taken aback by the question. Why shouldn’t she manage? Ariana was not some spoilt child to give her difficulty. “I see no reason why I should have any difficulty whatsoever, Mrs. Bentley.”

  “Very good. That is precisely what I hoped to hear from you.”

  They were just nearing the Square, at the end of Upper Brook Street when a carriage shot out rather suddenly and then had the audacity to block the intersection. Since the roads were uncommonly empty at this hour Haines hurriedly reined in the horses but gave his most disdainful look to the driver of the other vehicle, who must be a poor coachman indeed. To his surprise, a man exited the carriage and came towards him.

  His clothing was questionable, but in an aristocratic tone, he said, “I say, but this is Mrs. Bentley’s coach, is it not?” Haines’s look changed to one of wary curiosity. “It is.”

  “Excellent. Can you wait while I have a word with your mistress?”

  Haines glanced at the carriage in his path. “I have no choice but to do so, sir.”

  The man smiled. “Indeed, no, you do not.”

  He moved on to the door of Mrs. Bentley’s carriage, where she had been looking out the window wondering what on earth was holding them up. Giving her his most charming smile, he opened the door, and said, “Mrs. Bentley, I beg your pardon, I’ll only take a minute of your time.”

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” she demanded. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it right at her heart, saying, “I am a man who has been wronged, and what I want is this young woman.” He looked at Lavinia. “Come with me this minute, or this old lady dies!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Miss Herley was too agog for a moment to move or do as he said despite the very real pistol which was pointing at Mrs. Bentley. She merely grasped the ends of her shawl at her neck as if for strength, and swallowed.

  The older woman, from the moment she saw the barrel of the weapon aimed at her heart, was filled with a sickening feeling. She had just been about to open the door of the carriage to give Haines a good comb for stalling the carriage when the man had appeared at the window.

  She stared down the barrel of his gun, and the sickening feeling grew worse. Violently worse. My word, I am going to be shot! she thought.

  And then all went black.

  Lavinia gasped when Mrs. Bentley slumped over, but the man said, “Come, come, we haven’t got all day!” As she moved towards the door, he said, “Now wear a smile, and keep it on until I tell you otherwise.” There were few people of quality about Mayfair in the early morning—the ton stayed out late and slept in—but a few coaches had come up and were beginning to cause a crush.

  When Wingate’s coachman saw him leave the plush carriage with the young woman, he moved his equipage out of the way, pulling it to the curb.

  Haines, meanwhile, had grown suspicious. He couldn’t release the horses, couldn’t abandon his perch atop the board, or he would have climbed down to check on his mistress. Bad luck that he hadn’t brought a footman along! He sat there debating what to do and then saw as Miss Herley and that shabby gentleman began to cross the road towards the other equipage.

  As he watched, Lavinia turned and gave him a look of utter distress. It was enough. He had taken the precaution of bringing a pistol with him and now pulled it from his pocket.

  Lord Wingate moved Lavinia along but stayed close to her, keeping the pistol pointed at her side. Haines was not fluent with the use of weapons, and though he’d drawn the firearm, could not risk missing his target. He had to lower it. Watching the couple leave, he grew angry. He pointed his gun at the air and fired a report! He jumped at the loud noise, and the ensuing panic on the street unfortunately only resulted in giving the criminal even more freedom to hurry his victim along.

  Haines cracked his whip, intending to waylay the other vehicle and perhaps stop this outrage. But then something happened that made him turn off Upper Brook Street instead. As he approached the rogue’s coach, the man with the pistol pushed Miss Herley into it, and then turned and pointed his weapon straight at Haines, approaching head-on! With eyes widened with fear, the butler turned the equipage so that it was now on Grosvenor Square. He sighed with relief, though it was only a partial relief. Miss Herley had been nabbed right from under his nose, and he had still to ascertain that his mistress was safe.

  To the footman who came forth from House Number 25, he yelled, “Move sharply! Take the ribbons!” And he jumped down hastily and opened the carriage door. For a moment, he froze with dread. There was Mrs. Bentley, slumped on the seat unconscious! Was she dead? Haines was all aflutter, but he had the presence of mind to feel for a pulse and found one.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Someone inside ran for smelling salts and soon Mrs. Bentley came to with a start, saying, “What! What happened?” Then she remembered. Seeing no sign of Miss Herley, she seemed ready to faint again. Haines had to insist that Mr. Mornay be summoned. Freddy at first refused to wake the master who had only just agreed to get some rest. But Haines reminded him in no uncertain terms that Mrs. Bentley was the relation of his future mistress. Not only that but Mr. Mornay had sent for Miss Herley, who was now abducted!

