Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  My dear. The words rang pleasantly in Ariana’s ears for she did not recall her aunt ever referring to her in any way but as, “my gel.”

  “Thank you, Aunt. I shall keep in mind what you have said.”

  After breakfast Mrs. Bentley announced they would visit Mr. Pellham, and Ariana was glad for the diversion. She would be glad of anything that took her thoughts off the coming evening.

  Mr. Pellham’s residence was on Lower Brook Street, just past the Square. They found him nestled cosily upon a sofa in the drawing room with his leg well positioned off the floor. A small table was pulled up, and a chair, so that he and Mrs. Bentley could play their favorite game of cards, two-player whist. Ariana sat comfortably across from them upon a plush wing chair and read The Italian for the second time. Mid-afternoon they had tea with scones and fresh berries. Berries were hard to procure unless one’s servant was quick, for they sold out prodigiously fast on the street. Ariana found herself able to eat, and enjoyed it more than she had expected.

  By the time Mrs. Bentley announced their departure Ariana felt quite relaxed. The dear patient was assured of another visit shortly though he remonstrated that “an old invalid” was not worth the trouble.

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Bentley declared and Ariana echoed the thought, then added, “And what would you like to read, next?” For sometimes she read aloud to him to ease his boredom.

  “You choose the book, my dear,” he replied with a characteristic wink. Meanwhile, Ariana’s aunt gave orders to his servants, double-checked that the doctor had stopped in, and made sure a good supper was ordered before they left.

  Once back at Hanover Square, the knot in Ariana’s stomach slowly returned. To distract herself, she worked on her sewing canvas, brought from home, but could not enjoy it. She wrote another letter, staring absently at Molly who was cleaning the grate, while she thought of what to include. The day at Hyde Park with the Paragon was news her family would enjoy, but the thought of Mr. Mornay only sent her into fresh tremors. Instead, she wrote a light and humorous letter to her younger sisters, who would feel important receiving their own missive. When she’d sealed it, Molly, who had never approached her once before, suddenly came alive.

  She came and curtseyed, and swallowing nervously, asked, “Kin I take it to Mr. Haines for ye, mum?” It was no trouble for Ariana to leave it on the hall tray downstairs herself, but she smiled in pleasure that the little chambermaid had found some courage.

  “Certainly. Thank you,” she said kindly, handing over her correspondence. Molly flew from the room.

  Afterward, she picked up the new fashion catalogue, but nothing, it seemed, could dispel the uneasy feeling in her being.

  She finally thought to pray, scolding herself for not having done so in the first place. Why was it often true that the more reason she had to pray, the less she seemed inclined to do it? She began by confessing this weakness, then thanking the Lord for all the good things He had brought into her life. Unexpectedly, it became a special time of communing with God. As could happen at times, she felt a very reassuring presence of the Holy Spirit; she was not alone.

  She prayed at length about her unusual relationship with Mr. Mornay. It was tempting, truly tempting, to think something had gone awry; that if she had been more in prayer, perhaps, none of the trouble with Lady Covington would have started to begin with. It was hard to trust that the Lord would have engineered her spending time with such a man as Mr. Mornay.

  She remembered, however, that even a sparrow did not fall to the ground apart from God’s will, and that the hairs on her head were numbered. In light of this, how could she fail to believe He was indeed directing her path? Had she not long been praying He would guide her during her stay in London? That he would spare her from evil? Surely she had to trust that whatever came her way came from His hand, no matter how it looked.

  As she prayed, she grew aware that the thought of the time spent with Mr. Mornay in his open curricle was decidedly pleasant. She was enjoying his attention. No matter the reason he was giving it had almost nothing to do with her, personally. She was nothing more than a means of refuting Lady Covington’s lies; of beating her at her own game. And suddenly she felt that somehow she was going to willingly be the means. All at once, her heart was more in it. They were not intent on hurting Lady Covington. On the contrary, their actions in representing themselves as a pair were only defensive ones. The countess had thrown the fiery brand. They were merely snuffing it out.

