Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Everyone liked the plan. Ariana got two pieces of her aunt’s crisp paper—the amount she usually used. The Paragon, meanwhile, went home and fetched a small, opaque bottle of black ink powder from his study. He checked that it was tightly closed. While one needed to add a few drops of water to use the ink for writing, it was so concentrated that just one stray sprinkle of it could ruin the nicest sleeve—or any clothing—even when dry.

  They all watched as he carefully and liberally sprinkled the powder inside the papers, which he had already folded once. He folded them again, very slowly and carefully, and then again, making certain no trace of ink showed through. Mrs. Bentley applied a liberal slab of sealing wax and pressed her own stamp into it; something Ariana always did, not having a seal of her own. Then it was turned over, and Ariana wrote out her family’s name and direction in the usual manner. There. Finished.

  The next morning Ariana went alone into the hall and placed the letter in the polished silver tray which sat upon a japanned table. She experienced a feeling of satisfaction from having done so, knowing that the “mystery of the missing correspondence,” as she called it, would soon be at an end. Now, it was Haines’s turn for action. Since there was usually a footman about the hall, he posted one there today but with special instructions. Mrs. Bentley had chosen Ian, a burly Scotsman, for the job, having come to trust him quite explicitly.

  Ariana could hardly concentrate on her morning occupations so excited was she. Mrs. Bentley was restless, too, and sought her niece, requesting she join her in the second parlour.

  “I thought we might discuss the particulars of the wedding,” she announced when Ariana had come in and seated herself. But Ariana’s face fell.

  “So soon? We might wait for word from my parents. They haven’t even heard, yet.”

  “But they will, shortly.” Her aunt had an open tablet, a pen in hand, and ink on the table. She looked at her niece expectantly. “Mr. Mornay gave me leave to ask your preference of where you should like to set up house following the wedding. In town, at Grosvenor Square? Or at his estate? Which will suit you?”

  Ariana forced herself to attend to the question, though she had no heart for it at the moment.

  “I should think that wherever Mr. Mornay desires to be, I will be happy to accompany him. As long as we are together—Oh, Aunt, must we discuss this now?” She frowned at her relation. “All I can think of is my letter, and what is going to happen. That I might soon receive word from home!”

  “And I wish to discuss your next home! You should be putting yourself in mind of it, Ariana.”

  “But I can’t bear it! Not when there is some question about the wedding!” She paced the room in agitation.

  “There is no question to anyone’s mind, my dear. You are going to marry Mr. Phillip Mornay. There is no turning back. You must be mad to cavil at such a match! The man loves you! He gives you all that is his! I have it right from his mouth!” She paused, a painful look of confusion and disapproval on her countenance.

  “I am truly sorry, Aunt. I cannot do otherwise than I am doing.”

  “Why on earth, not?”

  Ariana sighed. “My conscience tells me I may not marry any man unless he has…substantial leanings…toward the church. A man of faith. Of spirituality.”

  “Fustian! Utter fustian!” Mrs. Bentley could hardly believe her ears.

  “Oh, Mr. Mornay is many wonderful things, truly wonderful!” Ariana paused, appreciating his wonderfulness. “But he is not a man of God, a Christian in the truest sense.”

  “Upon my soul, Ariana, I cannot think how you could be so… judgmental, and of one who is your senior, no less! Upon my word—of course he is a Christian, his family has always been. What, were you supposing him a heathen?”

  “No. I do not mean that his family does not belong to a religion.”

  Her aunt stared at her uncomprehendingly.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  Ariana was silent a moment, forming her answer. “That he does not engage in a personal faith, a life of prayer, of seeking God.”

  Her aunt shrugged. “We cannot judge what is in a man’s heart! You cannot! You are obviously too young to appreciate what has fallen into your lap. I have rarely heard of so generous an offer. And if that does not make him a Christian, I cannot know what does.”

