Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  He nodded. “Not more than two days by coach.”

  “By carriage, yes, sir, it is. But in its few attractions…it may as well be across the ocean!”

  “As bad as that?”

  “Worse!” Ariana’s emphatic utterance failed to take into account that she had never been discontented to live in Chesterton for her whole life.

  “Not to mention fewer prospects of finding a husband,” he interjected wickedly. But Ariana laughed.

  “My prospects here are worse than at home, sir. Back home I am acquainted with a few men who consider the state of their souls before God; I do not think I shall meet so much as one in this company of whom I can say such a thing.”

  Now the black brows rose considerably. “You have been instructed, I think, regarding what to expect here.”

  Ariana nodded. “Yes.” There was silence for a moment. “And now having been in London—where my papa brought us only once—I have been so close to seeing the British Museum which I have longed to see, art galleries, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Hyde Park, and Vauxhall Gardens; and so many attractions—only now to be thrust back home without so much as a glimpse! I shall be forever cast down!”

  Ariana was amazed to find herself conversing comfortably with the man she had considered rude and arrogant only moments before. His tone and attitude had changed considerably; he now seemed an agreeable gentleman. Indeed, one with understanding and compassion. She did not know what to make of it.

  He could not resist making his point yet again. “Perhaps it will serve as a lesson to you, so that in future you are more careful of your surroundings.” This time she did not cavil, choosing to remain silent, until he added, “Be thankful that only your season is ruined, and not something much worse.”

  This was provoking. “Your misapprehensions are without warrant,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her annoyance. “I fail to see danger. These grounds were safe when I arrived, and so they are, now.” They stopped walking, and Mr. Mornay crossed his arms while receiving the brunt of her indignation. Her tone calmed. “You are too strong in your case, sir.”

  He said nothing for a moment, but then, in a smooth, low voice stated chillingly, “You are assuming, of course, that I myself could pose no danger to you.” Ariana blinked and felt a little grip of fear on her heart. She said nothing. He leaned in closer upon her and asked, in that same sinewy voice, “Do you know for a fact that I pose no danger to you?” His voice was silken and smooth and—scary. Her eyes widened, but he suddenly retreated. “As a matter of fact, I do not.”

  “I never thought as much.” There was relief in her voice.

  He turned forbidding eyes on her. “But for all you knew, I could have! You obviously afford yourself the luxury of trusting strangers. No young woman, no matter how well off she is, can afford that!”

  “I—I beg your pardon.” She had nearly stammered, and flushed pink. He looked at her steadily for a moment, and then held out his arm.

  “Come. I shall return you to your aunt.”

  Shyly, she accepted his arm. She had seldom been escorted by anyone other than her father, and it was pleasant to be led by Mr. Mornay. In addition, she recalled how he had not offered his arm to Lady Covington, earlier, and she was flattered that he had done so for her.

  She kept her eyes averted as they walked. “I should hope that when you again come out, if indeed you do, your behaviour shall be improved.” Instead of answering with a rejoinder, which was her immediate impulse, she decided to show him that she could, when she tried, control her temper.

  “I shall endeavour to make it so.”

  He gave her a surprised glance. “What, is all the fight gone from you? Pity. I was enjoying it.”

  Ariana was speechless.

  Eleven

  When Ariana and Mr. Mornay rounded a bend which brought them into view of the guests—as many as had made their way out of the maze—an excited buzz began to circulate. Mr. Mornay with a young lady on his arm was not a common sight.

  “How will your family in Chesterton receive you, when you have been cast back upon them in so untimely a fashion, with no suitor, no prospects?” he asked.

  She met his gaze with a faint smile. “I had no hopes of finding a suitor, sir, and if I must return home, then my family and I will accept that it is God’s will.” A little unconscious sigh escaped her.

  “Now, now, do you blame the Almighty for your own misbehaviour?” he asked in mock reprimand.

  Ariana looked up at him in surprise. “By no means. But I do know that what the Lord allows has a purpose. It may be that my misbehaviour, as you put it, was ordained to spare me from a greater ill that might have befallen me had I stayed with my aunt longer.”