  It was daunting to realize that despite his temper, his coolness, or his disdain, it was nevertheless agreeable to be with the Paragon. On the occasions when she had met his temper with her own, he had actually enjoyed it. And there was no escaping his pleasing elegance and comportment, his confident manners. When he chose to, he could be a vastly pleasant companion. Those piercing dark eyes and his bemused expressions—she was growing to like all of it. Goodness, what was she thinking? Not only a confirmed bachelor, but a good deal older than she and “out of her league.” She prayed for strength to resist the earthly charms of Mr. Mornay, committing herself and the coming evening into God’s hands.

  Just as she finished praying, her aunt came to her chamber with Harrietta. It was time to prepare for the evening at hand. She found it outlandish when Mrs. Bentley insisted she soak in a hot tub only to follow it with a quick plunge into tepid water that set her teeth shivering. Her aunt called this “polishing the skin.” Harrietta then took over, trimming her nails both on her feet and hands, and supplying her with an enormous array of vials and lotions, perfumes and powders, and other mysterious liquids. Some were for her face and neck, others for her hands, elbows, and even her feet.

  Afterward Ariana was allowed a small meal.

  “Now we shall earnestly prepare for the evening,” her aunt informed her. Ariana had to wonder what they had been doing all along, if not earnestly preparing for the evening. Before she had finished the small rations on her plate, she was stopped.

  “You don’t want to eat overmuch, Ariana, as I intend to have you corseted beneath that gown.”

  Aunt Bentley and Harrietta fussed over her hair, chemise, stays, stockings, and finally the gown. Over a silk-satin underdress of light pink, she wore a net coverlet which was embroidered in a leaf motif with gray and silver thread. A band of the silk-satin ran across the empire waist and more bands were intertwined in the short, puffed sleeves. By the time the two women had finished, Ariana felt more than ready to face the Paragon. Her hair was coifed elegantly atop her head, except for two coils of curls on the sides of her face, which was fashionable. Ariana wished she had jet black hair, but Mama always said her lighter tresses matched the light in her eyes, and indeed, this night her words rang true. She was a picture of sparkling, beauteous youth.

  Still, Mrs. Bentley insisted upon embellishing her appearance with the loan of a matching set of jewels consisting of a necklace, earrings, brooch, and bracelet. And, as a last dignifying element, a tiara: the delicate headpiece was placed gingerly over her head and fastened into place with pins. When at last she stood quietly resplendent in her gown, long white gloves, and pink silk-satin slippers, even Mrs. Bentley had to smile.

  “You do me credit, my gel,” she said, almost affectionately. “Even Mornay will be smitten, I daresay, eh, Harrietta?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am!” breathed the servant. She was fully as pleased as her mistress. “So tall and strikin’ as miss is, just like a princess!”

  “I thought at first you might be too tall,” her aunt admitted, “but it turns out that ‘tall’ can be statuesque.”

  Ariana had been waiting for fifteen minutes in the parlour when Mr. Mornay appeared, precisely on time at half-past nine. She nodded a greeting from her seat in return of a very fine bow. He was dressed in exquisite evening wear. He wore a dark, tailored frock coat and black cloth pantaloons. An immaculate white starched shirt could be seen beneath a gold-embroidered satin waistcoat. His cravat was starched and tied neatly beneath his firm
chin. There was a single fob hanging from his belt, a handkerchief just visible in the waistcoat pocket, and buff gloves on his hands. Instead of an ostentatious bicorne, which was popular, he wore a top hat and polished black shoes. As usual, he wore the perfectly tailored attire looking as natural as though he were at home before the fire, in a favorite robe.

  He stopped past the doorway and surveyed Ariana, who, despite herself, came to her feet. She had too much nervous energy to refrain. Mrs. Bentley, feeling proud of her niece’s appearance, said nothing—and waited. Breathlessly.

