Mr. Mornay looked over his paper enough to acknowledge that he had heard her question. “As it is your and my wife’s family, I think the two of you must decide upon it. As long as there are bedchambers enough,” he added, looking at Ariana, “you may fill them with guests as you please.”
“Thank you, darling,” she said, making Beatrice stifle a titter. Her sister and her husband were still inordinately romantic, to her mind. Good thing no one else was present save her mother! She would have been embarrassed for them in company.
“Shall I take the baby, Mama?” asked Ariana, for Miranda was beginning to fuss.
“I suppose she wants to be fed,” agreed her mother. Ariana nodded to a maid who was seated against the wall, who went and received the child from her grandmother and took her gingerly to her mama. Ariana’s eyes sparkled with happiness as she took her little girl. She murmured to the baby, by turns picking her up and kissing her face, and then just holding her in her arms and gazing at her in loving adoration. “I shan’t feed her yet,” she said. “She isn’t insisting upon it.”
Beatrice’s thoughts were still upon the diversions that would be possible with a large group staying at the house. “If they all come, can you and Mr. Mornay hold a ball, Ariana? Or, will you take me to London this year for the Season? Then I may go to as many balls as I like, and you will not have the expense of holding them!”
“If she takes you to London for the Season,” put in her mama, “she will have a great deal more expense than just that of a ball! Besides which, you are too young for such.”
Beatrice looked at her mama, her enthusiasm temporarily dampened. “But my sister sees I am older now,” she said, looking at Ariana with a silent plea in her gaze. “And I am not too young for a Season, according to the magazines. Many girls my age do have their coming-out, Mama!”
“Many gels,” she returned instantly, “have little sense, and their parents, no better; your papa and I did not allow either of your sisters to go about in society at your age. You have been already too indulged, if you ask me. London society is out of the question!”
Beatrice was now thoroughly dampened in her spirits, but she looked about and settled her eyes upon her brother-in-law. “I daresay Mr. Mornay has seen many a girl of my age—and younger—make their debut during the Season. And to no ill effect. Why, I am sure some of them have made the most brilliant matches! Many a man of good standing prefers a younger lady for his wife. You had ought to let me go while I am young enough to enjoy this advantage.”
Mr. Mornay was frowning behind his newspaper. He knew that his young relation wanted his support in the matter, but Mr. Mornay was assuredly not in the habit of coming to the aid of young women, particularly regarding a London Season. So he said nothing, though an ensuing silence in the room told him the ladies waited for his opinion.
Ariana, who knew better, offered, “Let us discuss it another time. There are months, yet, before the Season. And with Miranda so young, I cannot decide at this point, in any case.”
Beatrice, who had no idea she was treading on dangerous ground, said, “Only let Mr. Mornay tell us his thoughts! I know my mother will listen if you tell her, sir,” she said directly to him.
He put his paper down reluctantly, and then looked at Beatrice. “I think Ariana was young to face society at nineteen. At your age, you need to be sheltered, not put forth among the wolves.”
Her face fell so entirely, that he almost chuckled at it. “Why are you so eager for a Season?”
She smiled a little. This was better; he was inviting her to explain so that her mother could see the good advantage in it. “I have long lived with the memory of my sister’s tales of her experiences in London,” she said. “She met you there! Her coming out is what brought her to marriage, to Aspindon, to a better life! I have had my fill of Chesterton, I assure you! The prospects for marrying well in that region are as dismal as ever, if not worse,” she said. (Ariana closed her eyes at this; she could hardly bear to hear her sister telling all the reasons Phillip would most despise.) “Why does it seem that all the eligible young men in the county are either in a regiment somewhere, or at sea, or in need of a fortune? I must go to London or Bath, where there are more men one can meet!”
She paused, looking at him earnestly. “I have no fortune, sir, as you are well aware. And with your connexions, I am certain to make very advantageous acquaintances! What could be more certain? I shall end up, no doubt, just as my sister has, with a man like you!” Beatrice evidently thought she was giving him a great compliment. She waited, expecting a gracious answer.
