Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “No amount of your regard can help. ’Tis based upon an assumption about me that is not true.”

  His eyes darkened, and she shot forward with this: “I am not a wealthy woman, and my family is probably what you would call shabby genteel. Yes, by your standards I feel sure this is the case!”

  He was silent a moment, while his thoughts sped behind his eyes.

  “How did your family manage your wardrobe?”

  In a subdued tone, she explained. “They did not manage it. My aunt for her own sake, insisted upon embellishing my things. She has bespoken almost my entire wardrobe! She was far too extravagant but would brook no reasoning in the matter!” Shame-faced, she admitted, “I have hardly accepted any invitations from gentlemen for fear my appearance has given false hopes—I only received your attentions on account of Lady Covington, and because I knew you would not be putting your hopes on me.”

  There. She had told him the truth, but it had cost her no little effort, and she found, to her dismay, that she would like nothing better than to throw herself at the feet of God just now. She badly wanted to cry.

  Mr. Mornay stood up and gently led her to sit, then shifted uneasily in his own seat.

  “Ariana,” he intoned softly, saying her name like it was silk on his tongue. “I would never have made such ill-chosen remarks had I known—”

  “ ’Tis better you did. Now you realize who I am.” Her voice sounded pitiful, and her heart beat strongly. She was shocked at the sudden anger and hopelessness she felt regarding Mr. Mornay. Why was she reacting like this? Why should she care if he never wished to see her again? Had she not already decided he was wholly unsuitable for her? He was arrogant, and his superior attitude was not to be borne! Why then was she distressed?

  With such tumultuous thoughts, and finding it difficult to meet his gaze, she could not remain seated and came again to her feet. A cold breeze had picked up and it felt good across her hot face. Ariana made a pretty figure standing there inside the boat, and she raised one gloved hand to shield her eyes from a sudden streak of the near-setting sun, which had broken through the clouds. She could not make out the other boat. Her reticule hung from her wrist.

  “I cannot find their boat. Perhaps they have returned to shore. May we?”

  “By all means.”

  A surprisingly cold wind blew and Ariana shuddered. Mr. Mornay told the boatman to return them to shore, at the same time leaning forward to bring his companion back to a sitting position. Unfortunately, as the boat turned into the wind, and just as he went to reach for her, she fell sideways. With barely a gasp she went headlong into the middle of the river, just like that, making a single splash no louder than a jumping fish might have done.

  Twenty-One

  “Ariana!”

  Mr. Mornay leapt to prevent her from going overboard, but too late. He watched as her feet sank beneath the dark, cold water and she disappeared from sight. The sky was growing darker by the second, which in turn made the water darker.

  “Stop the boat! Stop!” he ordered the boatman. After a few terrible seconds of seeing nothing, Ariana’s head, covered by a dripping bonnet, struggled to the surface. She was unable to stay afloat, however, having never learned to swim, and began to flounder.

  The boatman was trying desperately to turn around, but they floated farther and farther from the struggling girl. Mr. Mornay meanwhile, grumbling under his breath, undid his neckcloth and removed it. This was followed quickly by his double-breasted jacket, after which he jumped, boots and all, in a beautiful dive, into the murky water.

  A strong swimmer, he swam masterfully toward Ariana, got his arm around her, and pulled her head out of the water. With an arm around her, he dragged her back toward the boat and with the help of the boatman managed to hoist her, dripping wet, aboard; then he pulled himself over the side.

  Ariana was collapsed silently across a wooden bench, not able to cough or breathe. Mr. Mornay turned her over with both arms, a look of intense concern on his face. She began coughing and he lifted her up in his arms. In a minute, during which she coughed and expelled some water, she became alert.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle.

  She nodded, but she felt ill and was feeling the shame of having caused such a disaster. Tears filled her eyes. She shivered and Mornay pulled her up to huddle against him. Spying his jacket, he managed to lean forward and clutch it and then wrap it around her shoulders. Despite a chemise beneath the thin muslin dress, Ariana’s gown clung like a second skin. The bonnet was dripping large rivulets down her face and neck, and her reticule hung, dripping, from her wrist.

  “Take off the bonnet,” Mornay said.

