“I grant that Phillip was rougish and—wrong—to do what he did with that young woman, but as soon as he understood there was to be a child, I know for a fact, my dear, that he championed a marriage. If not for Edward, his father, that young lady’s scheme might have succeeded.”
Ariana was nodding her head in an understanding way, her huge eyes revealing the depth of emotion in her heart.
“Could he not have supplied her with a sum of money? Before his father sent him away, that is. I understand she was destitute. Perhaps this drove her to the other young man.”
“Phillip had none of his own, my dear,” Mrs. Royleforst said. “I do not doubt he gave her what little he could, but at sixteen he did not yet hold the purse strings!”
“And you are certain—of Mr. Mornay’s feelings in the matter?”
“Oh, my dear gel! It ruined the man! He thought himself in love, and he thought she loved him! He was bitter after that. He’s been bitter ever since.”
“What of his mother, ma’am?”
“Ah, Miranda. Another sad story, my dear. She doted on Phillip, you know.” Mrs. Royleforst took a deep breath, and was absently playing with the handle of her cane.
“Miranda was never strong; she was beautiful, and full of life and strong-willed. After Edward died so suddenly she rallied her strength for the boys. But Nigel’s death was too much for her. Coming so fast on the heels of losing her husband, really, looking back, I must think it was his loss that truly started her demise. The doctor said it was consumption, but I say she died of sorrow. Phillip was like sunlight to her, but losing her husband and son within a year was too much. She died only eighteen months after Nigel. So you see…many tragedies, in such a short time.”
“My poor Phillip!”
“Yes, if you had known him when he was young. Nigel and he both, they were so full of life and energy, and Phillip had not a mean-spirited bone in his body. I grant he was mischievous upon occasion—are not all young men? But I would never have guessed that he would mature into such a difficult sort of man. I believe you know what I mean.”
“Yes. I wondered if some great sorrow might not be behind his temper. When we first met, I thought him such a fright!”
“Frightful, indeed! When he barks, people scatter!” She raised her tiny eyes and dared to inquire, “How did you meet, by the by? I have always wondered, particularly because you went to so much effort not to tell me!”
Ariana laughed. “Goodness! If you must know, I had climbed up into that monstrous tree on his estate, and he spied me in it, only he was good enough not to reveal his discovery to anyone.”
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Royleforst was delighted. “That was a favorite climbing tree of Phillip’s when he was young.”
Ariana gasped, amused. “He never told me.”
“What happened next?”
“When I tried to get down, I found I was stuck, and Mr. Mornay was standing beneath me, looking up at me with such an expression that I quaked with fear! I wonder now that I didn’t fall at the sight of him! I would have hung there, stuck by a thread, and looked even more ridiculous, so it’s well that I didn’t!”
“Oh, dear! Of all things I could have imagined…I never dreamed of such a thing!” She wiped her eyes. “What happened next?”
“Well, he climbed right up to where I was stuck and saved my gown—and scolded me—and then he helped me down.” She thought of the day for a moment. “After enduring a set-down from him, he actually became quite the gentleman. I didn’t know what to make of him.”
“He obviously took to you immediately. As I then thought.”
“Come to think on it, Aunt Royleforst, Mr. Mornay scolded me above all things for putting myself in what he called a ‘vulnerable position.’ He said I could have been ill-used, and he seemed prodigiously out of temper about it.”
“Precisely! ’Tis never far from his thoughts. That he himself was ill-used and he, a man.”
“I felt that he despised me as though I were the stupidest creature alive!”
“Yes! He has ever struggled with self-respect since that episode, and naturally, he can have none for anyone else. He feels we all invite our troubles.”
Ariana’s face crinkled in thought. “So, he did not force himself on this girl, or abandon her.”
“No, indeed no. His father was perfectly right in suspecting that he was not the initiator. She hoped for a marriage, not blackmail, having no basis for an accusation.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, Mrs. Royleforst aware that Ariana’s concern was dissipating. She gave a contented sigh.