  Ariana tried not to squirm beneath his gaze. When he started toward her he said to her aunt, “My compliments, ma’am; she looks just right. Not too sophisticated for her age, and yet not too missish for Carlton House.”

  Mrs. Bentley had been about to take a breath of relief when she gasped instead, putting her hand on her heart as was her manner.

  “Carlton House! Is that where you’re taking her?”

  He looked amused. “Didn’t you know?”

  “Indeed, we did not!” When his gaze met Ariana’s she just shook her head, signifying she had not known, and he smiled gently. “I suppose I forgot to mention that, eh?”

  She smiled in return. “I’m afraid you did.”

  When he reached her his hand went up toward her neck, and she took a little step backward. He had reached for her necklace and now he was looking at it, turning it over in his hands. Eventually he let it down gently but then studied the brooch that was pinned to her bodice.

  “Pretty,” he murmured, “but not necessary.” He proceeded to remove it while Ariana shot a look of uncertainty at her aunt, who stood by helplessly. Mrs. Bentley started mumbling in the background about the quality of the jewels but he ignored her, and taking Ariana’s two hands he held them up, examining the bracelet about her right, gloved wrist. He put her arms back down and took a step back, surveying her from head to toe. Then he took the bangled hand and gently pulled off the gleaming bit of jewelery. He surveyed her again.

  “There. Now she’s perfect.”

  Ariana felt momentarily affronted by his audacity at taking off the jewels, but then gave in to amusement. Who better than the Paragon to say what she looked best in? And he had pronounced her appearance to be perfect! Who could argue with that? She gave him an amused look while he returned the jewelery to her aunt. When he turned again and saw her expression, he smiled.

  “Are you quite certain you now approve of me?” Her tone was teasing.

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Forsythe, I am.” Turning to her aunt he added, “Remarkable, is it not?”

  “Indeed, it ’tis!” She was not certain if he had meant that Ariana was remarkable or that his approval of her was remarkable. Either way, she was satisfied, more, floating on air. And yet there was still a matter to be discussed…

  “Mr. Mornay,” Mrs. Bentley began.

  He looked expectantly in her direction.

  “My niece has not been presented to the prince; does this not pose a difficulty?”

  “I am certain, ma’am, that the prince will demand the introduction as soon as he is given to understand I have brought her,” Mornay replied. He was as polite as anyone had ever heard him but Mrs. Bentley’s face settled into a frown.

  “But is that not precarious? I fear the Regent may as likely demand she be removed from the royal presence!”

  “Never!” He looked amused. “If it helps to settle your mind, Lord Horatio is already informing the prince of my intentions. He shall be eager to meet her.”

  Mrs. Bentley’s face softened. She was decidedly not the most affectionate of relations, but she was, after all, Ariana’s chaperon and responsible for the girl. She cleared her throat. “Is it not irregular for a gel so young to attend one of the Regent’s parties?”

  Haines appeared in the doorway with Ariana’s pelisse held carefully in his arms. Mr. Mornay had walked round about Ariana, still examining her appearance minutely, but he looked over at Ariana’s aunt.

  “If I thought so, Mrs. Bentley, I would not be taking her.” He took the garment from Haines and helped Ariana into it. It was a luxurious pelisse, an expenditure that was shockingly high even for Mrs. Bentley, but it was ermine-lined and edged, worth every shilling, and it looked exactly right on Ariana in her finery. If Mrs. Bentley had ever entertained doubts about that purchase, she was happy now to have done it.

  “But you must allow she is young for the Carlton House set. Is it quite—the thing—for her?” Mr. Mornay was by now escorting Ariana from the room, but he hesitated. “I assure you, Miss Forsythe will find the evening agreeable. She will be my responsibility.”

  “I am aware of the Regent’s habit of all-night entertainments.” Mrs. Bentley’s dry tone made him stop again. “Pray remember that Ariana is only just out. She is not used to such things and you may have to cut your evening short.”

  “You have my word.” He was striving to be patient.