  “I grant that Mr. Mornay is generous. And kind—when he has a mind to be. Indeed, I grant that willingly. But these are not things, you must know, Aunt, that make us acceptable to God! This is the teaching of Scripture.”

  Her aunt looked at her dubiously. “The good things we do must make us Christians,” she insisted. “Why, it is those things which separate us from the animals, or from savages.”

  “My dear ma’am, we are separated from the animals because we alone are made in God’s image—no other creature in all creation has been given that honour save humanity. Even ‘savages,’ as you say, are made in the divine image. But we become Christians only by following Christ. We trust in His work on the cross—not our own works, however generous they be. It is through Christ alone that man can be forgiven for his wrongs and made righteous for heaven. Only through trusting in Christ!”

  Ariana was nervous about daring to contradict her relation, but these were truths her aunt sorely needed, and she could do no less than try to explain them for her soul’s sake.

  “But then anyone could be a Christian!”

  “Precisely!” Ariana cried, pleased.

  “It does not signify what manner of wrongdoing they are guilty of?” She spoke as though the very idea was heresy.

  “Not in the least!”

  Her aunt threw up her hands.

  “In that case, any heathen is a Christian! Any mean-minded person who crawls the face of the earth can be a Christian? You are not making sense, Ariana.”

  “It makes perfect sense, ma’am, when you understand no one is innocent in God’s eyes, mean-minded or not. We are all, alike, in need of forgiveness—perhaps some more than others, but no one is beyond God’s love, or His reach. And no one is good enough for His love on their own, without Christ.” She paused, praying the Lord would illuminate these deep truths of the Christian faith to her woefully unlearned relation.

  “I have been baptized,” the lady stated, stiffly. “That is the atonement, and what makes me a Christian!”

  Ariana had to shake her head in disagreement. She was troubled by this chasm of misunderstanding between her and her aunt’s ideas of the Christian faith. She spoke gently. “No, ma’am. Baptism is not the atonement. It is merely symbolic of Christ’s atonement. The Bible says there must be blood shed to pay for sin. You see, we owe a debt: a sin debt, which can only be paid for with blood. In the Old Testament, they sacrificed animals to atone for sin. And they had to do it over and over again, for no animal’s blood could permanently erase the stain of sin from a human soul. But Jesus, because He is God as well as man, could atone for our sin. Which is why He died on the cross, ma’am. He was our sacrifice for sin. He is the atonement. But His sacrifice only brings forgiveness when we ask for it. We must confess our sin and ask His pardon. And that is what causes the conversion to Christianity. It isn’t about which church you attend, but whether or not you’ve been washed clean of sin—forgiven!—by Christ. A forgiveness that is received by faith.”

  Mrs. Bentley wiped her brow tiredly. “If I understand you correctly,” she said, her voice hollow, “you are saying we cannot earn our passage to heaven?”

  “That’s right. We cannot. Here is a verse that tells us so, plainly. ‘For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that, not of yourselves, it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.’ That is from the book of Ephesians, chapter two…”

  Her aunt was staring blankly ahead. Ariana went and sat by her side.

  “Aunt? Are you ill?”

  She came to as if out of a reverie, and when she spoke it was completely without her usual force of manner.

  “This
Christianity you speak of is not what I have known. And yet, I must own that I have been long afraid of God, because my works are sadly lacking. I thought I had to do so much to earn His favour and could not that, well, I simply gave up.” She was looking earnestly at her niece.

  Ariana spoke gently. “All you need do, my dear Aunt, is receive a gift—the gift of salvation found in Jesus Christ. Seek Him in prayer, and by reading Scripture, and read the prayer book. Surely these things are not asking too much. Knowing God is within your grasp, Aunt Bentley! Pleasing Him, too. Trust Him, keep Him in your heart, and He will keep you for heaven!”

  Mrs. Bentley looked at her niece with eyes that could be called fond. She sat up suddenly.

  “Wait. You do not mean you will refuse Mr. Mornay because he may not have so great an understanding as you? Of these things?”

