The House in Grosvenor Square: A Novel of Regency England (The Regency Trilogy Book 2)

by Linore Rose Burkard

  When Ariana said nothing, she continued. “I am afraid…I am in great need of support.” She looked apologetically at Ariana. “I am sorry to put it to you so plainly, my dear. I hoped to nurture a friendship first, but as I have been prevented to wait upon you in this establishment, I have no recourse but to come straight to the point. No doubt you have seen the abuse that is hurled upon me in the papers!” Her eyes widened with indignation.

  Ariana nodded. The news had often been sprinkled with so-called “prophecies” of Mrs. Southcott’s and then a barrage of letters vindictive to her cause.

  “I have many enemies,” she said, sadly. She looked questioningly at Ariana. “Must I count you as one of them? Be plain with me, I beg you.”

  “May I never be an enemy to anyone who seeks God in truth—according to the Scriptures, Mrs. Southcott.”

  For the first time, the lady smiled. She had a warm smile and her eyes twinkled.”Does that mean, Miss Forsythe, that I may depend upon you for support? I have recently lost a very great benefactor; the Marquess of Deane. He suddenly chused not to accept my last vision. I count it as a great shame—for his soul’s sake, as much as for my own welfare. May I hope, my dear ma’am, that you will consider supplying what he has ceased to provide?”

  Ariana frowned and said, “I have very little means at present, but I will read your papers, and consider what you have asked.”

  The ladies looked at her in stark unbelief. She saw their expressions, and added, “You have heard a rumour, I assure you, if you think I am a lady of means.” They were still staring at her a little wide-eyed, and their looks wandered to the rich upholstery and the fittings in the room, all of which belied her words.

  “This is not my home,” she added. “I am not a wealthy woman.” There was a moment’s awkward silence until one of them said, bluntly, “But you will be—soon. Is that not so?”

  Ariana felt as though she had eager children in the room.

  “I cannot promise you—for I really must acquaint myself with your writings. But I do plan, when I am a lady of means, to comfort the poor and oppressed and of course to further the kingdom of God in whatever ways He puts at my disposal.”

  “There are many Evangelicals who are sympathetic to my cause,” said Mrs. Southcott, defensively.

  But Ariana was being cautious. Her natural inclination was to help anyone who asked, but she was not at liberty to exercise such abandon—she had no money of her own. And what if the reports regarding the lady were true? She would not support heresy!

  She said, “Send your correspondence to 25 Grosvenor Square. I will soon be mistress there. In the meantime, Mr. Mornay and I shall read your writings and study the matter together.”

  A sound in the hall was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Bentley. At her heels was Lord Horatio, a mutual friend of hers and Mr. Mornay's.

  “Lord Horatio is here for you, my dear,” said Mrs. Bentley, with a firm undertone that Ariana could not mistake. Neither, apparently, could Mrs. Southcott, for she and her companions stood up abruptly and curtseyed to Ariana. As they thanked her and left, one stopped before her. “When you are Mrs. Mornay, I pray you—” She gave Ariana a searching, heartfelt look. “Do not forget Mrs. Southcott!”

  She watched them leave, clasping the bundle of papers, for she would certainly read them. The newspapers and recent broadsheets had presented Mrs. Southcott as a lady who had begun with sound doctrine, but had lately become severely deluded. Ariana, in all fairness, would discover for herself if what they said was true. She glanced at Lord Horatio who was also watching the ladies leave, and noticed that his expression was startlingly disapproving. But he came to her and bowed politely, smiling, and took her hand and kissed the air above it.

  Mrs. Bentley hurried to the front door, thinking she had to ensure that her servants knew never, never, to allow those ladies beneath her roof again.

  Ariana brought Lord Horatio to the first floor parlour, where he filled her in on the excitement of the morning's fencing match and mentioned that her betrothed had been in attendance. When Mrs. Bentley returned to the room, still frowning, she crossed her arms and turned to her niece.

  “Do you realize who you brought into this house?”

  “Three harmless creatures, I am sure, ma’am.”

  “Harmless? Tag, rag and bobtail, is more like! Mrs. Joanna Southcott and her two minions! Do you realize the harm to our reputation if they were to be seen leaving our establishment?”