  She obeyed.

  The weather, meanwhile, was rapidly growing worse. The mildly chilly air had completely given way to a cold front, and the threatening sky was growing darker by the second. Both of the drenched people in the boat were quickly feeling the effects of the sharp drop in temperature.

  The boatman was apologizing profusely, but Ariana’s companion was not in a forgiving mood. No matter it had not been the man’s fault.

  “Enough!” he spat out. “It will suffice if you can manage to take us ashore without another disaster!” Ariana shivered uncontrollably. The combination of cold air and frigid water, along with the frightening struggle to stay afloat, left her weak and shaking. She snuggled against Mr. Mornay, forgetting any concern other than warmth, and he allowed it, closing strong arms around her.

  She felt sick and weak and full of self-reproach for her behaviour. Mr. Mornay looked helplessly at the dripping young woman in his arms, not daring to guess how he himself must look. His starched shirt was sodden and his hat (which he had forgotten to remove) was nowhere to be seen.

  At the shore, there was no sign of Mr. Hartley and Miss Dorsett. Mr. Mornay managed to jump out of the boat, but this proved too much for Ariana, still weak from her brush with drowning. Her companion lifted her out. He waited to receive their remaining items, which were strewn about the craft, from the boatman. Then he started off, carrying Ariana.

  “I can walk,” she said uncertainly. Her rescuer ignored her.

  “I am sh-sh-shaking!” She was alarmed at the violence of the tremors racking her limbs, and that she could not make them stop. Even her voice shook when she spoke. She was not sure if the trembling was on account of the cold or from fright. Perhaps both.

  “Hush!” He was taking long strides, going as fast as possible, for Mr. Mornay was not impervious to the cold any more than Ariana. His garments were wet and tight and he did not have the benefit of his jacket, as she did. In addition, the water trapped in his boots was like a little extra measure of cold, and the accompanying slosh with each step was one he did not relish.

  “Your c-c-coat sh-sh-should be on y-y-you.”

  “No.” The biting air was beginning to sting. She felt awful on his account and was glad to see they were approaching the gated entrance to the gardens. Ariana’s rescuer hurried forward and passed through the gate. It took only moments before they spotted his carriage. The coachman was walking the horses, but a single shout from Mr. Mornay brought them hurrying the team forward.

  “Wh-wh-what of Mr. Ha-Hartley and Miss D-D-D-Dorsett?”

  His reply was brusque. “Mr. Hartley and Miss Dorsett are dry; they will engage a hack. We must see to ourselves.”

  When the coach drew up a groom jumped from behind. “Sir! Are you well?”

  ‘No! Open the door quickly, man!” The words sounded almost like a growl.

  Once inside the carriage, he put Ariana gently upon the cushion, but she exclaimed involuntarily when she felt her cold, wet garments.

  “Remove the wet spencer and then put my jacket on properly,” Mornay insisted.

  She stood and began to do as told while he punched the ceiling to signal his coachman to start off. She fell backward no sooner than the wheels began to turn, but he caught and steadied her. Afterward, she took her seat more carefully, hating the f
eel of the wet cloth against her skin. Mr. Mornay had pulled a small blanket from beneath a seat and motioned her to move beside him. For the sake of warmth they would share the same cushion.

  He spread out the blanket, endeavouring to cover them both as much as possible, Ariana especially. She huddled against him as close as she dared. Then she sat up to pull her sopping half-boots off, looked at him apologetically for the delay, but proceeded to turn away and removed her soaked stockings as well. Then, satisfied there was nothing else she could do to improve her situation, she settled down against him, tucking her cold feet up, and he arranged the blanket over them again.

  Funny, Ariana thought, settled there with his arm about her; what they had argued about seemed so insignificant, now. Safety and comfort had temporarily overcome all other concerns. And Mr. Mornay had been concerned about her; he had jumped in after her, despite the fact that had she listened to him earlier, she never would have fallen in. In addition, he might have ordered the boatman to rescue her. After all, he was notoriously fussy about his apparel, but he had done it himself without hesitation.

  Another shiver ran through her body.

  “Is it very bad?”

  “No; I’m better actually. See, my voice has stopped trembling.” Then, soberly. “How will you ever forgive me for this?”