“Oh, Beatrice!” moaned Mrs. Forsythe. “You foolish gel!”
Mr. Mornay stood up, after folding his paper to a neat size. He said, “It takes more than wearing a corset to say a young lady is grown up, would you not agree?” He directed his remark to the whole room, but then settled his eyes upon Beatrice. He then gave a small bow to the women in general, and turned to leave the room.
Beatrice blushed slightly, embarrassed to be chastised by her brother-in-law.
Mr. Frederick met his master at the door, holding out a salver with a letter for Mr. Mornay, who took it but then looked curiously at the butler.
“It arrived in that condition, sir! I daresay it was lost in the mail or some such thing.”
“Hmm, very good, Freddie.” He held up a battered and ink-soiled missive for his wife to see, while eyeing it dubiously.
She looked amused. “Who is it from?”
He unfolded the paper, as the sealing wax was almost entirely worn off already, and scanned the signature at the bottom. “Colonel Sotheby. I’ll read it in my office.”
She nodded, and Mr. Mornay left the room.
Beatrice was still smarting from his earlier remark, and said, as soon as he’d gone, “How ‘grown up’ can I be, when I am forced to exist in a small country village, with no prospects, and genteel company only upon a Sunday?”
“You overstate your case! That is not true,” answered her mama, disapprovingly.
“And as for wearing a corset,” Beatrice continued, after taking a sip of tea, “I do not pretend that wearing one is what makes me of age for a Season. I have formed my principles upon sound reason. I have sat beneath the tutelage of my father and of Mr. Timmons, and of his curate, and I should say my principles are well-founded.”
“We are glad to hear it,” Ariana said, with great forbearance, “but really, you should not be setting your mind upon seeking a man like my husband; you should be intent upon finding the man that God has chosen for you.”
“And so I am!” she protested, her eyes wide and laughing. “But look at the advantage He gives me in having you for my sister! Am I to ignore that? When it could be the very means of bringing me and my future husband together?”
Ariana played absently with little Miranda’s blanket, tucking it in about her chin more snugly. She met her sister’s eyes. “London is not the only place a young woman may meet a husband. And if you want my husband’s approval of your plan, the last thing in the world you should tell him is that you want to meet a man like him! Or that you wish to marry above you in any way!”
“But is it above me? To marry well? When my sister is Mrs. Mornay of Aspindon House?”
“It is above you,” said her mother, “because you are Miss Forsythe of Chesterton.”
“I am a gentleman’s daughter,” she replied.
“With no dowry to speak of,” said her mama.
Beatrice’s cheeks began to burn. “With a brother-in-law of great fortune and consequence!” she said, petulantly.
“That does not signify!” said her mother.
“It does to me!”
“It should not!” Mrs. Forsythe was quickly growing ashamed of her daughter, and she was relieved that Mr. Mornay had left the room and was not hearing Beatrice right now. Ariana’s eyebrows were raised and she was doing her best to act as though she had no part in the dialogue.
“But it does, Mama!”
>
“Beatrice! You have already said far too much on this matter, which proves to me your great ignorance of the world.” She held up her hand for silence as Beatrice was about to protest. “Not another word! I shan’t have it, not another word.” Mrs. Forsythe turned her attention to her elder daughter.
“I think I will visit the nursery to see how Nigel is faring. Do you mind?”
“No, indeed. He will enjoy showing you his toys,” Ariana said as her mother rose to leave the room. “I’ll be up myself, shortly, to feed the baby.”
“Very good.” She nodded to her daughter, and then her eye fell upon Beatrice. “I think it would be wise if you said nothing more regarding a Season. In fact, I forbid you to mention it to Mr. Mornay again! Do you understand me?” There was a short silence.
