Before the Season Ends

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “Tell your master Miss Forsythe and her aunt are arrived. Be certain to say we do not wish to intrude upon his privacy and that we may return at another time if he prefers.”

  “I’m sorry, mum. The master’s not returned yet.”

  Ariana’s face dropped.

  Her aunt said heavily, “Oh.” Aunt Bentley then looked at her niece and said, “We have come in vain, it seems.”

  The footman quickly produced the butler, who greeted Ariana and her aunt with a bow. He did not look to have been asleep, Ariana thought.

  “Hello Freddy,” she breathed. “I have to see him! May we wait?”

  Freddy immediately led the ladies upstairs to the parlour where, he said, they could wait comfortably. Mrs. Bentley did not want to wait, and her face was the picture of ill-usage.

  “We shall stay for no longer than a quarter hour!” she insisted. “You may leave a card after that; but we shall positively not wait a second longer than a quarter hour! Do you understand, Ariana?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She had felt convinced this was a divine mission of sorts, and now was it to be fruitless? Send him home, dear Lord!

  Downstairs Freddy kept a sharp eye out for the return of his master, watching from a window facing the street. In the parlour, there was silence except for the steady tick, tick, tick, of a porcelain clock on the mantel. Mrs. Bentley, regardless of the clock, dragged out a heavy gold watch of her own from time to time. She had to tilt her head back exceedingly to make out the face, but each time, she succeeded.

  “Two minutes more,” she pronounced at last. And it was just at that second that Ariana became awash in the astonishing feeling of assurance that she was going to see Mr. Mornay. Just when she might have worried most, she chose to believe her inner feeling. The sense of urgency had vanished, replaced now with a calmness that could only be from providence, she felt.

  Mrs. Bentley stood up. “It is time, Ariana. Let us go.”

  Ariana stood up reluctantly. She knew she had not invented the errand, or the assurance she had just felt. How could they be leaving? They were on the stairs coming down when Freddy appeared at the bottom.

  “Mr. Mornay is home!”

  Mrs. Bentley halted in surprise, but Ariana glowed with satisfaction.

  “Quickly, let us back to the parlour!”

  In a few moments they could hear the front door being opened and the proper, “Good evening, sir,” given by Freddy. There was some unintelligible talk from below, a sound of stumbling, and then the hushed tones of the servants.

  “Let—me—go!” came wafting up through the air. The voice was that of Mr. Mornay, but it sounded unusual: thick, and slow. Ariana and her aunt looked at each other in dismay. Whatever could be the matter? To add to the puzzle, a footman came bounding up the stairs and closed the doors on them.

  “Upon my word!” Mrs. Bentley gave Ariana a guarded look. “Mr. Mornay must have taken ill.” She had been at a complete loss as to what was happening, but this explanation seemed to answer. Another muffled sound came from the staircase. Mrs. Bentley was suddenly nervous, and stood up as well. She went toward the door.

  “Allow me to take a look at him; I am older, you know, and more accustomed to these things. I will return and let you know if you may see him,” Aunt Bentley suggested.

  Ariana had no choice but to wait, anxiously, hoping he was not very ill. To her great consternation she heard a sudden loud sound, as if someone had fallen.

  “I am all—right!” Again it was Mr. Mornay’s voice, except he sounded closer. With a leap in her breast she rushed to leave the room. Her aunt had halted just outside the door and she instantly tried getting Ariana to go back into the chamber.

  “No, you must wait, my dear. I haven’t seen him yet!”

  But another sound of stumbling on the stairs reached her ears and she pushed away her aunt’s arms, rushing to the top of the steps. There, more than halfway up, she saw him. He was holding on to the rail and the wall, facing the wrong way, and swaying slightly, with Freddy and a footman below him. After their eyes moved to rest on something above him, he turned, swaying, and saw Ariana.

  “You!” He resumed climbing and the servants hurried to help, but he pushed them away. They reluctantly fell back, but stayed close behind. When their master climbed the remaining steps with no further mishaps, they were visibly relieved.