  “In that case, I am much obliged to you! Much obliged!” She followed behind the pair as they went downstairs and toward the door. “Enjoy yourself, Ariana!” Her wish was heartfelt, surprising even herself. She had not expected to grow fond of the girl.

  Sixteen

  Carlton House

  When they were comfortably seated in Mr. Mornay’s luxurious black coach, sitting across from each other as was proper, Ariana removed the hood of her pelisse. The flicker of the single lamp made the velvet-lined interior cosy, and accented glimmers of her sunlight-coloured hair. Mr. Mornay surveyed her silently for a moment, then asked, “I trust our destination agrees with you?”

  “Of course! I never dreamt of being a guest at Carlton House!”

  “Shall you enjoy it, then?”

  “Indeed, I must!” She gave a glowing smile. “If the Regent is anything near as extravagant regarding his town residence as he is said to be, I am sure it will be most diverting.”

  “Carlton House is one of his favourite indulgences. You will not be disappointed.”

  “I understand he has a great interest in art, and collects paintings.” The idea thrilled her. She hoped to have a chance to view some.

  “Indeed; as well as plate, jewelery, horses, military uniforms, drawers, women, and debts.” It was a shameful list, but Ariana had to laugh out loud. Drawers!

  A comfortable brief silence passed. “Do you expect Lady Covington will be there?”

  “Let us hope she will be.” This was a blow to Ariana, and yet hardly a surprise. She had wondered all along that her ladyship might be the reason Mr. Mornay had taken up her cause to begin with. Perhaps she was a love interest of his! Perhaps he was merely hoping to pique her jealousy with Ariana.

  Her face must have betrayed these tumultuous thoughts.

  “Does that distress you? You’re not frightened of her, are you?”

  Ariana’s chin went up. “No.”

  “Good.” But could he tell she was disturbed at the thought of seeing her nemesis? She tried not to dwell on it, but fears did assail her. What if the countess accused her in public? Right there, in Carlton House? What if she made a scene? Ariana had no idea what to expect.

  She reminded herself that much prayer had gone into the evening; and that it was truly an enormous stroke of luck—no, a blessing—to be seeing the Regent’s establishment. And meeting the Regent! And, on the arm of Mr. Mornay! Goodness, could this really be happening?

  “Is it a special occasion tonight?” she asked.

  He slowly smiled. “To whom? Do you think it is special?”

  She blushed. “I meant, for the Regent.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “No. Prinny often throws parties. He’d do it every night if he could get away with it, which is to say, afford it.”

  Prinny! It did not sound dignified enough for a prince to her mind, whether his reputation as a libertine and hedonist was true or not. But Mr. Mornay was smiling, and what a smile he had! She had to return the gesture.

  When they reached Pall
Mall they joined a crush of carriages. It took minutes of crawling through traffic to draw up beneath the portico but at least Ariana had been able to take a leisurely view of her first glimpse of Carlton House. The multitude of carriage lamps and the bright flambeaux of the palace lit up the night. She could easily see the imposing structure she had only seen in drawings before. There was the distinct centre and two wings which were visible from the street. Along the front, the portico was lined with tall Corinthian columns. It certainly did fit the Regent as a man of great dignity despite his many reported failings in character.

  After Mr. Mornay had handed her down from the coach, she was suddenly struck by a fit of nerves. She confided, holding tightly to his arm, “I am suddenly distressed, Mr. Mornay!”

  His face took on a bland look, as if he thought, This is what comes of escorting a debutante to Carlton House!

  “Oh? In what manner?”

  She instinctively moved closer to him, not wanting to be overheard by anyone else. The gray-black eyes were intently upon her.

  “I cannot tell. I fear I am going to be—”

  He thought she was going to say, “ill.”

  “Shy.”

  He shook his head. “Did you say, shy?”

  “Yes.”

  He put his head back and surveyed her with that little smile playing about his mouth.

  “Don’t worry. I will protect you from the countess, and from the prince!”