Frederick entered the room and then escorted him to the ground floor office where his lordship, after giving only the most cursory reading of the papers, signed them instantly. Afterward he was congratulated by the solicitor on a most excellent arragement. Soon the solicitor handed Mr. Mornay a few envelopes, saying, “These are your copies, sir.”
“Much obliged, Meyers.”
“My pleasure, sir. 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.”
When he had gone, Lord Antoine was left alone with his benefactor. The men eyed each other for a moment. Lord Antoine felt suddenly shy of the giant before him.
“May I take that letter now, sir?” For Mr. Mornay had written it while Mr. Meyers had drawn up the contract.
“Shortly. We have some business together. Part of the conditions, if you recall.”
Holliwell looked down, as if he was embarrassed. “Today, then?”
“Yes, but we'll go to my study.”
“To pray?” The young man lifted his head when he spoke.
“We need to talk, I think.” As the men stood to leave the office, Mr. Mornay asked, “Tell me, Antoine, what do you believe about religion?”
Chapter Thirty
Late afternoon the next day, which was a day before his wedding, Mr. Mornay answered the royal summons, bowing politely to the Prince Regent upon his arrival at Carlton House.
“Ah, here you are, then. I know your wedding’s tomorrow, I won’t keep you.” He motioned him to take a seat. They were in the beautiful gardens behind the mansion which the prince had recently commissioned Nash, one of his favourite architects, to transfigure. His Royal Highness spent the next minutes describing more new wonders which were to come. Mornay nodded politely, though he would as soon be spared the narrative. Prinny was always changing things at great expense which 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 over-hasty. 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 guard 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 hey-day 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’re 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, perhaps; 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 ʼLords, actually.” Mornay just looked at him. What on earth was he talking about? “You said a baronetcy—that won’t give me a seat—”
“No, I’ve thought better of it. A barony.”
Mr. Mornay gave a large sigh, to which the prince replied, “Good heavens! You’d think I’d just promised to hang you!” He took a sip of wine, given him by a liveried footman. “I hoped you would consider this quite the honour.”
“My wedding is tomorrow. I have quite enough to think about right now.”
“Well, it would please us if you think about this one thing more.”
He had used the royal ‘we.’ Mornay saw that he’d irked the prince—but what could he do?
“Dash it, you’ve got your bride,” the prince added, “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. 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, who instantly put a glass of some liquid before him. Taking it up, he looked at the Regent. “To my bride.”
Prinny smiled. 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. “I beg your leave, Sir. 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’ll have the papers drawn up. I am depending upon you to take a seat in the ‘Lords for me.”
“I have never expressed the least inclination to do so!”
“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. My daughter has promised to attend, 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 had her family around her at Hanover Square and could not erase a pleased smile from her face as she sat in the parlour with them and listened to their banter. Alb
erta, who was Mrs. Norledge now, and her new husband, Johnathan, sat side by side. Beatrice, whom Mrs. Bentley had summoned from the O’Brien’s, and Lucy with mamma and papa—all there for her wedding.
Mr. Timmons, the rector from her hometown of Chesterton, had also come to Mayfair with the family. It was he more than anyone who had spent hours expounding the text of various books on religion with Mr. Mornay. He had read through the book of Romans with the man almost verse by verse, and later 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 on to Ariana’s gown, or stealing yet another biscuit from a tray; in all having as much fun as any six year old could hope to. Beatrice was regaling her mamma 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 newfound intimacy. By contrast, Miss Herley and Lord Antoine sat inches apart, with eyes only for each other. Ariana wished for Phillip’s closeness. He was the only one missing from this perfect gathering.
Lord Antoine had told her that Mr. Mornay had been summoned to Carlton House—again. Would the Regent always be stealing him from her? And how long was his presence required?
Supper was ended, and she had wanted him to be with her—she was so proud of him, and longed for 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 mamma said, with a happy sadness that only a mother could understand. Her papa saw it too. Ariana suspected it was because she was a woman in love—and 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 the exciting news that Princess Charlotte herself had sent word that she would attend the wedding!
Such an honour, it was!
Mrs. Forsythe, upon hearing it, had tears in her eyes. The princess at her own child’s wedding! Mr. Timmons was as impressed as anyone, but he was 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 assess Mr. Mornay’s condition with regard to the faith. Weeks had passed since Mr. Mornay had fallen to his knees on the lawn at Mr. Timmons’ house and recited the sinner’s 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’ tutelage. He had a personal interest in his spiritual welfare, therefore, besides an enormous liking and respect for the man. His was the only other face to frown this evening besides Ariana’s, therefore. He hoped Mornay hadn’t 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 sight of Mornay, they halted.
“Look! ‘Tis the man himself! Mornay, we’ve just been talkin’ about you.”
He folded his arms and gave a lazy, “Yes?”
“Doesn’t he cut a dash, tonight? Where’re you headed, eh?” The men grouped around him. “Come, come, do tell. You’re all the go, ain’t ya?”
He shrugged. “Saw Prinny straight from the tailor’s. Just a new coat, gentlemen.”