“I am so very glad I came to see you,” Ariana said.
“And I too, dearie. You must promise to come often.”
“I shall.”
“And you feel better now, do you not, regarding this affair?”
“Oh, indeed! I am greatly obliged to you. My poor, dear Phillip. And I thought so badly of him.”
“Do not be hard on yourself; no harm has come of it. And perhaps it was a good thing, for now you understand him better.”
They said their goodbyes. Ariana gave her new aunt an impulsive kiss on the cheek, crowning the visit for Mrs. Royleforst. Mrs. Bentley’s coachman had been forced to walk the horses, but soon Ariana was on her way home, and thinking if she could only see Mr. Mornay right now, what a warm greeting she would give him. She did not, in fact, have long to wait.
Thirty-Nine
The next morning Ariana wrote to Mr. Mornay, telling him of her visit with his aunt, and how they now were friends. She said nothing about her need to ask advice. And she added how eager she was to hear of his thoughts on Christianity as well as his impressions of her family.
She wrote:
I am praying for you, and for us. I am quite impatient to see you again; but do not, on any account, hurry your visit. You must allow my papa to decide when it may end. A dear friend o f mine, Miss Herley (you may remember) has asked a favour o f me. She has her heart set on Lord Antoine Holliwell, who is Lord Wingate’s younger brother, and she wishes to have you put in a good word for her with his family. Would you mind, dearest? Please let me know. Do give all my family my love—but not all my love to my family, for it most assuredly belongs to you!
I will write again soon, though I dare to hope that our next meeting will not be very far in the future. I am,
Yr loving Ariana
After sealing the missive with her aunt’s wax and leaving it on the hallway tray for Haines, who now controlled the mail exclusively, Ariana took a brief walk outdoors. A footman followed at a discreet distance.
She returned to find Mr. O’Brien waiting for her in the parlour. He was standing, having been pacing the room, but he turned with a bright smile when she entered.
“Miss Forsythe!” He bowed.
“Good day, Mr. O’Brien.” Her tone was calm. She draped off the shawl and placed it gingerly upon the brow of a wing chair. He held out his hands to her, hoping to receive hers, but when no such favour was forthcoming, he took a seat across from her and tried, in vain, to read her countenance.
She did not apologize for keeping him waiting nor inquire how long he might have done so. Instead, she waited for him to speak.
He cleared his throat. “I hope you are not displeased that I have called upon you again.”
“No, not precisely. But I confess I do think ’tis best for you not to come again while Mr. Mornay is away.”
His face froze in surprise.
“You see,” she continued, “I discovered more regarding the story Mr. Chesley claimed to have knowledge of, and, to my great shame, I found I was too willing a listener to him. I was too easily betrayed into believing the worst about a man I admire—and love.”
He cleared his throat again, sat up a little straighter, and twisted uncomfortably.
“I see,” he said, unhappily.
“I heard only one part of the story from Mr. Chesley, and now I know a great deal more of it.” An uncomfortable silence
followed her words. “In life, as in doctrine, partial truth is a terrible deceiver.”
His eyes were fastened to her face, and he slowly nodded agreement.
“I suppose you will no longer receive my calls—”
“I am sorry, Mr. O’Brien. But you may feel free to call upon me and Mr. Mornay after the wedding.”
He was grateful for that little kindness, though it did nothing to ease his disappointment. “My dear girl, are you completely certain?” His heart was on his sleeve.
“I am.” Their eyes met. He saw that she was adamant. He grasped for a straw and found one.
“What of the business of being bound to an unbeliever?” His question was borne of desperation and they both knew it, and yet it was a valid question.
“That,” she said slowly, “is a mystery you must place at God’s feet. As I have. I am bound, by duty, honour, and love, to marry Mr. Mornay.”
Mr. O’Brien slumped back in his seat, and then slowly gathered himself and stood up.
“I wish you every happiness, Miss Forsythe. I pray that you may never come to regret your decision.”
