Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Suddenly, Ariana raised her head, and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were puffy and adorable. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were quite pink and this too was not unbecoming. He stifled a smile.

  “Forgive me!” she declared. “I am more fatigued than I thought.”

  “But are you well, now?” He spoke mildly. “What was troubling you?”

  When she looked at him, endeavouring to choose her words, she glanced at the neat mouth and clean-shaven jaw, the tidy cravat. He was still sitting close to her and his proximity was startling. She turned away again, without having answered, and suddenly Mr. Mornay knew.

  He was not alarmed or annoyed, as was his usual response to any woman who intimated she found him attractive. Indeed, he felt a rush of concern for Ariana—he did not want to hurt her. This was a decidedly unusual predicament, and for a few moments he was at a loss again, not knowing what to do. He reached over and took her hand, and held it firmly in his own.

  “Ariana, I would like to help you, only I find myself uncertain how to do that. If you think of something I can do for you, please let me know.”

  She nodded, and let out a small, “thank you.” But she continued to keep her face turned away from his. This charmed him, for it was completely void of manipulation. Ariana never did anything intentionally aimed at attracting him to her—aside from just being herself—and that, in itself, he found attractive. Her lack of artifice, of deliberate attempts to gain his attention, was refreshingly welcome. There was no question, moreover, of her being after his money or anything of his. Ariana genuinely liked him. He knew it, but all he could think to do was to grasp her hand in his own.

  Somehow, he would have to help Ariana Forsythe. He had unwittingly been a part of causing her problems, as her aunt had pointed out, and he needed to make it right. But he could not bring himself to change the relationship from the platonic one they had settled into. Why? He did not know.

  When the coach pulled up to 49 Hanover Square, the two in the carriage were still as they had been. Mr. Mornay gave Ariana’s hand a squeeze, and spoke softly into her ear.

  “I’ll see you the night of the ball. If you need me for anything before then, do not hesitate to inform me.” Looking at the side of her face, he felt a great affection for her, but that same sense of helplessness overcame him, so that he rose and left the coach to help her down. He walked her to the door and kissed her hand.

  She tried to smile before he left. “Good night. Pray forget my behaviour tonight. I am sorry for having cried.”

  “Do not be,” he said, holding up one hand. “I am not the least put out by it. My only concern is for you.”

  Ariana looked up at him and blinked in surprise. For a moment she looked ready to burst into a fresh torrent of tears.

  “Good night, Mr. Mornay!”

  She swept into the house. With a grave nod of the head, Haines closed the door after her.

  Twenty-Four

  There hadn’t been a ball at Hanover Square for more than a decade—not since the master was alive. The servants, for this reason, were in a tizzy. They were falling over each other during the special cleanings and preparations which must go beforehand, since even Mrs. Ruskin seemed confused about who should be doing what.

  Ariana was compelled to give her opinions, which, to her surprise, were immediately implemented. The servants, unbeknownst to her, had placed her in their highest esteem because she was often found reading either her Bible or the prayer book. Many of the servants were devout, and took heart to see a copy of The Book of Common Prayer in use at Hanover Square.

  Gilded invitations had been sent. The house was washed, waxed, polished, and aired. Then it was polished once more until the woodwork shone and the floors sparkled. Every nook and cranny, every utensil, was given painstaking attention. Extra servants were hired, including an undercook to help with the enormous food preparations. Cook remained in the kitchen for an entire day before the event, thinking that if all went well she would die happy. Certain specialties were ordered out, such as an exquisite cake from Gunter’s, with little beautifully formed marzipan figures on top. When Ariana saw the cake, she burst into tears and retreated to her room.

  It was too much to bear. She had resigned herself to the realization that what she felt for Mr. Mornay was a deepening love, and that in itself was a great reason to despair. She had an acute awareness that, despite her feelings for him, he could never return them. He maintained a semblance of caring for her—thus his displeasure at being denied the dance—but it was not love. Rather, it was more like a brotherly affection.

  Worse, she knew it was wrong to love him. How could she love a man who had no interest in the things of God? Had she seen him, even once, at St. George’s on a Sunday? No!

  And why did she not love Mr. O’Brien who was a sincere, devout man? Was there ever more reason to despair? And yet Aunt Bentley was determined to treat her as if she deserved the best of matches. Ariana worried that her aunt might become a laughingstock on her account. If she did not marry money, her relation would be maligned for having made her a spectacle. Society would regard the lady with a mixture of pity and distaste. Ariana felt an enormous pressure with each expenditure, which was why the beautiful cake from Gunter’s had sent her to her chamber in tears. The utter hopelessness of it all had driven her there.

  She had sent a wild letter to her parents, imploring them to answer her correspondence; begging for their advice and counsel. Their silence was incomprehensible and felt as a sort of punishment; but, to what purpose? Surely if they wished to reprove her, they would do so in writing, or send for her outright.

  If only Mr. Mornay were a devout man! But he was not. Ariana fell to her knees many times to pray over the matter, but felt so agitated she could barely concentrate. The still, small voice of God which she desperately wanted to hear, was lost amidst the noise of her own unhappy thoughts. She wanted to be still before the Lord, to open her heart and mind to His counsel while reading Scripture—but found it exceedingly difficult to do so.