  Ariana, accosted by the distinct odour of liquor, backed away as he approached. She hurried to stand behind a chair in the parlour, as if for protection. Mr. Mornay was rubbing his eyes and looking at her as though he could not credit what he saw.

  Aunt Bentley quickly intervened. “He is not well, my dear, and we should leave at once. You can return tomorrow, for I am certain that a good night’s sleep will greatly benefit Mr. Mornay. We are keeping him from his rest.” The man in question was swaying again, and he sat down as if aware of it.

  “What brings you here?” Mornay asked, clearly trying to reconcile her appearance at this hour. He then reached down and started pulling off his boots, then allowed his valet, who had joined the other bewildered servants, to finish the job. He was utterly too fogged up with drink to comprehend the inappropriateness of this action but it made Mrs. Bentley’s toes begin to curl. The Paragon, behaving like a boor! She hurried to her niece, taking her by the arm.

  “We shall call again tomorrow. Come, my dear, we must let the man rest.”

  But Ariana shook herself free and walked toward Mr. Mornay.

  “I am afraid, sir, that you are intoxicated,” she said.

  Mrs. Bentley’s hand went to her heart. Mr. Mornay returned Ariana’s gaze stupidly, unable to either confirm or deny her accusation. He was trying to say, “Yes, unfortunately you have found me so,” but instead, without the least effort to suppress it, let out a loud, ungentlemanly burp.

  “Oh, I think I must start carrying smelling salts!” Mrs. Bentley felt positively weak.

  “Ariana, come here,” he ordered, almost in his usual voice. But Ariana had seen enough.

  “You poor dear,” she murmured, stopping to pat his hand which was resting upon the arm of the chair. She then regally strode past him just as he reached to grasp her. She continued toward the stairs and nodded at an ashen-faced butler.

  “Take care of him.”

  “If I may be so bold—” Freddy interjected, quickly. She stopped and looked at him expectantly. “The master, as a rule, does not allow himself to drink to excess.”

  Ariana looked away. “Then he has broken his rule, I daresay.”

  “Ma’am, there is an explanation. He was brought home by Lord Alvanley and Brummell. Are you acquainted with their set?”

  She nodded. “I am.” The so-called Carlton House set was composed mostly of aristocratic men, friends of the Prince Regent, who were witty, urbane—and noted rapscallions. “I am obliged, Freddy.”

  “Your servant, ma’am.” He bowed and followed her down the stairs and opened the door for her. She hurried to the waiting coach where the horses were stamping their feet impatiently. She was up the steps and inside the coach before Haines could even help her.

  Meanwhile, watching her go seemed to have a sobering effect on Mr. Mornay. He turned accusingly to Mrs. Bentley.

  “Do not blame me!” she said to his severe countenance. “Ariana would not rest until we came to call upon you. She quite insisted upon it.” She went toward the door and stood still, her hand upon the knob. “I am exceedingly sorry, Mornay.” She shook her head. “Exceedingly sorry.”

  As she descended the steps, she reflected that, to most women in society, Mornay’s state might have seemed humorous and was even expected on occasion. Only Ariana, of course, would never view it in such a light. Of all the bad luck! She shook her head, recalling she had even prayed for the success of the match.

  Is this the way You answer prayer, dear Lord?

  Thirty-Four

  Just before noon the next day, Mr. Mornay called at Hanover Square. He appeared, at first glance
, none the worse for the prior evening’s misadventures, but in fact was suffering from a headache which had accosted him the moment he awoke. Nevertheless, he was determined to face Ariana. He straightened his cravat imperceptibly before raising the knocker at the door.

  Mrs. Bentley nervously received him in the first floor parlour.

  “Well?” he asked, presently, after politely declining to sit. “Has she sworn me to the devil?”

  Mrs. Bentley gave an involuntary gurgle of laughter, caused by the strain upon her sensibilities all of this commotion was wreaking.

  “Worse, perhaps; she has said nothing. Not a thing!”

  His look of apprehension deepened. “I may as well learn the worst. Call for her.”

  Ariana’s aunt nodded and went for the bellpull.