  “How can it signify, ma’am?”

  “I realize you have a certain fascination with the likes of Mrs. Southcott, but you are not at liberty to indulge that interest at my expense.”

  “I know she is controversial—”

  “My dear, she has been castigated from the pulpit! That woman,” she said, pointing out in the direction Mrs. Southcott had left, “claims to have heard from God that she is to bear a son by the Holy Spirit! Like the Virgin Mary! And at the age of sixty-five, no less. It is outright blasphemy!”

  Ariana gave a patient look at her aunt. “My dear Aunt,” she said, in a tone that sent her relation's eyes to the ceiling with impatience, “that may be naught but buffled-headed hearsay. I found nothing wanting in Mrs. Southcott’s manners or bearing. She seemed very kind. And quite harmless.”

  Her aunt looked at her, perplexed. “If she enlists your sympathies, it can do much harm! You are about to wed a high-standing member of society. You will drag his name down with you if you champion this…charlatan!”

  Ariana eyed her aunt uncertainly. “If Mr. Mornay shares your opinion, I will not grant the lady my sympathies, I assure you. But I shall read her writings for myself, you must know.” She looked at the bundle of papers, which she had set upon the table after bringing them up from the room below. Mrs. Bentley saw them, took them in her hand, and, without the least warning, threw them into the fire in the grate.

  “Aunt Bentley!” Ariana rushed forward tp salvage the letters, which she felt sure she could accomplish by acting swiftly. But Lord Horatio was on his feet and speedily wrapped his strong arms about her, not allowing her to get any closer to the flames.

  “You will not touch your hands to that fire!” he cried.

  “Then you must do it for me!” She turned on him. He glanced at the lady of the house who was watching with a dubious expression but was silent. So he turned and took the iron poker from beside the grate and began to inch the papers out.

  “No, my lord! You will burn the carpet!” Mrs. Bentley cried.

  Lord Horatio tried admirably, nevertheless, to save the mass of papers, but thanks in part to the wide ribbon around them, which had taken instantly to flames, there was little to salvage. Already the papers had become no more than chunks of layered ash and were rapidly disintegrating into cinders.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, standing up.

  Ariana thanked him for his efforts and then turned to Mrs. Bentley. “That was very badly done, Aunt!”

  “Don’t get up in the boughs over it, for pity’s sake.” Mrs. Bentley’s manner was annoyingly off-hand. She said, “I have no doubt but you would give aid to the devil himself if he were to appear hungry at your door!”

  “My dear Aunt!” Ariana replied in tones of indignation. She was appalled by her aunt, and disappointed because she had been genuinely curious about Mrs. Southcott’s writings. She determined immediately to write the lady, asking for another set of copies. She did not want to injure the woman's sensibilities by admitting that her aunt had burned them, so she wouldn’t mention it.

  It occurred to her that Mrs. Southcott might take her interest for an endorsement, but Ariana would have to take that chance. As soon as his lordship had taken leave, she went to her chamber and wrote the letter at once.

  Chapter Five

  That evening at the O’Brien’s house on Blandford Street, Westminster, the talk was more animated than usual. In addition to discussing the elegance of the Paragon’s home, as they sat in the parlour listening to Miss O'
Brien play the pianoforte from the next room, Miss Beatrice Forsythe was also regaling them with her most decided opinions. She was delighted to be the sole guest of the family, and the centre, therefore, of attention. This, combined with the family’s determination to be pleased with her, ensured an agreeable arrangement.

  Feeling at home, Beatrice also gave her audience a firsthand account of her fondness for Peter. It was her determination to soothe his dashed hopes for her sister by marrying him herself, at the earliest age of consent. All this caused Peter to purse his lips and shake his head at her fondly. If he had not already apprised his family of Beatrice's sentiments, it might have been a shocking pronouncement.

  Mr. Ian O’Brien, the eldest son, was home on shore leave and perhaps derived the greatest pleasure of them all with their guest, having now discovered a pleasant way to plague his sibling at every turn. He had merely to hint to Peter of his future “engagement” and that it was now a matter of honour, and there would be no escaping it.