“Thank you.” She saw how defeated his expression was, and her heart felt a stirring of pity. “But do let us be friends, Mr. O’Brien. Do not be angry, I pray you.”
Suddenly he felt just that: angry. But he looked into Ariana’s sweet, earnest eyes and could not remain so. She also had come to her feet and they stood only a foot or so apart.
“I can’t remain angry with you,” he conceded with a sigh. “I don’t think it’s possible.”
She grasped his hand impulsively. “You are a true friend.”
“Am I?” The touch of her soft hand had instantly strengthened his earlier resolve to rescue her from the Paragon. Putting both his hands around her one, he spoke pleadingly. “I must renew my warnings to you, hoping to change your mind. How can I do otherwise if I am to be a true friend? If Mr. Mornay was not…Mr. Mornay, perhaps I would not be so persistent. But my feelings for you are such that I cannot sit idly by and witness this event.”
Ariana pulled her hand free, turning toward the door. She would not listen to a moment more of this.
“Is it because he is handsome? Rich? Is that why you are marrying him?”
This caused her to stop and whirl back around to face him.
“Sir, how can you insult me in this manner? If you are concerned for my happiness, then you will remove yourself from this house. And, as a man of God, pray for me and my betrothed.”
“I shall! I have, and I will.” He quickly joined her near the door.
Her hand was on the doorknob.
“ ‘For what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?’ You are the light, my dear, and are you not determined to be joined with darkness?”
When she made no reply, he reached again for her hand and held it firmly.
“Consider, my dear! You are not from the same world as Mr. Mornay! I understand that, for I understand you. I share the same faith as you.” Her continuing silence gave him courage and he continued, speaking right next to her head. “Can you not see how very different your concerns are from Mr. Mornay’s? You care about your God and your fellow human beings. He cares about his waistcoats! You are a child of the Light; he is a son of darkness. Dear, dear, Ariana, pray do not make this mistake. It shall end in unhappiness, I warrant you.”
Ariana remained speechless. Mr. O’Brien had struck forcefully the one remaining doubt in her heart. What if all her hopes, all her love, even, did not suffice to make a happy union? If they were not on the same spiritual plane, could they be one in the sense Heaven intended? What if Mr. Mornay returned and announced he had no interest in knowing God? That it was all right for Ariana to pray, attend prayer meetings and church, read her Bible and the prayer book, but that he, Phillip Mornay, would have none of it? In that case, would she not indeed be acting in a way contrary to her faith?
Mr. O’Brien knew instinctively he had hit upon something, and drew closer to her.
“I am not a perfect man; indeed, far from it. But I am certainly more able to make you the husband you deserve. And we will raise our children to know and serve God.”
Ariana stared at him, her mind racing ’til she wearied of thinking.
“We may never have the wealth of a Mr. Mornay, but we will have enough. God rewards those who seek Him, and I am certain that we shall be content. And happy.”
Mr. O’Brien studied her with deep blue, earnest eyes. He saw the fear and doubts on her face. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lowered his tall head to her height. Ariana was no longer looking at him, but just staring ahead in disheartening thoughts. Just at the moment when Mr. O’Brien thought he would surely be able to steal a small kiss, there was a sound at the door and he straightened up guiltily. Ariana came to with a start.
For some reason Mrs. Bentley had not appeared in all this time, but suddenly one of the double doors swung wide, and Ariana gasped. There stood—not her aunt, but her father.
He walked calmly into the room, and took an appraising look at Mr. O’Brien before turning to face his daughter.
“I apologize. I could not help but to overhear some of the, ah, conversation.” Here he turned back to Mr. O’Brien. “And I must say, young man, you might have been quite right a short while ago. You might have been, but as it stands, you are now quite mistaken.”
“Am I, sir?” And, to Ariana, “Who is this man? Do you know him?”
Ariana was biting back a smile, listening to him with an expression of joy and fondness.
“Oh, Papa!” She rushed into his arms. They gave each other a tender kiss on the cheek.