  In minutes Mr. Mornay came rushing out still buttoning his shirt—extraordinary for the Paragon—and found Mrs. Bentley with her head in her hands, sitting in the carriage rocking with regret.

  “Oh, my soul! Miss Herley abducted! Right from my own carriage! Her parents will blame me, I warrant! That odious man had a pistol!”

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” said Mr. Mornay, in a firm tone. But Mrs. Bentley was near hysterics. She spied Haines behind the Paragon and cried, “Haines! Take me home! On the double!”

  “Ma’am, Mr. Mornay is here.”

  “Haines, are you quite deaf? I want to go to my house, now!”

  Under normal circumstances such a reprimand might have made the butler stiffen with wounded pride, but he merely closed the door to the coach for his mistress with a slight sense of relief. Mrs. Bentley was returning to her usual self.

  He gave the quickest explanation possible to Mr. Mornay and then took Mrs. Bentley home.

  “What do you want from me?” Lavinia was endeavouring not to cry. She had just learned that her dear friend had been abducted the night before, and now it was happening to her! Why should it be so? It was absurd, but it was true! She remembered that Lord Wingate had been named as the perpetrator, and she wondered now if it was him whom she was dealing with.

  Lavinia knew she was not equal to this: Ariana had somehow survived her ordeal, and was safe again. But how could she, Lavinia, hope to do the same? She did not have Ariana’s pluck—or faith.

  An hour earlier when Mr. Mornay sank into bed, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tired. He needed to know what Wingate’s motives were. Was it indeed revenge? He’d never given much thought as to whether his curmudgeonly ways were creating enemies—he hadn’t cared. But now it mattered. Now it involved Ariana. If there was something in his power he could do in order to make things right with the man, he needed to find out what it was. If not, the man needed to be arrested at once.

  It seemed only seconds has passed when a firm knock at the door was followed by Freddy's entrance. He approached the bed. “Sir, I beg your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Bentley was on her way here when her carriage fell into mischief. She requires seeing you at once, sir.”

  It took a few seconds for Mornay's groggy brain to come awake. “Mischief? Has Miss Herley arrived?” he asked.

  “No, sir. Miss Herley has been abducted.”

  “What! Miss Herley?”

  “On her way here, sir.”

  “Where did it happen?” He was already out of bed and pulling on pantaloons, though his weariness from being up all night, and the worry concerning his bride, mad
e him feel as though he acted at a snail’s pace.

  “On Upper Brook Street, sir.”

  With a repressed oath, Mr. Mornay muttered, “Get my carriage ready; the closed curricle. Put a second footman outside the guest bedroom.” Frederick waited, recognizing when his master had not yet done issuing orders. “Be certain, if I delay long, not to allow Miss Forsythe to leave the premises. You must tell her that it is my express wish that she stay here until I return.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As an afterthought Mr. Mornay added, “Have Mrs. Hamilton keep company with her, if need be. I don’t want her alone for a second.” Mr. Mornay dressed so quickly that Fotch, arriving as hastily as he could, was unable to offer his services. The master had gone.

  He had checked that his pistol was loaded and ready for firing. He put it in a pocket of his coat, as well as a few extra bullets and his loading kit. When he saw the state of the unflappable Mrs. Bentley, however, his heart sank a little more. There could be no mistake that Wingate was serious. What really worried him was the thought that Miss Herley had probably been mistaken for Miss Forsythe. In which case, it was his beloved they were really after.

  It was his beloved that he must never allow them to get.

  Once safely inside her own house, Mrs. Bentley made her way to the ground floor sitting room—she was too weak to reach her chamber—and the nearest sofa. Haines quickly put a groom in charge of the coach and horses and hurried into the house after her.

  He sent one footman for a physician, another for Mr. Pellham. Mr. Mornay had told him to send for the local constable and the nearest beadle, which he did. The Paragon had also told him to send messages to the homes of the night watchmen, and the known charleys. Even the rare policeman might be around, and should be sent for. Haines sent for anyone he could think of sending for until nearly every servant employed at Hanover Square save Cook and the scullery maids were to be found running on the streets of Mayfair in search of some personage or other.