  Ian, in fact, could hardly contain his laughter, which caused Peter to lean in closely to his brother and deny ever having made a declaration. But Beatrice was so earnest that even Mrs. O’Brien could only nod, amused, rather than reprimand. The girl, after all, was only twelve. No sense in dashing her hopes when age and maturity would set all to rights.

  And if it did not? Mrs. O’Brien would not object to her son’s connexion with a Forsythe—her sister was marrying the Paragon. Her aunt was Mrs. Bentley, well-known and respected. Beatrice was perhaps too outspoken for one so young, but was not her elder sister also known for her forthrightness? She could not wholly dislike the trait.

  Before the night had ended, it was determined that Miss Beatrice’s staying with the family was a triumphant idea. The invitation was extended to the end of the season.

  Peter chafed at the thought of having his young admirer on hand day and night, but he felt her presence to be a link, however feeble, to that of the elder Miss Forsythe. With that in mind, he could countenance it with equanimity.

  Ariana’s letter requesting new writings from Mrs. Southcott had unforeseen aftereffects. Mrs. Southcott, not being told of the demise of the first set of writings, assumed that the young lady wanted a second copy to give to someone else because she admired the first. She was happy to provide it. She also provided, to the friends who had not abandoned her, the information that a new benefactress had been discovered. Mrs. Southcott hadn't received a shilling yet, she had to allow, but Miss Forsythe had asked for another set of her writings! What could be more apparent than that she regarded Mrs. Southcott's cause favorably?

  The two ladies who had accompanied Joanna Southcott also did their part in passing around the on-dit that Miss Forsythe had been friendly toward them. With remarkable speed, they mentioned it to their circle of nonconformists. From there, who knows how it spread? But within hours it seemed that every outcast from traditional religion, those whom the Church of England did not approve of or wholly embrace for one reason or another, sent a solicitor or an emissary to Hanover Square, seeking support for their cause.

  In a matter of days yet more charities and causes somehow learned of this new philanthropist, and word spread so that even many traditional and orthodox societies threw in their invitations to fund-raising events. The sparkling salver in the hall at Hanover Square overflowed with correspondence near twice a day. And many representatives of these places came in person to try and see Miss Forsythe.

  Haines had been given an earnest combing for having allowed Mrs. Southcott in the door, and so he was more than prepared to handle solicitations when they arrived. Due to his authority as butler, he easily fended off all such persons. Even if Miss Forsythe was in the breakfast room or ground floor sitting room, she never knew of their attempts to see her.

  Haines took his role seriously. He was the gate-keeper. His was the best defense the household had against the wrong sort of people who might try to gain entry. Mrs. Bentley, ever since Mrs. Southcott had dared to call, insisted that anyone having to do with a charitable organization—of any sort—must be denied access. Therefore, no matter how legitimate the cause, such as when the British and Foreign Bible Society called, hoping to speak with Miss Forsythe, Haines replied, “Certainly not! Be off with you!” Neither would he accept a card.

  Such a reception was not encouraging, to be sure, but neither was it sufficient in and of itself to completely dissuade charities from trying their luck in some other way. Therefore, letters went out to Hanover Square, and to be safe, to Grosvenor Square, too. Word on the street was that the soon-to-be wife of the Paragon was philanthropically minded, and somehow this message reached the ears which were most interested in it. More missives went forth, courtesy of messengers or the London mail.

  It was easy to turn away mail that had not been paid on despatch. At the same time, living emissaries which had been turned away by Haines at Hanover Square, went in a determined course toward Grosvenor Square. A small ripple at first became a steady wave. More and more gentlemen and women knocked at the door, seeking support for a cause. Not a one got past Frederick to the master, but cards and letters did.

  Mr. Mornay deduced quickly that Ariana had a hand in his sudden popularity with the charitable institutions of the city (indeed, more organizations than he’d known existed!). He did not wish to upbraid her for it. But on one afternoon Frederick came in carrying his salver of letters. He was followed by two footmen, each carrying a similar salver. The three emptied the trays onto Mr. Mornay's desk, right in front of him. At the sight of it all, Mr. Mornay’s countenance took on an unpromising look.