  He let out a small laugh. Ariana looked up sharply in surprise. He wasn’t even angry!

  “Somehow, I never need to forgive you for anything,” he said. “Unlike nearly everyone else I know!”

  There was a little smile on his mouth. But Ariana looked quickly away. They were much closer than usual and it was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “But it was my fault.”

  “I upset you. It was my fault.”

  “You are determined to think so, I see, and I, for once, will not argue with you.”

  They both smiled knowingly at that.

  The coachman was doing his best but the roads were crowded and their progress was slow. Ariana was uncomfortable and still could not feel fully warm, though of course it was immeasurably nicer huddling against the warmth and strength of her companion in the carriage, than it had been outside. As she squirmed about trying to find a warmer position, Mr. Mornay made a clucking sound with his tongue and lifted her off the seat, onto his lap. He then adjusted the blanket so that she was entirely covered.

  “Forgive me,” he said, as he lifted her. “But I think this is necessary. Perhaps in future you shall see the wisdom in heeding my instructions.” There was a playful inflection in his tone and she wanted to glance at him to smile, but she dared not. Their faces might touch if she did. (Just the thought made her blush.) But she had to sigh with contentment at feeling the first real comfort since her mishap.

  The carriage finally drew up outside her aunt’s house. Mornay lifted her off his lap and began to rise from his seat.

  “Do not trouble yourself to come in! I can walk now, I am feeling much improved,” she insisted.

  “Without your boots on?” he murmured, going past her to exit the carriage ahead of her. When she came forth, grimacing at the blast of cold air which hit her, he took her right up in his arms as before. Ariana had her bonnet, spencer, half boots, and stockings in her arms, as well as the sopping reticule, but she let them fall on her lap so she could entwine one arm around his neck. She felt more secure that way.

  When they reached the front door it opened ahead of them, since Haines had a man watching for Miss Forsythe’s return to report to his mistress.

  Ariana looked up at the stern, handsome face and apologized. “I am sorry now that I took my boots off, making you do this again.”

  “I should have done so in any case,” he said.

  That silenced her for the time being. A much astonished Haines received them, trying not to gawk openly at the sight of the Paragon looking all undone, carrying a sodden Miss Forsythe into the house as if it were not the least unusual. Moreover, she was wearing a man’s jacket and was barefooted!

  Mr. Mornay marched right into the house and up the staircase. Passing the best parlour he strode determinedly on, toward the bedchambers, Ariana still ensconced snugly in his arms.

  “Which is your chamber?” he asked mildly, as if he was likely to carry her into her bedchamber on any number of occasions.

  “Second door on the right,” she uttered, feeling dazed. Molly, large-eyed, froze at sight of them, just watching, until sight of Mr. Mornay’s expression sent her scurrying to open the door ahead of them. He moved past her to lay his charge gently down upon the chintz-covered bed.

  “Raise the fire!” His bark caught Molly, who was still looking on in wonderment, by surprise, that she jumped, but then dropped a split-second curtsey and scrambled to the hearth. There was already a small flame in the grate, so her task was not difficult. Mr. Mornay was used to giving orders and continued, “Call the maid to help Miss Forsythe with her clothing.”

  He turned to Ariana. “You need to change out of your wet things immediately.”

  “Yes, but you must stay and warm yourself,” she said.

  “Only for a moment.”

  The servants began scurrying about, the word having spread that some accident had befallen the pair, and that they were thoroughly soaked. Mrs. Bentley’s voice could be heard shouting orders shrilly. She soon appeared looking bewildered and concerned.

  She saw Mr. Mornay and put her hand to her heart.

  “Mornay, for pity’s sake! What has happened?” She went to Ariana and felt her skin. “Dreadfully cold!”

  Mr. Mornay gave her a short account, laying out it had been an accident caused by the boatman’s hasty turning of the vessel.

  “You both fell in?” she asked, doubtfully.

  “No, ma’am, I fell in,” Ariana said.