“I do, Mama.” Beatrice was not happy, but she recognized that particular tone of voice. She considered, moreover, that it would be a simple matter to keep from mentioning her hopes to the man, for he evidently would not encourage her in them. But as for herself, she would continue to think of the Season in London. She would continue to hope; and some other day, when Ariana was in a good disposition, she would prevail upon her to sponsor her in London.
Beatrice did not want to be disrespectful, but she knew that Mr. Mornay was quite in error regarding her. He did not know, for instance, that she was determined to make a good match, and recognized it as her lot in life. Every inch she saw of Aspindon just confirmed her sense that a rich life awaited her. She was born for it. And now all that was necessary was to meet her future husband—the man who could make it all happen. She had long prayed for just such a meeting and knew that it was bound to occur. All she had to do was be properly outfitted, and in the proper company, for it to do so.
All she had to do was change her sister and brother-in-law’s minds on the matter. How difficult could that be?
Two
Beatrice had a secret fascination for her brother-in-law, which perhaps did its part in fueling her resolve to marry a man like him. She had no romantic notions about Mr. Mornay, of course—that would be wicked! But she saw no reason why she could not get herself a husband of his ilk, despite anything her mama or Ariana had said. Twice already Beatrice had quickly stood aside when her brother-in-law was approaching so that she could watch him; he spied her by chance both times, caught her gaze, and both times had looked again at her, as though perplexed. Beatrice had given little smiles, and he nodded in return.
Little did he know that she was practicing upon him! If she could meet Mr. Mornay’s dark eyes and handsome expression with equanimity, she felt certain she could do so when meeting other gentlemen whom she admired. Besides, it was becoming more and more clear to Beatrice that a man of means must be her object in marriage: Her sister’s house and grounds were precisely the quality she adored. Not to mention, servants aplenty; a beauteous bedchamber all to herself with its own little sitting room; meals to delight in; yes, all was opulent, indeed. There was an enormous park and grounds that went on for near a mile, and actual tenants—to make one feel quite important!
The Mornays might just as well have been lord and lady, in Beatrice’s opinion. Mr. Mornay was the sitting magistrate for the county; their estate was finer than Lady Middleton’s, a thing Beatrice had pointed out on her last visit at Aspindon (and been roundly shushed by her mother for). Who, she asked herself, after experiencing this fine life, could be content with marriage to any mere mister? Was it not plain to see that Beatrice’s family had been raised a notch in society by Ariana’s marriage? And she, Beatrice, certainly deserved a union of equal advantage. By God’s grace, it had become her due.
Mr. Tristan Barton entered his apartment on Brooke Street in London. It was a second floor flat, a rare find in the imposing neighbourhood where most townhouses were fully occupied by one person or family, not separated into flats like this one. It gave Mr. Barton the advantage of being a resident of Mayfair without the usual expense of a house. Since he lived with only his sister, he saw no reason to incur greater damage to his pocketbook by keeping an entire house.
After he’d given up his coat, gloves, and hat to their sole manservant, he pulled some bank notes from a pocket of his waistcoat and began to count them. Sometimes when gaming got hot and heavy, he lost track of how much he was winning or losing. Tonight, he’d come out on top, at least. As he stood in the doorway to the drawing room counting the notes from his pocket, he heard a low cough and looked up.
“Anne! Why are you not abed?” He was not smiling.
His sister compressed her lips with suppressed grief. His brows came together. “What is it, Anne? What has happened?” She had been standing against the fireplace, staring down into the flames until she heard him come in. She put a handkerchief to her mouth and turned away, making him enter the parlour. She let herself down shakily upon a sofa.
“For heaven’s sake!” he said, exasperated. “It cannot be so bad as all that!” He had undone his neckcloth, letting the cravat hang untidily about his chest. Watching her, he sat himself in a chair and leaned back contemplatively. “His lordship has abandoned you, hasn’t he?”
Her only response was to shut her eyes hard, as if she could block out the unwelcome words.
“Did I not tell you that family was too full of its own importance?” he continued. “I tried to warn you.”