Mr. O’Brien stood up taller and straightened his cravat. “How am I mistaken, sir, if you would be so kind as to explain?”
“I will, indeed, my good fellow. Your mistake is that you have assumed, on past evidence, that Mr. Mornay cannot be what in fact he is: a true Christian, with the truest of conviction!”
Ariana gasped and clasped her hands together. “Oh, I knew it would be so! I knew it had to be so! Oh, thank God!”
At that moment, Mr. Mornay, who had been seeing to a difficulty with one of his horses, came to the door of the room. He saw Ariana just as she opened her eyes and met his. Hers were again filled with joyful tears, and she smiled. He noticed Mr. O’Brien at that moment, and his own smile faltered, but Ariana rushed to him and threw her arms about his neck.
“Phillip! Oh, my dearest! I have you back!” They clung together in a tight embrace for a few seconds. “I am so happy! I am so very happy!”
He smiled fully then, that handsome, rare smile.
“This is precisely why I cannot resist you. Who could resist such an impulsive, generous girl?” He was prodigiously pleased with her effusive greeting and kissed her.
Meanwhile, the rector, Mr. Timmons, who had come along in Mr. Mornay’s coach, entered the room, as well as Ariana’s sister Beatrice, who had not only asked to come on the trip, but also to stay until the wedding.
At that moment, Mrs. Bentley, who had been in her study attending to her accounts, entered and saw the happy couple. She began to babble and nod and grasp everyone’s hand and shake it emphatically. She grasped Mr. O’Brien’s hand before she realized whose it was, then said, “Oh,” in a disappointed tone. He gave her a polite shake of the hand, however.
“All has ended as you wish, you can see, ma’am,” he said in resignation.
“Yes!” She was startled to find him admitting the fact placidly. “And here, Charles! When did you arrive? Why wasn’t I notified at once?”
“A servant said you did not wish to be disturbed.”
“A servant? What servant would dare not tell me of my brother’s arrival? I ought to have him horsewhipped!”
Ariana turned around, smiling. “No horsewhipping today, Aunt! It is too, too happy a day for any such thing!” She turned to face her love, still smiling, her arms still about him. Mrs.
Bentley and her brother eyed the couple with satisfaction. Mr. O’Brien was moving toward the door, but he stopped by Mr. Forsythe.
“Did you witness the conversion, sir?”
Mr. Forsythe, a tall, lean man with soft eyes, looked at the young man shrewdly.
“No, sir, I did not. But I have no doubts about it taking place. Speak to the man yourself, if you like. You’ll agree that he is a child of God, I warrant you.” He eyed the gentleman with compassion. “And you can rest your mind regarding Ariana’s betrothal. The Lord was merciful to her, and to her betrothed.”
The young man looked toward the couple. “So it appears.” He took a breath and turned back to Ariana’s father. “Please give my earnest wishes to your daughter for her everlasting happiness.” He bowed, prepared to leave.
Mr. Forsythe slapped him on the back and cried, “Do not leave in despair, m’boy! The Lord will provide the right mate for you too, all in good time.”
Mr. O’Brien smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, sir. I trust that He will.”
“By the by, you must meet another of my daughters.” He motioned to Beatrice, now nearly twelve, who came forward with friendly but serious eyes.
“I’ll marry you,” she offered to Mr. O’Brien, having heard the conversation between him and her papa, and being a most discerning child.
The gentlemen laughed, which puzzled her.
“But I shall, Papa! As soon as you give your leave.”
Mr. O’Brien was touched by her youthful sincerity. He bent his tall frame to meet her at eye level. “If indeed you will marry me, little miss, then we must become friends first.” And he offered her his hand for a good handshake.
“Quite so!” she said, speaking just as she heard her mama do on many an occasion, as she accepted the friendship greeting. Already an exceedingly pretty child, Beatrice had a strong resemblance to Ariana, only with hair darker by shades, and eyes which were hazel.
Before the Season Ends Page 32