  “Mr. Mornay rescued me.” Mrs. Bentley, still wearing a look of great consternation, ushered Ariana off her bed and behind a screen where she and Harrietta hurriedly stripped her of the wet items and put a warm, dry nightdress on her. Another housemaid, meanwhile, changed the damp blanket on the bed to a good, dry one. Ariana resumed her place, this time beneath the sheets, and sat up looking charming beneath a large white cap with laced edging to keep her head warm.

  Mrs. Bentley continued to shout orders. “Harrietta—a hot bath up here as soon as possible!” “Hot tea for Miss Forsythe.” “Tell cook to make a compress!” “No, Betty, get the woolen blankets! And do not dawdle!” She turned to Mr. Mornay. “I will have you taken care of in the next room.”

  “I thank you, no, I must be off.”

  She studied his face a moment, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “But, you are wet and cold! And with this frightful turn in the weather. Of all the bad timing! So unseasonable and chilling. I cannot allow it, not even for you, Mornay!”

  He walked over to the fire and stood close by it for some moments, stretching out his hands, and felt some relief. But the thought of his own fire and house, so near by, beckoned to him as the place he’d be most comfortable.

  “I am obliged, but no.” He went to Ariana’s bedside and reached for her hand.

  “Do let my aunt provide you with some warm attire!” she insisted. She was horrified he meant to continue home without help. “I am sure she possesses some fine clothing of my uncle’s.”

  The fact that Mr. Bentley had been dead for nearly a decade and that his clothing would be dreadfully outdated did not matter a whit to Ariana. But of course it mattered very much to Mr. Mornay, even in this dire circumstance, for he declined hastily with an odd look on his face.

  “I regret our outing met with such disaster.” He smiled ruefully, still holding her hand.

  “It was all my wicked doing! I am dreadfully sorry!”

  “See that you eat something, and keep to your bed for awhile. I have no doubt I shall do the same.”

  “I pray you do.” She had a thought. “What of your friends? I am distressed we had to abandon them.”

  “I’ll send
a carriage.” With that, he dropped a soft kiss on her hand and a polite bow, then turned to leave. He stopped to tell Ariana’s chaperon to send him word when she was certain Ariana was recovered. And then he was gone. Mrs. Bentley was standing in the background, all eyes, and her little mind was spinning wheels. First she saw to it that a few good, warm blankets were sent off with Mr. Mornay. Then she came back to Ariana, all in a flutter.

  A servant followed with a tea tray, and Mrs. Bentley poured a cup of the steaming liquid for her niece.

  “Here, drink this quickly. It will warm you on the inside.” While she sipped, her aunt hovered nearby, pacing and thinking and then asked for Ariana’s recounting of what had happened upon the water. After hearing the full account, far from being angry at Ariana’s petulance and stubbornness, Aunt Bentley seemed excited.

  “Mr. Mornay has called upon you when he no longer needs to; Lady Covington’s accusations are wholly forgotten. I think it signifies! And the way he parted from you just now. I maintain I have never, in all my days, seen that man speak so kindly to anyone. And he kissed your hand so gently.”

  “But I was rather ill when he first took me from the water,” Ariana said. “I don’t know if I was breathing. I think it must have affected him. He is not heartless, you know.”

  Mrs. Bentley continued her thought. “Indeed, Ariana, under normal circumstances I should think an incident like today’s would have sent the Paragon into a fury such as would make a body quake to be near him. But no, he was hardly concerned about his own condition or discomfort—not even his clothing! He looked only to you.” The more she thought on it, the more she was convinced that Mr. Phillip Mornay had a serious tendre for her niece. She was cautiously ecstatic; it would be delicate going from here on. Mr. Mornay was not someone to be easily managed.

  “My dear Aunt,” Ariana said, seeing that familiar scheming look on the lady’s face. “I daresay you are presuming too much. Mr. Mornay has no intentions toward me.”

  “He is not the sort of man to take up a flirtation. If he continues his interest with you then I shall be convinced.” A knock at the door revealed four footmen who shuffled into the room carrying a large tub of steaming water. After they had gone, and Ariana was luxuriating in the glorious warmth, her aunt came and stood nearby. Momentarily, she asked, “If Mornay is interested in you, will you encourage him?” It had suddenly occurred to her that perhaps her niece was hindering the matter, not helping it as she ought.