  He expressed interest in her answer, but there was no time for further conversation. As their presence was noticed more widely, people began to sweep in their direction.

  “And if you are not sent packing, Miss Forsythe, I trust you may be able to bear that as well,” Mr. Mornay said. There was no time for Ariana to ask what he meant. The missing debutante had reappeared and the attention of the guests was on them. A small throng soon surrounded them, with many shouting out questions and jests, but Mr. Mornay, now leading Ariana by the elbow, ignored them, moving determinedly to an astonished Mrs. Bentley, who was standing with a glass in one hand and the other upon her heart when he presented her with her niece.

  “Is all well?” she asked, her demeanour anything but positive.

  “Certainly.” Mr. Mornay’s voice was commanding. Ariana had not yet opened her mouth when he swiftly continued, “Your niece was surveying the grounds when I chanced to spot her.” His eyes met hers for the briefest second; enough for her to understand that he was not going to divulge the details. A silent thank you went forth from her own expressive eyes.

  “What, alone?” It didn’t look well for a young lady to go about unescorted, and Mrs. Bentley’s voice conveyed her dread at this idea.

  He ignored the question. “She was impatient to rejoin you as soon as she understood that you were the least bit flummoxed by her absence.”

  Mrs. Bentley sighed in open relief, suddenly comprehending that her niece was not in disgrace with her host. She nodded, exclaiming, “My dear Mr. Mornay! You are too good! Too good, indeed. How can I thank you for bringing her back safely to us?”

  “Not at all,” he said with a brief nod of his head. He then turned to leave, stopping only to bow slightly to Ariana. Mrs. Bentley’s eyes glittered in her head. Ariana was grateful for his simple explanation, and curtseyed nicely to him. She had not precisely wished to join her aunt as soon as possible, as he had said, but otherwise his words were true and had spared her from ridicule and the vexation of being sent packing.

  It so completely lacked sensationalism, in fact, that soon the guests were back to playing lawn games such as bowling on greens, eating the delicacies prepared by the kitchens at Aspindon, and engaging in the usual conversation, teasing, and gossip that accompanied any ton gathering.

  Mrs. Henrietta Royleforst knew her nephew, was suspicious of his explanation regarding Mrs. Bentley’s missing niece, and, in short, did not believe a word of it. At the soonest moment, therefore, she motioned for Ariana to come to her.

  Henrietta Royleforst was a large woman, and sat upon a wing chair that had been brought from the house for her comfort. When Ariana approached her, she took her gold-rimmed lorgnette and held it before her eyes. Ariana curtseyed politely, and had not finished the motion before the lady came straight to the point:

  “How did you happen upon the favour of my nephew?”

  “Your nephew, ma’am?”

  “Mr. Mornay! You didn’t know?”

  “Oh, yes, I—”

  “Humph! What is your name?”

  “Miss Forsythe.”

  “Of course you are Miss Forsythe! The whole party knows you are Miss Forsythe! What is your Christian name?”

  Ariana bristled at the tone, thinking that Mrs. Royleforst
and her nephew were not unlike in temperament. Her chin rose. “Ariana, ma’am.”

  “Oh! I suppose you think it a pretty name, eh?” She did not wait for an answer. “And how did you happen, Miss Ariana Forsythe, to impress my nephew favourably?”

  Recalling the ire he had displayed at their meeting, Ariana had to say, “I hardly think that is the case, ma’am.”

  “I shall be the judge of that,” she replied dryly. “Did he behave abominably to you? Has he told you in no uncertain terms that you are quite beneath his notice?”

  Surprising questions! But she kept her countenance. “No-o-o.”

  Mrs. Royleforst nodded blandly but her curious eyes grew suddenly thoughtful. Ariana shifted on her feet. Perhaps she could distract the lady. “May I fetch you a refreshment, Mrs. Royleforst?”

  “Ah!” She crinkled up her eyes happily. “So you do know who I am! But you try to change the subject. Tell me what you think of Phillip.”

  “Phillip?”

  “My nephew, of course. I daresay he must have introduced himself?”

  Ariana again shifted on her feet. “No, he did not.” She coloured, though she was not certain why this admission should be at all humiliating to her.