Anne’s grimace deepened; but she cried, “Oh, if it were only that! I pray God it would be only that!”
He looked perplexed, but he sat back, watching her cautiously. “I, for one, am the bearer of good news.” is drew her attention, and, through her tears, she looked at him expectantly. He saw her look and smiled. “The Regent needed a man to do him a personal favour, and I proposed myself—and, what do you think? He appointed me to it!” He waited for her reaction, but when there was none but a continuing look of questioning, he added, “He has put his trust in me for the thing! Do you not see how this signifies? If I can accomplish the deed for the prince, I will hereafter be a part of his set. No one will give me looks as though I am not good enough for them any longer!”
To her continuing silence, he added, “It would be a feather in your cap, dear Anne. Perhaps his lordship—if he is what is troubling you—will see you in a different light. If my consequence improves, yours shall too, it is certain.”
When Anne’s look merely darkened, he added, “Is this not what grieves you? That his family frowns upon you? If I succeed in my hopes for the prince, I may even be able to wriggle a recommendation for you from some great lady! Enough to burn the ears of the Countess and make them change their opinion of us! Enough to shut the mouths of those prigs, for sure!”
She turned sharply away at those words, and a small sob escaped her throat. His face darkened. “All right; out with it, Anne. Dash it, what has happened? Tell your brother while he is in a good humour over this stroke of fortune. I cannot think why you are not rejoicing at it as well. Whatever concerns me concerns you.”
“That is precisely the thing,” she said, raising her agonized face to his, “that worries me most!”
“What?” A look of dark suspicion entered his eyes, and he stood and swiftly approached her where she sat. He sat down near her. Something told him that only gentleness would part her from her secret. “What is it? Tell me everything.” His face and demeanour were grave.
She could barely stand to look at him.
“Does this concern his lordship?” His voice was disarmingly soft.
“Not any longer.”
“Go on,” he said, but his hands began to form a fist, though he wasn’t aware of it.
“Promise me you shan’t do anything rash; or refuse to see me.”
“Good heavens, Anne! Do not say—it cannot be—you are not carrying that man’s child!”
She nodded, gasping, and buried her head in her hands, crying heartily. He looked at her for a moment as though thunderstruck. After a few moments, he touched her upon the shoulder, and she looked up at him,
hopefully.
“Is there anything you can do about it?”
“What…what do you mean?” A very pretty woman, Anne’s large eyes glistened with tears, and then with dawning horror as she took in his meaning.
“Isn’t there something women do—to get rid of—such a problem?”
Her eyes widened and she stared at him in silent horror. Finally she cried, “Do you think I could do that? Do you think I am so heartless that I could harm my own child?”
“What I think,” he said, jumping to his feet in anger, “is that you are foolish, and thoughtless, and are ruined, if you do not!” He took a deep breath and looked at her with rage in his eyes. “You’ve ruined us both!” He paced in one direction, then stopped and turned back to her. “How could you let him—why? Why did you do it, Anne? When he might have married you!”
She shook her head. “No. He was not at liberty to. You know his parents forbade it!” There was silence a moment. “Perhaps if your friendship with the prince had come sooner, it might have been different…”
“My friendship with the prince, indeed!” He plopped back down upon a sofa. “And how long do you suppose I will be welcome at Carlton House if it—if you—become known to the world?”
She was trying not to cry afresh. “The prince is hardly what one could call free of scandal himself.”
“And you think that signifies?” He was being rather vicious, but he could not help himself. “He is the prince! The Regent! He may do as he very well pleases! It is a deuced different affair for the likes of us!”
Again, a restless silence hung over the room, while Anne sat staring at nothing, holding a handkerchief over her mouth. She refused to meet his eyes. “I know I have disappointed you,” she said in a hoarse tone. “But you must believe that his lordship cares for me. He’d marry me if he could.”
“He will marry you, by Jove! Or I’ll see him on the field!”
The Country House Courtship Page 2