  At that moment, a knock on the door revealed a worried Mrs. Hamilton. She had come to report another missing item, and that the workmen in the dining room had a question for him regarding some plasterwork details. Mr. Mornay closed his eyes and reminded himself that his wedding was soon to occur and that Ariana, who was bringing all these annoyances to his life, was the woman he adored. He opened his eyes and stood, without having lost his temper.

  “What item this time?” he asked, as he rounded his desk.

  “Your gold-handled letter opener, sir.”

  He stopped and returned to his former position and opened a slim desk drawer. His look revealed the answer. It was gone.

  His face finally took on the severe demeanour that could send people scattering. “How in blazes did anyone gain access to this room?” His eyes fell upon Frederick. The man swallowed uncomfortably, but had no answer. “And why would you know it was missing?” he asked Mrs. Hamilton. “When you have no business in my study?”

  Mrs. Hamilton stared stupidly at him for a moment, but then blustered, “It was brought to the kitchens for polishing, sir! When I instructed Molly to return it to its place today, she said it was gone!”

  “Molly said it was gone?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her face was carefully void of feeling.

  “Who was in the house besides our staff?”

  “This happened yesterday, sir, during Miss Forsythe’s second visit.”

  Mornay frowned at the thought of Molly being involved. Ariana asked after the little servant on occasion, and so Phillip had said he would keep her on indefinitely—so long as she behaved.

  “Neither of you will say aught of this to Miss Forsythe, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mrs. Hamilton curtseyed and left the room.

  “Yes, sir,” Frederick said. When his master dismissed him, he turned to leave but paused and picked among the letters on the desk, saying, “You’ll want to know of this one, sir; it came by a footman from Merrilton House.”

  Mr. Mornay opened the elegant invitation and found that he was being asked by Lady Merrilton to appear on the following night at her evening party. The lack of notice was explained by the fact that the Regent had suddenly agreed to show and Lady Merrilton wanted to ensure his comfort by having his friends present.

  The invitation included Miss Forsythe—a rather daring move, he thought, s
ince they were as yet unwed. But it meant he would see his future bride. Although his heart lifted at the thought, he knew caution would be the order of the day. She surely would look as charming and beautiful as ever. He would need to remain aloof.

  He sent word to Hanover Square so she would expect him, and then started on the stack of letters before him. The Mornay family had never shirked its responsibility to those less well-off. He tried his best to see that his tenants in Middlesex were not neglected and always held a large Harvest Home, even making a quick appearance for the event. Mingling among his tenants was not something he particularly enjoyed. They were generally a cheerful bunch, and it had always intensified his own peculiar lack of cheer.

  Looking down at the slew of requests, he felt no desire to be clutch-fisted now, but why in thunder was there such an onslaught of solicitations? He thought of Ariana’s pleasure at the Orphanage when she had been able to suggest the amount to give, and knew she had a hand in this. Perhaps heʼd given her too much encouragement by letting her do so. He’d have to broach the subject with her. There were limits to what he could do!

  When Mr. Mornay called at Hanover Square on the following evening, Ariana was thrilled to see him. He received her hands warmly, kissed them, and greeted her quite satisfactorily. Perhaps she had only imagined the aloofness she'd felt on Sunday, she thought.

  When he caught her studying him appreciatively (because he looked, if anything, more handsome than usual in his crisp eveningwear) he chuckled; then quickly turned her towards the street and his waiting equipage. To her surprise, he had come for her in an open curricle, very unusual for a formal event. He remarked breezily that the weather was fine enough for it, but barely looked at her throughout the drive. Her previous misgivings returned. He was not his usual self!

  The roads were clogged with the usual ton traffic as people traveled from one engagement to the next. Mr. Mornay drove as swiftly as possible, going from Hanover Square across New Bond Street, and along Brook Street. He continued along Grosvenor Square, adjacent to his own house, and then along Upper Brook Street, where many coaches were stopped, dropping off or picking up passengers. Once that avenue had been cleared, he made a westerly quick turn onto Park Lane and did an admirable job manoeuvering through equipages to bring them right up to Merrilton House.