  The morning of the event found the house bedecked with numerous floral garlands bearing sugarcoated fruit and berries. They hung from the mantels and adorned the curtained windows. They were spread across clean, white tablecloths. They were even outside, on the iron railings of the house. A small fountain was brought in and set up at one end of the dining room. It had an adorable little cherub seated on its outer rim, which normally Ariana would have delighted to see, but now her heart sank.

  Again she retreated to her chamber. Harrietta had earlier set her hair with papers and left them to be taken out later. She had time, therefore, to be alone, though the household hummed with the extra commotion of preparations. Mrs. Bentley, moreover, wanted her niece to get plenty of rest. Little did she realize she was causing Ariana to lose sleep instead.

  Ariana opened her Bible numerous times only to find she was too distraught to take comfort there. But she prayed. If her mind wandered, she brought it back and prayed more. Eventually she got to that place of feeling herself in God’s very presence, and she confessed all that was heavy upon her heart. She detailed every last bit, keeping back nothing. Her love for Mr. Mornay was put out and despaired upon, yet she did not sense a whit of condemnation for it from the Lord.

  Eventually, upon opening her Bible yet again, her eyes fell upon these words from the epistle of 1 Peter: “Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.” Prayer again followed but more easily, now. It had been laborious to take her deepest feelings before the Lord, but how rewarding a labour! She felt a renewed sense of God’s love for her. It was just what she needed, and she was filled with gratitude. She had ever been in His hands, and was still so now. What He allowed, He allowed for a purpose. It was not for her to control her aunt, not even her spending; it was not for her to control her life. That was the Lord’s prerogative. Finally, she felt amply reassured. God cared about her. He would take care of her.

  She fell into an exhausted slee
p. The tensions of the past week had taken their toll. She wasn’t awakened until her aunt sought her out two hours before the guests were expected, to begin her personal preparations.

  The response to Mrs. Bentley’s invitations was so great she was concerned there would be a crush. Every hostess infinitely preferred a crowd to its opposite, but a crush was another matter: important members of the ton must not suffer. Mrs. Bentley did her best, therefore, to encourage guests to roam a suite of rooms in addition to the newly polished ballroom and supper room. Wooden tables draped with linen, holding large bowls of negus or lemonade, staffed by a servant, were placed throughout the rooms in hopes of offsetting too great a crowd in any one of them. Of course a card room was set up, with plenty of seats around the walls for the dowagers, who would delight in watching and gossiping.

  Ariana’s mind, when her aunt bade her get dressed, was not on accommodating the guests. As she washed in a warm bath she reaffirmed her resolve to trust the evening’s events to God. She endured the quick plunge into cold water with a prayer on her lips, and found, by the time she was being dressed and fussed over, that she was actually beginning to look forward to the night. All of her acquaintance would be there, and she would have friends about her. Really, there was nothing to dread.

  It helped soothe her spirits when she was attired. A girl could hardly remain gloomy when sporting a beautiful new evening dress. The second modiste had outdone herself with a splendid confection of a gown. It was exquisite white satin, trimmed at the bust, the quarter-length puffed sleeves, and at the hem. The gown had a lower décolletage than her other gowns, a high but slim train gathering in the back, and was embroidered with white and gold thread.

  She wore three-quarter length white satin gloves with gold-threaded satin buttons on the sides, and matching silk-satin slippers on her feet. Her hair was curled into dozens of tight ringlets, as opposed to the simple chignon she often favoured; and in front, her head displayed a diamond-studded tiara, wider than the modest specimen she had worn to past events. The stunning ornament was said by Aunt Bentley to be a relic from her heyday, which the lady had happily resurrected for the occasion, as well as an eye-catching gold filigree collar necklace with a large twinkling diamond in its centre.

  Mrs. Bentley helped with the dressing as usual, fussing and complaining, and feeling that a great deal of pokes, prods, and pulls on the fabric were necessary. Ariana was used to this, and withstood it admirably. When it was finished, the older lady stood back to survey her niece. She made no comment at first, but bade Ariana turn round, slowly. When the aunt looked again at her charge, she came forth with a rare full smile.

  “A triumph, my dear. Indeed, a triumph.” She paused and made a little frown. “Breathe not to a soul the name of the modiste, for I intend to make her my own, and I do not want half the ton hankering there and making her prices go up provokingly. And there is one more thing necessary,” she added, “and I know just what to use!”

  Mrs. Bentley disappeared toward her own chamber. In a minute she was back carrying a shawl made of fine gauze silk, gold-threaded in an intricate design around the edges in a wide margin. She draped this artfully across Ariana’s arm and around behind her, to the other arm.

  “Now you have the elegant look. I daresay you will have offers made to you tonight!”

  Ariana resisted the temptation of letting this remark disturb her. Instead she repeated to herself, He cares for me. He will take care of me. He cares for me. He will take care of me!

  At exactly half past nine the guests began to arrive. Ariana stood beside her aunt receiving them, and no one could have guessed she had ever dreaded the evening. More than one young lady and gentleman whispered urgently to one another that she was looking “shockingly well!”