  “Oh?” Clearly Mrs. Royleforst was after something, but with each answer Ariana provided the woman seemed to grow more confused. “And how did you chance to meet?” Her small eyes were intent as they awaited a reply.

  “It was as your nephew said, ma’am. I was, er, exploring when he happened upon me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And you maintain he simply proceeded to return you to your aunt, without a single scathing remark? ’Tisn’t his style!”

  Ariana gave a wry smile. “I did not say there had been no scathing remarks, ma’am.”

  “Ah.” She nodded knowingly. “Where were you when he found you?” Again she listened keenly for the response.

  “On…on the property.” Her reply was hopeless, but she dared not say more.

  Mrs. Royleforst gave another loud “Humph! What fustian!” She put down the lorgnette she had been peering through, one eye closed, using first one eye and then the other, and gave Ariana a surprised, wide-eyed look. Her eyes were small and red in her large, ponderous face, giving the impression that she most assuredly needed the lorgnette. She wore an old-fashioned mobcap upon her head of untidy locks, but otherwise attempted to fit the mould of fashion despite her large size. Her ample crimson gown was of a rich velvety fabric, and she wore the popular satin slippers, in a matching hue, on her wide feet.

  In a shrewd undertone she said, “I understand my nephew quite well. He obviously favoured you! If you wish to have my assistance you must give me no more Banbury tales! I need an account I can trust, and then I shall know how to direct you.”

  Ariana looked at her helplessly. “Upon my honour, ma’am, I cannot say with the least integrity that your nephew favoured me!”

  “Ah! You simply do not know him!” She sat back in her cushions, unhappily. “This is tiresome, Miss Forsythe, and I cannot abide it! You have told me nothing in all this time!”

  “Is that so?” It was Mr. Mornay. Ariana and Mrs. Royleforst looked up at the tall figure with surprise.

  “It is that bad, I assure you!” the old woman complained. “What a vexatious creature! She gives me no information whatsoever!”

  Mr. Mornay looked appreciatively at his aunt, but said, “You exert yourself too much, and without cause.”

  She gave him a narrowed look. “You are my nephew! Tell me who this gel is to you, and do not, pray, offer me any fustian, for I’ve just had a bellyful of that.”

  With the hint of a smile he said, “I wish I’d heard it.”

  The lady then stabbed at his foot with her walking stick.

  “You are disrespectful, sir!”

  “My dear ma’am,” he exclaimed innocently. “If I were to be disrespectful then I should tell you outright—” he leaned down and spoke softly—“that you should mind your own business.”

  Mrs. Royleforst harrumphed loudly enough to make others turn and look. “You are not like your father, sir! Or your mother, for that matter! If you are not my business!” She pulled out a handkerchief. “I am sure I do not know what is. My brother’s only living child! My last relation!”

  “There, there, ma’am.” A painfully thin, middle-aged woman with tightly drawn-back hair had just returned from a refreshment table. She was carrying a plate of delicacies for her mistress, for she was Mrs. Royleforst’s paid companion. She had remained at a polite distance for as long as she could stand to, and now rushed over to console her employer who was evidently severely displeased.

  “Doctor says not to get yourself all astir, ma’am.” The companion had a high, nervous voice. Her shyness was great, but loyalty and affection for her mistress won out momentarily. She placed the tray on a little table near her mistress and then looked accusingly at Mr. Mornay—but soon tore her eyes from that formidable face, having temporarily forgotten how much he frightened her.

  A handful of men across the way hailed Mornay, then, and he gave a bow to his aunt and then disappeared into their midst. Ariana took the chance to curtsey and walk away herself. When she looked back, the lady was sitting happily helping herself to the confections on the tray in front of her. She no longer looked the least out of countenance. And then Ariana saw Miss Herley waving to her and coming toward her hurriedly, so she turned and started closing the gap between them.