“‘Tis for his wedding, I warrant. That’s tommora, ain’t it?”
Without answering he took his watch from his fob and held it so he could read it.
“Wait a minute! We heard about Wingate taking the angel and all. Tell us about it, won’t ya?” When he didn’t answer immediately, the Duke of Grafton stepped forward. He smiled, and shook Phillip’s hand.
“Congratulations, old man! So tomorrow’s the big day is it?’
He smiled. “It is, Duke.”
“You have our sympathies,” he said, but he was smiling. His face grew more sober and he said, “I heard about Miss Forsythe’s unfortunate, ah, tete-a-tete with Wingate!” He sighed. “That man has been a terror for too long.”
“I agree entirely.”
“I’m glad it’s all worked out well, got her back unharmed, and all that.”
“I’d like to see Wingate hanging from a gibbet for his part in it, though.”
“I don’t doubt it!” He cocked an eye at him. “Hey, come along and we’ll talk more about it, eh? What can be done about that reprobate 'markee?' Transportation, at least, I don’t doubt.” He moved to take Phillip’s arm.
“Prime, we’ve got him!” someone snickered from behind them.
“Shut it, you dandy-prat!”
Mr. Mornay stopped. How idiotic was he? The men were evidently doing their best to sneak him into going along with them for a night’s entertainment. The night before his wedding. He had worked, it seemed, for a long time to reach this night. It felt in fact as though he had been waiting all his life for this. He wasn’t going to ruin it by wasting it among these empty garrets.
The duke was back before him. “Did I hear correctly, that you picked the brother—Holliwell, an’t it? From Newgate? What’s the story, there, eh? We thought the brothers were birds of a feather.”
“You’re trying to distract me Grafton; it won’t do.”
“No, no, no, I’m in earnest, sir, I need your answer on this.”
Mornay flicked a miniscule speck off his coat, and said, “Without Antoine Holliwell I would not have found Miss Forsythe so speedily. And he is a changed man. Reformed, if you like.”
Someone else interjected, “Not another reformed man! I remember when Wilberforce was a regular chap and look at him, now. All he talks of is abolition—or religion.”
The others laughed.
“Never become that sort of bore, Mornay!”
Phllip started to move on, but one said, “Come, gentlemen, he’s entering the parson’s mousetrap tomorrow! We can’t abandon ‘im to matrimony without a fight.”
“No, by Jove! Look here, Mornay. You’re about ta get leg-shackled, see? Planning a honeymoon, aren’t ya? Then it’ll be to Middlesex with you and the angel, and we won’t get to see ya before the season ends! It’s no good. You’ve got to come along—we just want ya for a little bit.”
“Let’s take ‘im to Boodle’s, gents! First a good supper, and then a rubber of cards, and—”
Mr. Mornay shook himself free. “Not this time. Go see Prinny for your supper, if you like, but I have an engagement.”
At that moment, Alvanley came out of Carlton House.
“Mornay! I just stopped at your house. I’ve got a message for you.”
“From?”
“From the angel. Says she understands completely, you’re to feel free to spend one last night with your friends.”
He almost grinned. They were trying so hard. “Alas, I am not available, gentlemen.” His voice was firm.
Brummell popped out of the circle. “Devilish unfriendly of you, Mornay. Do us the honour of a supper, at the very least. Your sainted bride will have you all for herself soon enough. Aren’t afraid of a woman’s wrath, are ya?” The men laughed.
“No, no, sir, it must be tonight! ʼTis the eve of your wedding! We must be allowed to commiserate—er, celebrate!—with you.”
Mr. Mornay looked around at the group. There were roughly fifteen men, all looking at him hopefully. He’d spent many a night with most of them. They’d spoken of politics, of Prinny, of England, of hunting, shooting and pugilism. Horses. Dogs. Agriculture. Napoleon. They were friends, even if more than a few were buffle-headed pigeons at times.
“Very well,” he started to say, when their immediate outburst of “Huzzahs!” forced him to silence. Holding up a hand, he shouted, “For a supper only, gentlemen! Then I must insist upon being off.” A fresh cheer went up and they started to move in on him, pushing him along toward someone’s gleaming coach. Mr. Mornay repressed a frown and refused to even contemplate the damage they were doing to his new coat.
“Married men in our society do not cease to associate with their friends because they are married. Nor do they give up their club memberships. I will not disappear into the netherworld, I promise you!”
“Not the netherworld. Just under the cat’s foot, is all, and we must have you now, while you’re still your own man!”
“Under the cat’s foot!” Worcester snorted a laugh.
“A mighty pretty cat, I’d say,” said another.
“Shut your bone-boxes!” shouted one man.
Mornay allowed himself to be carried along, for it was useless to protest, to a carriage where they finally hoisted him in with a jolly, “Heave Ho!”
Numerous men scrambled in after him. Alvanley jumped in and said, “Excellent! Well done, fellows! To Boodle’s, gentlemen, for the prince says he’ll join us. I’m all for getting foxed, tonight! Mornay is to be wed and we shall celebrate!”
The House in Grosvenor Square Page 34