  Ariana pursed her lips in thought. “It is not that.” She spoke slowly. “But knowing our need for God changes us from what we were. In fact, the Bible says, all who are in Christ are new creations—a new order of being, ma’am! We look the same, we appear like any other person, but we are renewed in our innermost beings! It is a remarkable, miraculous thing!” Her eyes were lit with excitement and her face, always pretty, glowed warmly with a beauty that for a moment did seem unearthly, and as though a halo surrounded her head. Mrs. Bentley blinked in astonishment.

  “And here is the crux of the matter, ma’am,” her niece continued. “Scripture expressly forbids us to marry an un-renewed person. It would be like a union of two species—unnatural, and bound to be laden with strife. If Mr. Mornay does not come to realize his need for the Saviour,” and her voice dropped here, “then I am afraid there is little hope for us.”

  Mrs. Bentley was staring at Ariana. The otherworldly aura about her had faded, and now she doubted she had ever seen it. All she saw, in fact, was a very young, very stubborn, very foolish young woman.

  “You would be content at that? You would allow him to just walk away from you? The most sought-after gentleman in my lifetime that I know of!”

  Ariana’s face was creased in concern. “I would be miserable! I could never be happy apart from him, and yet I cannot reconcile myself to marriage as things now stand. If we were to wed, I could never share my joy in God with him.” She looked pleadingly at her relation. “Don’t you see? If I am to be made one with my husband, we must be one in heart, mind, and spirit.”

  “So you would abandon that poor man who finds himself in love with you!”

  Ariana sighed deeply. “You forget that I am in love, also. I have had to put myself and my future—and Mr. Mornay—entirely into God’s hands. If I am meant to marry him, then he will come to faith, I am certain.”

  “Your marrying him would be the thing most likely to bring him to faith!”

  Ariana made no reply beneath Mrs. Bentley’s accusing stare.

  “What a strange, cold thing you are!”

  Ariana’s eyes filled with tears. The hours she had spent on her knees, crying out to God regarding Mr. Mornay! The tears she had shed! Was that being a “strange, cold thing”? She stood up in agitation, wishing to avoid shedding tears before her aunt.

  “I am sorry if I appear so. I assure you—” and then she broke off, unable to speak another word. She looked pitifully at her aunt and then flew from the room.

  Twenty-Nine

  After Ariana left, and after Mrs. Bentley had gone to the door and listened for the sound of her niece’s chamber door closing down the hall, she went to the parlour window and spoke to the floor-length drapery.

  “You may come out, now.”

  There was a moment while the drapery puffed outward, and then Mr. Mornay appeared, looking ill at ease.

  “I knew it was an inferior suggestion,” he said. “And unfair to her. I regret agreeing to your scheme. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself!”

  “But you have seen that she truly loves you. Is that not what you wished to know?”

  He sat tiredly down upon a chintz-covered settee.

  “I hoped to find out what was really between us. I did not expect to discover that it was indeed God.” He seemed weary and yet restless, and his eyes roamed the room. Mrs. Bentley cleared her throat, taking a seat across from him in a matching sofa.

  “I regret she said so much about that topic…”

  “No, no, I thought it was a mere excuse on her part, but it is a very real problem for her. And for me.”

  Mrs. Bentley rose and reached for the bellpull, but Mr. Mornay stood up. Mrs. Bentley looked at him in surprise and then alarm. She wanted to settle matters before he could leave.

  “But, Mornay, you have only to satisfy her on the points she spoke of. You have merely to profess a belief—a trust—in her Saviour. Is that not easily done?”

  He looked at her with a defeated expression. “It is not as if I can go and sign on. ’Twould be easier for me, I believe, if she had required me to convert to Judaism!”

  At that moment the door opened and Ariana stepped into the room. She began walking toward her aunt but stopped in shock upon seeing Mr. Mornay.

  “Oh!”