  “She is like an altogether different angel,” declared one besotted young man, who was certain Ariana was an heiress. “In the past, a cherub, and now, a seraph! An exquisite seraph!”

  Many others felt similarly. Mr. Mornay had been precisely on the mark when he suggested they all thought she was an heiress. Those who had looked into her family and found only the evidence of modest gentry living, were stumped.

  Ariana dressed in the first order of fashion, and with exquisite taste. That, plus the fact that the Paragon chose to keep company with her often, and the quality of this ball, the furnishings, the house, the food—it all shouted wealth.

  People had long understood that her aunt was rich, but no one suspected that anyone, not even a rich relation with no children of her own, would finance a young lady to the degree that Ariana had been.

  While greeting guests, Ariana was startled when Miss Worthington, for once ignoring her mama’s conversation, instead settled an unnerving little smile and knowing look upon Ariana. It was uncannily familiar to Mr. Mornay’s expression of understanding, and for a moment she just stared at the girl stupidly in return. What could it mean?

  She decided to ignore the chit—she had no time to do otherwise, in any case, with a roomful of guests to mingle among. A few admirers flocked around, but Ariana found herself searching for that tall, dark head. Where was Mr. Mornay? The dancing would soon begin, and she would be hard-pressed for time once it did.

  She took a seat to rest and was soon in the midst of friends and hopeful admirers. While she listened to the light banter around her, there came a sudden change in the atmosphere. The young bucks began to scatter; others moved off in pairs. Looking about, she was pleased to find that the source of the disruption was Mr. Mornay.

  He had approached Ariana, and when he saw her his countenance changed swiftly and to an unexpected end. All in his path quickly strove to be out of it. Ariana herself gulped involuntarily as her admirers vanished in every direction, for she, too, caught a glimpse of that formidable face.

  Mr. Mornay bowed stiffly, and just looked at her with distaste. In fact, he seemed to be growing angrier while she watched. Miss Herley had dared to stay by her friend’s side to this point, but he looked at her now scathingly, and without a word, managed to send her away as well. Ariana was clinging to her arm, hardly knowing it until Miss Herley firmly but gently removed her arm from Ariana’s grip.

  “I am sorry, my dear,” she said in earnest, “but I must give Mr. Mornay leave to speak with you.”

  “Lavinia!”

  “Really, dearest; but I shan’t be far.”

  Ariana realized it was inevitable. “Very well.”

  Now it was just the two of them. In such a crowd, and yet Ariana felt suddenly alone with a frightful man she could hardly reconcile with the man who had been so kind of late.

  “Come to your feet, so I can see you better.” So this was his greeting! She rose.

  “You see what your presence does; all the young men have quite abandoned me!” She smiled bravely, but he did not return it. There was none of the friendliness about him she had come to know, nor a jot of the warmth he had displayed toward her at their last meeting. Ariana was rediscovering what had seemed so frightful in him when they first met. Even silent as he was now, he could be vastly intimidating.

  At length he began. “I am astonished by your appearance; it is unlike you to wear the fashion to such an extreme.” He motioned at her tiara, at the beautiful shawl draped about her, at the collar necklace.

  “These aren’t mine!” She wanted to explain that her costume had been chosen for her, that her aunt had decided upon it all, and that it wasn’t her fault.

  “And does that signify? You are shamefully overdone, or should I say (with a pointed look at her décolletage) underdone?” His eyes blazed with reproof. “Particularly, for one who has no desire to mislead anyone regarding her situation. Or am I mistaken in that? For I see your aunt has invited every unwed blue blood in England!”

  Ariana gasped at his hurtful remarks. She had not assembled the guest list aside from a few names. Nor had she bespoken the gown, or wished to. But his words stung so that she found herself defending it.

  “I grant i
t is not my usual style, but no one else is shocked by it, and I daresay it is not…immodest! I have received, on the contrary, countless compliments!”

  “People in these circles would compliment a cock if it wore an ostrich feather!” he declared.

  Ariana stood speechless for a moment. She waved her fan rapidly over her face.

  “You are utterly disheartening, sir! I will not subject myself to this.” She would have turned on her heels, but with a lightning-quick grasp he took her arm and walked beside her.

  “Society is no longer certain if you are mine or not; we can put that question to rest tonight. Since you wish to flirt with titled gentlemen, in fact, I can speak a word for you with any of them, beginning, if you like, with the richest.” He was hissing in her ear, and Ariana blinked back tears. She felt as if he had struck her, and she halted, stung, though he was endeavouring to move her toward an old, ornately dressed peer.

  Suppressing tears, she turned on him.

  “I should have thought you knew me better than to say such a thing!” She paused, again fanning herself rapidly. “You have made your obligatory appearance; why do you not leave?” She freed her arm from his and whirled off, hardly knowing in which direction.

  “Pay no attention, whatever he said.” Ariana turned in surprise to see Lady Covington looking at her knowingly. She had been invited at the last minute, at Ariana’s insistence, for she saw this as a way of obeying the biblical exhortation to “seek peace and ensue it.” Evidently the countess was relieved to end the animosity as she had accepted the invitation.