  “I am dreadfully sorry, my dear Ariana! May I still call you by your name? I was utterly horrified by what the consequences might be, but when your aunt inquired I was forced to tell her we had been exploring the grounds. She insisted upon alarming herself with the notion of you going forth on your own, and forbade me to get you, but would have the whole party do so!” Her sincere brown eyes looked hopefully at Ariana. “I dreaded to see them all go forth, as if it were a huge joke. I am miserably sorry, Ariana. Your aunt kept her eyes strictly upon me or I would have returned to you!”

  Ariana was nodding understandingly throughout this hurried speech. “It seems to have turned out well,” she said. “And in any case, it was certainly no fault of yours that I allowed myself to stay unaccompanied.”

  “You are too kind; We both know I encouraged you to it!”

  “But I enjoyed it.”

  “You did?”

  “Until I saw everyone looking for me. That changed matters rather swiftly, I assure you!” She was touched by Lavinia’s heartfelt apology. “Think no more of it,” she told her friend. “I am not vexed. Mr. Mornay did an astonishing job of smoothing things over for me.”

  “Astonishing, indeed! I nearly froze from surprise when I saw you on his arm! He was not vexed? However did you manage that? You must tell me every detail!”

  The girls spoke at length, spending the rest of the afternoon mostly in one another’s presence. They exchanged promises to keep in touch. Mrs. Bentley, meanwhile, had time to mingle, extending and receiving invitations, and had high hopes of filling her parlour with fashionables for many days to come. High hopes, indeed, and thanks to her niece whose appearance upon the arm of the Paragon made her instantly an object of great curiosity. Mrs. Bentley determined that not even during the whole long ride home would she mention the matter of Ariana’s long absence from her side that day, so pleased was she with the result.

  Twelve

  Mayfair, London

  The days following Aspindon saw a steady stream of callers at the house in Hanover Square. Far from being the laughingstock she had feared, Ariana was all the rage. Mrs. Bentley’s parlour was rarely empty and the hallway tray overflowed with cards from callers. The older lady couldn’t have been more satisfied—except for one catch.

  During their day away, Mr. Pellham had taken a nasty fall, badly injuring his right ankle. His surgeon had wrapped the leg up prettily over a mash of grated comfrey roots, administered laudanum, and gave strict orders for bed rest. Mrs. Bentley was loath to leave her own par
lour lest she miss important calls from high-standing members of the ton; but it rankled her nerves to know that Mr. P. needed her and she was not there. She saw nothing for it.

  Ariana began to wonder why the pair did not marry, but dared not ask. As for the sudden popularity of their drawing room, it astonished her that it was on account of the taciturn Mr. Mornay. He had unwittingly made it instantly fashionable to know Ariana, and simply because he was the Paragon: dashing in figure, all the mode in dress, and, perhaps most importantly, fantastically rich. (Any of these qualities by themselves could capture the imagination of unwed females; but to possess all three in one man! It made Ariana laugh to herself when she heard one woman say, “He lacks a title, but only the fussiest females can hold that against him. As for myself, I certainly would not!”)

  The circumstance of owing her success to him was outrageous to Ariana, but she nevertheless quickly grew to appreciate that it was a blessing. She’d been given the opportunity to make the acquaintance of many people, including other lovely young women, while her aunt chatted with their mamas. She did not enjoy the love of gossip held by many. And, it was disconcerting that, although Mr. Mornay was a preferred topic of conversation, all that she learned of him was largely negative. He possessed an acid tongue (something Ariana could easily attest to); he ignored people who bored him; he more often than not refused invitations and when he did accept them, could not be depended upon to show. He was exasperating and decidedly cutting in his remarks, yet he remained an object of admiration and even affection.

  This, Ariana felt, was due to the fact that he could, when he chose, display a winsome charm and thoughtfulness that made his quick temper forgivable. She had experienced a measure of that charm and it was distinctly pleasant.

  Finally, as if all that wasn’t enough, Mr. Mornay was said to be immune to female charms. Any seasoned lady worth her salt, therefore, was compelled to tip her cap at Mr. Mornay though it brought out the worst in his nature. Even the notorious married flirts of high society had failed to lure him into their grasp. Indeed, it was an annual point of wagering, speculation, and conversation to see which ladies would develop the tendre for Mr. Mornay, and wind up with ruined hopes.