  That she had been crying was evident: her large eyes were rimmed with red, her face was flushed, and in her hand was a sodden handkerchief, but she gave him a watery smile of greeting. Mr. Mornay was pierced with guilt and remorse—and a wave of affection. Ariana looked back and forth at them.

  “I beg your pardon. I seem to be interrupting.” She turned to her aunt. “But I must tell you—”she stopped and walked right up to the older woman and bent to give her a small kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Bentley stiffened involuntarily when she realized a kiss was forthcoming, and then was struck silent with surprise—and perhaps her own measure of guilt. She laughed uncomfortably. “My dear—” she began.

  But Ariana was already talking. “I want to apologize for behaving in such a way that you could accuse me of coldness.”

  Mrs. Bentley was embarrassed, and glanced uncomfortably at Mr. Mornay. “That’s quite all right, my dear.” She spoke quickly, hoping to end the scene, but Ariana hadn’t done.

  “I know you think me ungrateful and undeserving, but I am very conscious of the honour Mr. Mornay has given me.” She glanced at him gratefully, surprised to see him looking ill at ease. “And I want you to know, I have ever prayed earnestly for both Mr. Mornay and you, my dear Aunt.”

  Mrs. Bentley softened. “I am obliged to you, Ariana, indeed I am. And you must forget what I said, that you were cold-hearted or some such thing, for I realized at once my mistake. You are particular, but not cold,” she clarified. The two exchanged tremulous smiles. But Mrs. Bentley’s overwhelming desire to see the wedding move forward returned to her mind. After all, right in front of her were the principal beings who could bring it about! “And since you are such a thoughtful creature, I do not see why we cannot now, that the three of us are present, make some plans regarding the wedding.”

  To her surprise, it was not her niece but the gentleman who disagreed.

  “Not now. Ariana and I need to talk.”

  Mrs. Bentley realized she was being asked to leave the room, and did so reluctantly. If only they would leave matters to me. It is as obvious as a horse’s tail they are deeply in love!

  Mr. Mornay took hold of Ariana. Gently but firmly he drew her toward him. She thought he meant to kiss her, but he drew her up against him and just held her. After a long, touching embrace he spoke softly into her ear. After listening for some moments, Ariana pulled her head back and looked up at him in consternation.

  “You heard everything I said, then!”

  He nodded. “Can you forgive me?” His tone intimated he did not think she could.

  “Of course. I have nothing to hide.” She responded so quickly and easily that he doubled his embrace, lifting her off the floor.

  Ariana laughed in surprise.

  “And to think of the way I scolded you that night at the Sherwoods’, ” he said as he put her back so she was standing, th
ough he kept his arms around her. “When I knew ’twas likely an accident and you hadn’t the least bit of malice in your whole body.”

  She smiled, remembering. His face then became serious and Ariana moved to the point at hand.

  “What are you going to do about what you heard me speak of to my aunt?”

  “What can I do?” He blinked. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Are you ready to confess your sins to God? To receive Christ into your own heart, as I have done?” Her heart was beating strongly with suspense and hope, while he continued to just look at her, making no answer.

  “You can choose at any moment to put your trust in Christ,” she added, softly.

  He looked away. “I could easily agree to that. I am afraid, however, I would be doing nothing other than satisfying you for the sake of our marriage. You would never be certain of me. And eventually, when I continue to be myself” (he made a wry grimace) “you will come to despise me.”

  “I could never despise you!”

  He stared at her a moment. “I think you would. The way you spoke to your aunt…I could never marry you selfishly the way I wanted to, before.” Their eyes met, troubled. “I was prepared to go forward with the wedding, hoping the pressure of social expectation might be enough to persuade you.” He looked quite dismal as he added, “But I will not do that.” He paused a moment, considering the only thing that must be done.

  “Do you want me to release you? If you wish to be released from our betrothal…” His eyes took on a veiled look as he tried to harden his heart to the inevitable. His voice had sounded hoarse, nothing like his usual commanding tone.