  “You will, of course, allow me to see her privately.”

  She acceded to this request, recognizing it instantly for what it was: an order. She told the footman who appeared shortly, to fetch Haines. She told Haines to inform Ariana she had a morning caller, but to insist he did not know who it was. When he had gone she nodded with satisfaction.

  “Haines is trustworthy. She may not be prepared to see you, of course—”

  He held up his hand. “Not to fear. I think I can handle a girl of nineteen.”

  Haines, meanwhile, could not. When he said he had no knowledge of who was calling, Ariana cocked an eyebrow at him and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Come, Haines, you can tell me. I shan’t breathe a word. Especially when I already know it is Mr. Mornay.” Poor Haines was so taken by surprise that his brows shot up, and his secret was quite undone. Ariana smiled gratefully.

  “Thank you, Haines. ’Tis just as I suspected.”

  When the door to the parlour opened, Mr. Mornay shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Ariana walked in, closed the door behind her, and stood with her back against it, looking at Mr. Mornay with a positively angelic expression on her face. She was looking radiant this morning, the epitome of a peaceful, rested soul. Mr. Mornay’s expression froze. He would not have been surprised to find her cross, morose, affronted, or insulted. But to find her gazing at him fondly, almost foolishly, was not something he was prepared for.

  Seeing the look on his face made Ariana smile all the more, and then she walked over to him, stretching out both her hands to him. “My dearest!”

  He took her hands firmly within his own. He lifted them, kissed them one by one, and then, overcome by this warm reception, pulled her impulsively up against him and kissed her, and Ariana sweetly kissed him back.

  Afterward she removed herself from his embrace and took his hand. “Let us sit down and talk.”

  He followed her and sat across from her, but on the edge of his seat, so they were not far apart. Ariana looked at him a moment, and said, “My dear sir, I have finally understood what must be done. So we can be married.”

  “Indeed? I am eager to hear it!” He smiled. Ariana was so calm, so in charge of herself, and of him. She was beautiful and sweetly affectionate and she had said they would be married. This was quite a bit more than he had dared hope for this morning.

  “Indeed.” She looked at him questioningly. “It remains only to be seen if you will comply with the necessity of what must be done.”

  He seized her hands once more. “I am at your service, my young love. Or should I say, at your mercy?”

  “I recall saying those very words to you, once. When you came and rescued me from the countess!” Her eyes shone with the memory.

  “But now you are rescuing me.”

  “I am so glad!” she breathed. “And it is so simple! Why I did not think of it sooner, I cannot know, but here it is. You will take yourself to my father’s house in Chesterton and remain there to learn and study our faith, until he sends you back for the wedding.”

  Mr. Mornay’s expression sobered at once. “But what is the point, Ariana? Why should I leave you now, if we are to wed? I have no objection to meeting your family, indeed, I look forward to it. But I cannot fathom this request.”

  She was directing a patient look at him. “Because, my dear, Papa will instruct you on precisely what is between us. He is a much better tutor than I, and he will introduce you to the writings of George Whitefield, Martin Luther, John Wesley, and Mr. Wilberforce—”

  “Wilberforce? You mean the abolitionist? I’ve read his writings.”

  “Others, then. Calvin, Matthew Henry, even Augustine.”

  “Ariana, I am not illiterate!”

  “No, but the point is to read under the tutelage of my papa, and when you are ready he will send you back to me for the wedding. I have absolutely no doubt of this.”

  He leaned back in his seat, and looked at her quizzically. “So this is what’s afoot.”

  She nodded.

  “And this, you are certain, will settle the matter for you?”

  She nodded emphatically.

  He lapsed into thought for a minute. “Is this arrangement the only way I can satisfy you?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  These words were grave ones to him, for he felt in his heart it would be far too beneath him to agree to her scheme. He proposed another possibility. “I suspect you are equally capable as your father in these matters.”

  But Ariana was prepared for qualms. “My dear sir, when I saw you last night I realized the importance of your having excellent instruction. I assure you, my father is a learned man and will not fail you for good conversation. In addition, I am certain he will endeavour to enlarge your acquaintance among other Christians, many of whom you will find utterly worthwhile. I have no opportunity of doing that here in London, where I have only recent and shallow acquaintances.”

  He sat forward and rubbed his hands together. “Ariana, I came to apologize for last night.” He paused, choosing his words. “What you saw was not a pretty sight, I grant. But I am not accustomed to behaving in that manner. It is not something I make a practice of.”

  “Please understand I am not condemning you for what I saw. I certainly do not approve, but that is something else. I am concerned with your welfare, believe me, but I also know that if you’ll do this… well, I won’t have to…lose you.” Her last words were wistful, as was the expression on her lovely face.

  Moreover, the second they left her lips Mornay knew he would go. Her eyes, large and brilliant at all times, were especially so now with her future in the balance. “Will you allow the banns to be published in my absence?”

  “If you have not returned in a fortnight, then yes, I shall. You may hear them yourself in Chesterton since they needs must be read in my home parish.”

  “Do you really anticipate I shall need so long a stay?”

  “I cannot say.”

  His gaze fell to the window for a moment while he considered what to do. Ariana had thought he might request banns and had decided to allow them. She was certain his heart was not shut to God, so that having the banns published would cause no dilemma. Was this not the reason the Lord had placed upon her that sense of urgency? So she would witness Phillip at his worst and finally come upon the solution for their problem?

  “I see you have given the matter a deal of thought,” he ventured.

  “Yes. But I must confess the idea did not originate with me.”

  He looked at her questioningly. “Who—”

  She leaned forward, and he was leaning forward, so their faces were close. Smiling, she whispered, “God! It was His idea, I promise you!”

  He stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded.

  “Is this why you called upon me at my house?”

  Silence for a moment.

  “Not exactly; though again, upon my word, it was a divine inspiration!”

  “I could probably describe it quite differently,” he murmured dryly. “But why did you come? May I ask?”

  She looked down, feeling suddenly shy.

  “To pray with you and—to affirm my love for you.”

 
; “You sweet angel!” he uttered, sitting up. He grasped both her arms with his much stronger ones, pulling her completely out of her seat and onto his lap. “Though you insist upon running my life, you are still my angel!” They were both smiling from ear to ear in this manner and looking at each other idiotically when Mrs. Bentley knocked and let herself in. She couldn’t bear, any longer, not knowing what was happening.

  Ariana slipped back into her own seat, but Mrs. Bentley recognized what she had seen. She stopped, overjoyed at the unmistakable evidence of a happy conclusion and then rushed forward.

  “Oh, my dearest Ariana! My dear, dear, Mr. Mornay! I am overcome! Upon my word, I am overcome with delight for both of you!”

  Thirty-Five

  The first letter to arrive without hindrance from Chesterton expressed everything Ariana expected. Outrage over the thefts and the invasion of privacy, and concern regarding her general safety in London altogether. If letters were not safe, could people be so? There was of course curiosity regarding Mr. Mornay, coupled with a firm refusal to sanction the wedding without hearing from Ariana, first. The notes from Mama and Alberta were almost entirely pleas for more information about the mysterious Mr. Mornay. When she had folded the papers again, she looked down at the letters in her hands with a little smile.

  “Soon, my dear family. Very soon you shall know all about him.”

  Mrs. Bentley was furious about her brother’s refusal to endorse the wedding, but her disposition improved greatly when she learned Mr. Mornay was already en route to Chesterton. (She interpreted it to mean the Paragon was intent on confronting Ariana’s father, and felt certain he could only succeed.)

  To distract her niece while she waited for Mornay’s return, Mr. Pellham took Ariana to the long-anticipated British Museum. Mrs. Bentley cried off, but Ariana eagerly went, prepared to take notes to send to her family. From the moment they entered the building, she was accosted by acquaintances. Mr. Pellham was gracious and amusing, even when Ariana began to despair of ever truly seeing the exhibits, but she had to marvel at his social transformation. True to his word, he no longer scorned fashionable society.